Life Realized
Life Realized
That night.
The gunfight.
Obsessed with the obscure.
Like sand,
Slipping through the cracks.
My hand,
Soon empty, inevitable.
A few remain,
Glittering in my palm.
Those little grains
Glimmering like the stars.
The dull made more noticeable.
The glimmering, made brilliant
Like flashes in the night.
Those that drop, recede,
Forever out of reach,
Lost in the sea of ‘could be’.
Two turns to three.
Sneaking, always past me,
But vigilant I remain.
If only to hear
The squeak beyond my window.
Why can’t I be outside?
Of me?
Of you?
Of this.
Room; bright, blinding,
To the mind more than the eyes.
It is all there,
Just reach and grab.
But the wrong things are in my clutches,
They are not stilts, simply crutches,
To turn me into sand.
To slip through the cracks in your hand.
Life Realized
Life Realized
That night.
The gunfight.
Obsessed with the obscure.
Like sand,
Slipping through the cracks.
My hand,
Soon empty, inevitable.
A few remain,
Glittering in my palm.
Those little grains
Glimmering like the stars.
The dull made more noticeable.
The glimmering, made brilliant
Like flashes in the night.
Those that drop, recede,
Forever out of reach,
Lost in the sea of ‘could be’.
Two turns to three.
Sneaking, always past me,
But vigilant I remain.
If only to hear
The squeak beyond my window.
Why can’t I be outside?
Of me?
Of you?
Of this.
Room; bright, blinding,
To the mind more than the eyes.
It is all there,
Just reach and grab.
But the wrong things are in my clutches,
They are not stilts, simply crutches,
To turn me into sand.
To slip through the cracks in your hand.
Love
I’m emotionally tied to this whip in my life,
wrapped around my heart, waiting for my demise.
As the shackles get tighter, I start to lose my breath.
I used to be a brave soldier, but I’m a scorned woman close to her death.
My heart used to be full of love, happiness and life,
but now there’s a dark empty cave where my heart used to reside.
This parasite, this insect that draws life out of me,
at one point in my life I loved him inequivocally.
HE is the barbed wire that draws blood. HE is the lion that cuts me up.
When all of this started, I refused to be a victim, but each time he did it, I thought whats the point in living.
I have no soul, no life left in me. I would cry but I’ve no tears to set free.
He stripped me of all that made me who I am.
I’ve got nothing left to lose now, I couldn’t give a damn.
His voice is in my head, even when he is not there.
Whenever he talks, my head splits and tears and is thrown on top of the heap that used to be my heart.
Whenever I look at it I just fall apart.
How can I look at the reflection of the woman looking back at me?
How can I face the little girl that I used to be? Whose dream that I stole, whose life that I crushed.
No point in living now, cos my life hasn’t amounted to much.
Do you feel it too?
You’re feeling the pain that doesn’t belong to you
See scars and feel them burning in a line
Cry for the ones that you don’t even know
Silently screaming in your head all the time
Because I feel the sadness
I feel the pain
The burning desire to want something more
For those tortured souls
that lost this fated game
of chance that’s called life
that you can’t ignore
The weight of the world is crushing your heart
No relief ever comes to save you from your sadness
Your own thoughts and emotions are suffocating yourself
and there’s always more coming, no end to this madness
Because I don’t understand
Why I feel this way
compassion becomes better known as a curse
A curse so painful
that you feel every day
it accompanies love
which is better dispersed?
Under Eyelids
What brutal sentence binds and heats
A mellow man’s mind
No longer at center, standing,
Ajar and fumbling for words that
Now, hollow, like dry leaves fall
Tempt me to run
Though I cannot escape, an idle mind is my worst
Prison.
In her embrace lies my solace
Yet I pass through her, a phantom
All eloquence and passion which I
Summon, serves but to widen the breech
And all the while
This foolish departure, I see her look,
At me, with closed eyes
MCM
Bottle for two? Or just blue.
Should I finish this bottle
Or save it for you…
Even though I know that you’ll never come
To claim it.
Should I shout down the hall
Until I grow hoarse
Calling your sorry common name
For at least 10 minutes
Or twenty,
And perhaps I should be so lucky that
the solid oak door to
Your tiny one bedroom eases
And a tiny whisper of your hairline falls
Into view.
Eh, maybe I’m just wasting my time
And falling even further into my own
Confirmation that this bottle was never
Meant to be finished by both of us
But rather, the only gulps to be taken
From this blasted bottle
Are from mine own tired, and burnt lips.
© Ms. Rei Thompson, 2008.
Blue
Do you ever seem to think at least five minutes before you crash into a wall?
Effortlessly, you seemed to make me think so.
Pretentious as hell, but somehow I managed to get wrapped in the phony package as well.
Only resting ev’ry three days, you spend your nights searching for
Everyone and everything.
So I suppose that I’ll continue to keep looking for you too from across the room
Staring wildly past your sloshing drink, which is held by the slender trembling fingers, to the slight flicker of your
Easily set eyes….
So I ask myself, will I always be the one to desire to see this pretty fiasco through?
Ahh well, I suppose that, no…
I am done with you.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
Build me up pretty
Build me up pretty.
Build me up so much that I don’t even turn around
To see if it’s your whistling or one of my silly
Female friends who just wants to cheer me up from the
Morning day blues.
Build me up pretty beyond the point that
I can even see myself in the long line of girls
Waiting at the MAC makeup counter to purchase
The liners and sticks and glosses meant to turn you up
And on.
But then again, why should I make you do it?
Build me up pretty, that is.
Maybe I should build you down into the
Dirt where your sexual mind lies,
In the gutter of the misogynist filth which your father
And his father shoveled on your battered corpse of
Strained intellectual thoughts.
So sad it is, that I thought for two solid years that it was
You who needed to build me up pretty
When in actuality mine own eyes could not see the
Deep need for me to build you up pretty instead.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
Bleached American Dream
He passed right by me with a closed fist.
But somehow I never felt the strain.
Walking towards me,
The eyes only narrowed their gaze to my left ‘brow
Which was adorned with three bands of piercing silver.
I don’t think I ever had a chance, because
The eyes never deviated from the left ‘brow
To the right, which would have lead to an expansive forehead
Embellished with thick black coils of swaying braids
Which ever so gently prodded my high, high cheek bones
And quietly approached two bright chocolate eyes.
Never could those eyes see anything but the left ‘brow.
And I, I had dared to show him the right,
All the while already ascribing to
the knowledge of a
momentary defeat.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
…
Clutch
to your own despair.
It’s all you have left
and it’s everywhere.
Just keep
keep it all inside.
and maybe someday
life won’t be such a lie.
