H to O

They became lovers
Within moments of first introduction
Never parted a single day.

She felt safe
With him
Never lonely
Or Misplaced.

He warmed her
When she was frozen.
Cooled her
When she burned like fire.
Tempted her
With his caresses.
Soothed her
When she was bereft.
Lapped up her tears
When she was maudlin.
Embraced her
When she was forlorn.
Comforted her
With his touch.
Kissed her
With his flowing essence.
Protected her
When she plunged to his depths.
Cherished her
When she danced in his embrace.
Supported her
When she floated upon his surface.
Tickled her
With his teasing fingers.
Brought her to ecstasy
With his pulsing rhythm.

Their passion never wavered.

He would always be her first
And most loyal lover.

© Kate Spyder 2014

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I Stand Here

I’m not here alone in the aftermath of forever
I do not stand here for all to see
I stand here to feel the depths of my sorrow
And to carry the burden of our love.

You do not travel with me, nor care to hear my woes
You whisper malcontent and passion has left you hollow
You scream the bells tolling the hour
And angst being unknown to you in all your tomorrows.

What we believe is our own downfall
For it blinds us to all things seeming impossible
While our hearts rejoice smothered in deaths wake
As we slip into the aftermath we long to embrace.

What was our tomorrows
Is now and forever
Then forgotten
Left on the doorstep we have trodden.

Make us weep the joy of our sorrow
Make us scream the tears of our pride
Make us bow before the darkness of our passion
Make us bleed the seed of our making.

I do not stand here alone
I have with me what no one will believe
A part of you which never bleeds.

© Kate Spyder 2014

A Gift I’ll Never Forget

He touched me with gentle hands. A single finger that slowly traveled down my spine and up again, over my face and down again. Ceaselessly, tirelessly. Some would say, a lover’s touch. I might would say the same thing now, but I knew then it was the touch of a man who loved me, cherished me, and adored me.

I touched him in turn. Sliding my finger along the raised vein on his hand. Watching it disappear beneath my finger just to pop right back up as my finger passed along its length of blue-green color. His skin darkly tanned, gnarled knuckles like the knots on an old tree. He was beautiful even with the aging spots upon his leathery skin.

For as long as he lived with us, I spent as much time as I could with him. Watching him prepare the rinse he would use to wash his eyes out every night before bed. Or to sit with him and just let him touch me. It didn’t matter what we did together. He was the only one who touched me anymore. He was the only one who sat with me, actually talked with me. He seemed to understand, I needed nothing except him and the love he gave me. So I loved him back fiercely.

I missed him after my father, his son, pushed him away. I miss him still. It wasn’t until some four or five years later I heard of his death and only then by reading the announcement of his death that my father had wrapped within one of my Christmas presents. I wanted to scream at my father, yell at him for not calling me so I could have said my good-byes. Instead, I clamped my lips tight, held back my tears, closed the lid of the gift never remembering what else was in the box, only the announcement of my grandfather’s death.

Saying Good-bye

They were tears. She was sure they were tears falling down her face. As she looked around her, at all the people, every one of them looked the same. Sullen, sad, downcast, whatever words you want to use, but nary a single tear.

Why? Why was she the only one crying?

She looked up at her father. Looked around at her brothers. Looked up at her mother. They were all the same as all the others surrounding them.

Even her grandfather.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears. She tried to be like them. She tried. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them, not until she felt her mother take her hand.

Her grandmother was there too, just not where one would expect their grandmother to be. She was there sealed in a beautiful shiny wooden box.

The last time she saw her had been over the weekend. Her dad had suddenly packed them all up in the car and taken them to his parent’s house, her grandparents.

She loved spending time with them, only this time was different. This time it was only her grandfather who met them at the door. When she asked where her grandmother was she was told she was in her bedroom, and that she was to stay out of the bedroom.

But when everyone was busy, she snuck in. She had to see her. She walked in, and walked around the bed to where her grandmother lay. She was dressed in her Sunday best dress. Even her shoes were on her feet. She looked like she was ready to just get up and go right to church.

