Archive for July, 2008


closing the flood gates of sorrow

Filed under: life, love, prose poem, random, thoughts by lissa — 13 Comments
July 31, 2008

photo by mrtriggerfinger.

***

his sadness is the kind that clings, fills oceans, and causes floods in your desire to help make him whole.

i want to infuse him with love. i want to be the heat that recedes the depth of his need. i’m not the first; perhaps the number of people who have felt the same could fill a small country. when he allows it, his charm hides his infinite voids, and he makes you laugh in places that feel like they were created by him. he awakens dead tissue in your love organ.

the chambers of my heart swell for him. i wrap my body around him and try to immerse love into his pores, try to let touch be a filter for my feelings.

he is the master of his own destiny though. i cannot drift to the dreamland he goes to with tall five-eyed monsters who tell him he’s not good enough so many times that he starts to foam at the mouth and shake.

i place cold wash cloths against his temple when he’s stilled. i press my lips against his and breathe warm, giant gulps of life into the depths of his lungs. you will never drown me like the others, i whisper when his breathing still hasn’t become regular. let it out.

he hides his face in my chest and softly cries the monsters out from his soul. i love you, he says, the vibration of his words stroking the middle of my chest. there’s a brief moment before he falls back to sleep where i see a sliver of darkness, a portion of his ocean of sadness, dissipate. it closes the flood gates another inch; it keeps me swimming.

–lissa

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dark chocolate candy land

Filed under: family, love, poetry, prose poem by lissa — 13 Comments
July 29, 2008

photo by jessi.

***

i sat beside his chair every night for as long as he would let me
his eyes stayed so still it didn’t seem like he ever blinked
the air slowly squeezed in and out of his chest like his body
was in a constant struggle with life his cheek leaned against his hand
so loosely that it seemed like his head might droop onto the mahogany table
the grooves so thick in the wood that the table could split into two
splintering slowly like the mind of a person longing for love

he would stare at the ceiling for hours his arms clenched around his body
so tightly that i think he forgot i was there watching him
he whispered her name softly his eyes racing back and forth
across the ceiling as though they were chasing after something

i stroked my hand against his cheek and he stared at me
the wild haunted glaze in his eyes disappearing behind dark chocolate walls
his lips slowly curved into a mechanical grin
like we were strangers meeting for the first time in a fantasy world
where people and pain stayed behind their assigned walls
as he ran his fingers through my hair and told me to go to bed

–lissa

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untitled sadness

Filed under: life, poetry, writing by lissa — 12 Comments
July 22, 2008

photo by guiba6.

***

sometimes he calls me and i remember
what joy is like — a small explosion
that leaves quiet flecks of longing
in its wake.

around him i pretend loneliness builds bridges
in the hollow walls of my heart.
i smother the fire out of my sadness
by pressing myself against a tiny clump
of grey covers to keep from writhing
into an unacceptable wrinkle of rage.

if he wasn’t the god of my world
maybe i could tell him i cry myself to sleep
wondering if my destiny is enduring
the empty embraces of my cold winter arms.

i protect him from my sadness instead
and talk about the sixteen degree weather
how my body turned winter cold for hours
no matter how close i leaned against the radiator.

i laugh and the sound sticks to my throat
when i say i finished and published my book
about the seven steps to conquer solitude
because of the blessedly empty winters.

he laughs and tell me how easy i have it.
yeah, i say, wrapping the phone cord around my arm
closing my eyes to stop the sticky stream of sadness.

-lissa

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breathe for me

Filed under: life, poetry by lissa — 11 Comments
July 10, 2008

photo by MontanaRaven.

***

we’re so close that i can
hear his breathing. slow
purposeful breaths that
go deep into the pit
of his stomach.
he says he doesn’t feel
fear because of the calm
he breathes deep into his soul.

i wish i could tape record
his breaths and play them
at night when i cry so hard
that the air can’t get pass my
throat. the sound of his breaths
could stroke me over and over
until we’re one and the same
and i realize life is similar
to breathing: a continuous
cycle of loss and gain.

–lissa

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monster: a fairy tale.

Filed under: flash fiction, love, prose poem, random, writing by lissa — 9 Comments
July 9, 2008

photo by Bedoya.

***

i once knew a monster. i loved him and he loved me too. we could talk for days without end. we could paint each other’s sentences.

sometimes, after a night filled with laughter that extended into every part of our body, monster would take my head and push it down a flight of stairs. he would curl up into a ball and sob afterwards. my head at the bottom of the stairs cursed him but my detached body hugged him. he didn’t mean it. it’s just that happiness writes white. i need my darkness. all you do is illuminate me, he said.

i loved monster and i didn’t know how to dissipate the brightness of that love. i made him too happy to write and he destroyed more and more of me with each passing day. eventually i became so broken that the pieces wouldn’t come back together. monster weeped and weeped and his sorrow began to form beautiful black, blue, red, and purple poetry.

monster lived miserably ever after until my love for him began to decay into a darkness that even monster couldn’t thrive in. he curled into a ball and sobbed when the colors of his poetry began to bleed. i didn’t mean it. i’ll put her back together, he said to the darkness. poor monster’s pleads didn’t work though. the darkness swallowed him whole.

–lissa

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our only sunshine

Filed under: family, life, love, poetry by lissa — 17 Comments
July 6, 2008

photo by threelittlebirds (Mindy J).

***

i reach for him
my body already numb
from too much pinot noir
and anticipate his rejection.

i know he doesn’t mean it but god does
it hurt that he’s left me with only
the shell of his body, his inner core
on retreat in the world of sorrow.

i deal with life for the both of us.
i repaint the pink walls white.
i donate the little dresses to charity.
i put the picture books into boxes
unable to keep from reading each one.
my fingers caress the brightness
on the pages. i hold the hard covers
against my face, nudging the word
love that always seems to be in
the title with my cheek.
leap into me love
never let me go .

tonight the boundary
between our worlds finally collide.
when i reach for him
he lets me hold him.
he lets his body relax into mine
and i feel a piece of darkness
slip out from under us.

you are my sunshine
my only sunshine i say
rubbing his back
kissing the tears away.

we were supposed to sing it to her
i say as our bodies rock back and forth
finally wading through the pain together.

–lissa

inspired by a readwritepoem prompt about light

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