Cherry Wine

It’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. To laugh and love with caution because you might wake up tomorrow and it’ll be the end of the world. Figuratively speaking of course. You might wake up tomorrow and he’ll give you a list of reasons why he wanted to end it. And, just like always, you’ll sit there, hands in your laps or tucked under your thighs, waiting; for all the reasons on where you went wrong. You’ll sit and wait for the ball to drop. You’ll keep waiting for the day, no matter how great things are because you know it’s coming. It’s inevitable. The feeling will linger in all the dark alleys of your over active imagination and it’ll burn holes in your heart, so deep that no amount of kind words and hugs would ever fill it again. The feeling will turn you into them, because that’s the only kind of love you know. The kind that loves with open hands and closed fists, never fixing and always breaking. So, you wait. Because somewhere down the line, somewhere in the last 10 years, you made yourself believe that good things aren’t meant for you.

There is no ending to this. It’s a constant battle.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

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An Ode to the Heart

Hearts; trapped in rib caged prisons,
are often given out like candy on Halloween,bandaidheart
And are often returned bruised and purple.
Some learn to heal faster than others.
These are the dangerous ones
They  puff out their chests like a peacock
and walk around with the confidence of being invincible,
ready to be broken all over again.
They wear a shield of armour, each one stronger than the one before.
It’s these fixed ones you have to watch out for.
They run in to battle every time, regardless of the consequences.
And there are some hearts,
The ones who desperately try to avoid the super glue and hope
They’re like soldiers who return home from war,
And are asked to go back to fight after a month
They walk around, limping and shivering from PTSD
They don’t always learn to beat the same way again
They only heal once the war is completely over.
Once they know for sure they don’t have to fight another day.
Hearts are brave little things.
Give them room to heal and grow.
Give them a reason to keep beating.
 —————————————————————————————–
Yours truly,
Painted Shadow

 

Unsteady

I find myself falling in love with things out of my reach, like the sky or you. I find myself holding on to things that are desperately begging to be let go off.  Things that don’t want to be held or touched. Things that love to run away. I’m not used to being in one place for a long time. I’m used to being temporary. I’m used to new places and new faces. I’m used to running away. I gave you my heart; bandaged and glued together, and you had the audacity to give it back with more cracks. I don’t believe in much but I believe in expiration dates. I find myself always looking for them on the back of milk cartons and on relationships. Things aren’t meant to last long. At least that’s what I’ve been shown. Until you drove past my darkest thoughts and stopped to listen.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

Little Things

I notice little things
a little too much,

I notice the smallest things about a person
a little too often

Like the birthmark at the corner of her neck
isolated and perfect,
my empty hand already writing stories about it.

I notice the jagged lines and dents on his forearm
creating valleys that I wanted to get lost in,
as he stirred his black coffee.
I memorized their rhythm
and just like a snake;
I was fixed in a trance watching his movements.

I notice things like
your off shaped tooth
or the funny scratch on your eye brow

I notice when your eyes twinkle
and when they go dim

I try not to on some days though.
But most days, I enjoy noticing things
Little things.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Come Pick Me Up.

One night I will wake up just before the clock strikes 3 am

I will roll over and pull my blanket around me;

As I roll over I will find the warm wall your body built

between me and the edge of the bed.

One day when I wake up at 3 am,

I won’t have my thoughts keeping me awake

instead the drumming of your heart

will sing me a sweet lullaby

until I drift back to sleep.

One day when I wake up at 3 am,

it won’t be because the monsters under my bed

are talking loudly, but instead,

it might be because your snoring in my ear stirred me awake

or you pulled the blanket all the way to your side

or just because.

One day when I wake up at 3 am,

I won’t be searching for my phone to text you about the dream I just had

instead, I’ll wake you, or try to at least, and tell you about it.

One day.

One can hope, that One day.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

 

I’ll keep wondering.

I often wondered why I couldn’t write about you.

I often day dreamed about your warm breath against my neck,

or the sound of my name (or versions of it) rolling off your tongue,

But I could never quite figure out why I couldn’t write about you.

I couldn’t turn you in to metaphors and exaggeration.

I couldn’t even rhyme your name.

Heck, I couldn’t even figure out the rhythm of your beating heart!

You’d think that after six months I’d have figured it out,

But here I am, still wondering.

Maybe, just maybe;

You are worth more than a clever metaphor and rhyme.

Maybe, just maybe;

You mean more to me than just a poem.

Maybe, just maybe;

I can’t turn you in to poetry, because you’re not a figment of my over active imagination.

Maybe, just maybe,

You’re real.

 

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

You and I.

I am a jar of butterflies and moths. I am a novel of ‘Uhmms’ and nervous twitches. I am a balloon of confidence and smart comebacks. I am also a sack of positive soul food. I am a bowl of excited chatter and hysterical rants.I am greedy and love. I am everything that is allowed to be. I am torn and stitched together. I am bruised and flawless. I am hot water in a quivering glass. I am a ticking grenade at a Christmas dinner. I am always fight and win. I am precious moments and heartbreaks. I am everything. 

And then there’s him.

He’s a shaken bottle of champagne. He’s an encyclopedia of scars and dark stories. He’s mystery and secret romance that blossoms under the moonlight. He’s withheld promises and careful touches. He is the bomb squad. He is the glue and duct tape. He is soul and a strong seductive voice. He is a warm mug of hot cocoa. He is crumbling toast and peanut butter. He is all the wonder and beauty of an eclipse and he is all the destruction and beauty of an avalanche.He is always fight and win. He is everything. 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow