Phases of the Moon: Day Twenty-Three + Day Twenty-Four.

I didn’t tell you I untangled myself
From the tango with the red leash.
I didn’t tell you I was running
From the zip line and its breeze.
I didn’t tell you I met Adam
From the alley, on the eve
Of a midsummer midnight in mountain land…
I didn’t tell you I never lost sleep.

I didn’t tell you because I did what was right
In my heart, not my mind,
It showed me
I didn’t tell you it displayed
A go-big-or-go-home sign for you
I didn’t tell you
Because you’re more scared and scarred than me.

I didn’t tell you how unbelievable you are
I didn’t tell you, never said
That I was mostly detached
Knowing where you were at
And I didn’t tell you
How much it killed me.

I didn’t tell you I was your mother
I didn’t tell you that I died
I didn’t tell you about this painful loss-
Reborn from the Middle Ages, my son
I didn’t tell you just how you were my pride.

I lied-
I lied by omission.
You did the same for me
I didn’t tell you this thing…

I didn’t tell you I loved you
From the moment we first met
I didn’t tell you because I’m not crazy.

I can see, and sense, and feel you…
That doesn’t go away with time…

I didn’t tell you – you never asked me.

Image by Marlena McGuigan, “Cutting Cords”
Copyright © 2016 Maieutic•Arts. All rights reserved.

This weekend was something. I figured I would post another old poem, called All Unspoken, with a new picture + a new meaning of nails in my tires. Two of them, both old tires, both the back tires. Still good. Still have a light at my core. And, so do my tires – despite the damage attempted. We are approaching a New Moon 🌙  yay!

July 15th + July 16th, 2017.

Phases of the Moon: Day Twenty.

I am your leftovers.
I am what you consumed
I am what you threw out
I am your ideal convenience
Your added sugar
Your cheap labor
Your nutty and granola
Wild Child.

I am your leftovers.
I am your quick and easy snatch
I am your powdered doughnut
I am your fresh fruit smoothie
Your parts
Your whole
Your mountain and pile of
Scape Goat Crisps.

I am your leftovers.
I am your creation of trash
I am out of sight
I am out of mind
Your shadow in slavery
Your illusion of progress
You packaged my perfection
And I am called a deal.

I am your leftovers.
Keep feeding me
And I will keep feeding you.

The moon is still waning, and I am probably still whining. It’s late, and I had some wine, at least. I am re-posting poems (this one was called Package Deal) that I feel to post for the moment in this series (from my “personal” blog). Felt consumed by Mother Earth’s pain from our consumerism today – more than usual. Hopefully something upbeat tomorrow…!

July 12th, 2017.