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PLAIN WHITE CANVASS
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POEMS FOR ME The white and red shaffed knuckles of my soul,
Relentlessly rapped upon my Lord's door...
"Take Me!" I begged, "I can't take this any longer!"
I KNEW I was loveable...
I KNEW I had a very generous, caring, giving heart...
I KNEW MY love could sustain a healthy relationship...
Given HALF a chance...
I KNEW!
I KNEW I yearned for a woman with professional intellect.
I KNEW I had to have one informed, could support me,
and love me through, and in spite of my mental illness.
I KNEW I needed a GOD-LOVING woman,
Assured in her lesbianism, GUILT-FREE.
I KNEW I desired a woman of hard work ethics,
Firm values & Undetering strength.
I ABSOLUTELY HAD TO HAVE a communicator...
A woman, loving...
Non-abusive, non-drinking, non-smoking...
WHO USED NO DRUGS AT ALL.
I deserved this much in the very LEAST.
I rallied to the Heaven's...
"One week!"
I'm tired of settling...
I'm tired of abuse...
I'm tired of the lonliness..."
Impractical?
That you, MY GOD cannot find my love, the one you have
made just for me...only for me...
IN ONE WEEK?
You created the universe in less.
Anyone, could live alone...
I HAD done it before...
Then SHE came...
Took me to the fire of her heartbeat...
Fanned smoke into flame,
Losing me in her grandiose dilusions...
Because like apparitions that rise up from the deep,
That stare into the restless, eagerness of your desire...
To think you can have a better life...
...HER DILUSIONS carried me along inthe plume of smoke.
And I...seeing this perfect person was attainable,
Blinded myself, by not seeing the lies...
LIKE A GUN, IT'S BARRELL IN MY MOUTH,
AND A HAND HOLDING FIRMLY, THE LUMP IN MY THROAT...
I was NOT ready to swallow...
THE FACTS...
TO LET GO OF THE DREAM.
THAT..."WE"..."THIS LOVE"...WAS NOT REAL.
SHE CAME TO ME...
And I like a soldier wounded,
Feverish with delerium,
Felt the healing touch of her aid...
Then like the ghostly apparition...
There before me at one moment...
THEN GONE!
Now, I am in another reality,
No longer in a war zone....
No longer in a foriegn land...
No longer in an aid station.
And it seems no one believes me, when I want to scream...
"It was real!
No! It wasn't the anestetic!
I wasn't just dreaming!"
Now when I'm alone,
And all the labels have been hurled at me...
I too wonder:
WAS SHE EVER REAL?
As I sit and contemplate...
The sent of her skin...plumeria flowers.
The smell of her hair..coco and shea butter oils.
Those lips that touched mine...rasberry chocolate gloss.
The feeling of her body next to me...silken gowns.
I refuse to think I'm crazy...it was real...wasn't it?
I HAVE MEMORIES...
I HAVE SCARS...
AND THE TRUTH THERE-IN & IN-BETWEEN...
I WILL NEVER KNOW.
I have been home from the front...
Three weeks...it seems like it was yesterday,
And yesterday, an eternity a string of pleasant fantasies...
....SHE MADE TRUE....
I used to move in rote fashion...
Now, I see the hands that pet my animals..
That craddle my cup of coffee.
Someone dresses me,
Brushes my teeth,
And every now and then,
I glimpse their face in the mirror...
And I am dumb struck...
It used to be me, that I'd see...
Now, maybe the image is a shell of what I once was...
Or that as I look at her...
She is an open canvass looking for the color of life,
Wanting a fevorish durge of brush strokes.
She'd do anything,
Than to look at THAT face...
...a plain white canvass.
