The Bone Dance

How can it be? I can pen my soul and bleed out a black ink heart to strangers passing by on screens, yet the mere thought of asking for your companionship to a film or lunch twists my stomach into sickening knots and renders me mute?

 I utterly do not mind the nameless, faceless people endlessly clicking past my name; glassy eyes flicking over the pieces of my heart that I stitch into phrase.

 And yet…

I simply cannot fathom peering into your eyes over a cup of weak lavender tea (I'll never tell you lavender calms my nerves, lest you see through my collected demeanor and find my infatuation induced anxieties amusing), I fear your gaze might crack the wall I deemed impenetrable and leave me seeping stifled, dusty  romance.  

I scratch at my scarred trust; it aches and I can't risk reopening that wound. Saving myself once was no small feat, and while the stitching is taut in some places and loose in others, it holds me together and I function just fine.

Thoughts of betrayal race through my weary mind, yet no matter how hard I try to push you out of my head, your face flickers across my eyes and taunts me to reach out.

Is the risk worth the reward?

Isn't that the age old question.

Visions of you with another woman dance in front of me and I cringe, trying to ignore how my breath just caught painfully in my chest at the image

I'm sure she could offer more than myself

She's naive but not tainted by the cruelty in the world;

my wisdom came at a costly price

The skeletons that infest my closet choose to present themselves at the most inopportune of times,

they parade themselves in front of you and perform grotesque ballets to the sound of an orchestra comprised of stringed instruments and misery

Leave me be

let me dance with my demons and forget the sound of your name,

drowning you out to the tune of skeletal toes tapping a melody of love lost



palewingedpoetess's picture

the beautiful peaceful inner soul verses the wrestling mind

the contrasts are astounding but like anyone you know yourself better than anyone else other than God. Just try to always remember at the end of the day, you are the watcher who watches over the thinker. The true beauty that is yourself is the untouched soul not the woman who has had her herart broken umpteen times and been disillusioned with illusions of love offered that were never really love.  This poem to me was  the best because you revealed to your reader the things you want to tell that person you are longing for but feel you can't I pray you find it in yourself the courage to share this poem with that person you speak of. If he or she is not what you hope they are is better to find that out sooner than live in a dream world fueled by fear and a thousand plenty what ifs. Gorgeous piece. Just know if you don't share any more here. I will poetically pout for a year! ( A mere harmless, playful empty threat but do take me seriously post for us some more) Sincerely, M.