But, she knew. She knew her grandmother would never get up again. She also knew what she looked at was only the shell that had held her grandmother. Her grandmother was no longer inside. She was gone and would never come back.

She didn’t cry then. She just stood and looked at her, knowing she still loved her. She was here to say her silent good-bye.

She didn’t stay long. She didn’t want anyone coming in and spoiling her time with her grandmother, chasing her out of the room, so she silently said her good-bye and quietly left the room. As she walked out she saw her grandfather and father letting in some men. She knew they were here to take her grandmother away.

A few days later, she was instructed by her parents to tell her teacher she would not be in school the next day since she had to go to her grandmother’s funeral. It wasn’t until after she told the teacher that she felt the hard lump in her throat so she asked to be excused to go to the restroom.

She sat alone in the restroom crying until a group of girls came in from her class and asked her why she was crying. She told them about her grandmother but she could tell many of them didn’t understand, especially didn’t understand why that would make her cry.

As she stood at the grave site watching them lower the shiny new wooden box into the ground, she looked around her at all the people without any tears and she wondered what was wrong with her. Why she was so different from all the others. Why she couldn’t be like them and not cry.

Where were you

Where were you
When I found myself
Looking up in the store
And all I saw were strangers all around,
And my fingers shook in fear
When I thought you had left me alone there.

Where were you
When tears ran down my face
As I stood alone surrounded by fate
In the midst of people with no faces
Who didn’t see death’s crate
Wrapping my grandmother in its cold embrace.

Where were you
When I ran from his touch
While I napped in his bed
Choking on the screams in my head
Wishing you saw me instead
Of the television that turned your head.

Where were you
When I needed a kind word
Instead of cruel uncertainty
Or a hug of reassurance,
Or acceptance instead of rejection
Or belief in me instead of the lies of others.

Where were you
As my heart broke
When you asked me to live with you
Instead of my mother
After all those years
Of never showing your love.

And all I could say was ‘no’.

Where were you
When I needed you
Where were you
When I loved you
Where were you
When I wanted to talk to you
Where were you
When I thought you were my hero
Where were you
When…

Why was it
The only time you
Held me
And told me
You loved me
Was in my dreams
After you were dead.

© Kate Spyder 2014

The only fool…

No one is ever a fool
for loving another
or for telling them so.

The only fool
is the one
who makes another
feel bad for doing so.

© Kate Spyder 2014

Slowly, Perpetually, Going Insane…

For the past three months I stepped away from almost all online activity other than checking my email and only searching for websites when something in my life required it. Not even any online chatting. Even phone calls to friends sort of took a nose dive into oblivion.

I took this time away to do some internal searching and evaluation. It was and is quite difficult to realize I am slowly, and quietly going insane while no one sees or cares.

I have no doubt I’m not alone in this evaluation however no one will admit it, even me, at least until recently. I wonder how long it will take others to finally admit it. Even if they do, I find no one broaches subjects that could possibly be hurtful. In fact, no one broaches subjects other than the politically correct niceties any more. Even the “Hi, how are you.” Is expected to be returned by “I’m fine thanks for asking.” While everyone knows it isn’t the truth but allowing the lie to convince them it isn’t a lie and gives them permission to ignore what is behind the façade.

There is something to be said for insanity. Insanity allows a person to say anything, even the truth while not hurting anyone, because everyone knows you are insane and that what comes out of your mouth is total nonsense to be shrugged off and ignored and whispered, “Do you see how crazy they are? It’s so sad.” While shaking their head and ignoring the truth of the statement.

In a larger part the world is perceived as insane so what goes on in it receives the same treatment as individuals of insanity. “Oh do you see how insane the world is? It’s so sad, especially for our children.” While shaking their heads and walking off ignoring all the truth around them.

I used to think I could change the world, but instead the world changed me. Made me cynical, distrustful, and doubt everything about myself and others. I used to think there was a man out there who would love me with so much depth he would fight for me. He would break down walls for me. He would show me that love really exists. But sadly I’m starting to believe that I believed in a lie.

And now I find myself slowly, perpetually, going insane.

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