Obvious to Even My Eyes.

You wish to hate her. But you cannot find a good enough reason to do so.  So you just love her and love her and love her for that tired but beautifully resilient soul. You wish to hate her, but you come to realize that you are not the only one privy to those dusty crevices in her mind. You wish to hate her even when she's sinking- but you just fucking can't. Even at her worst.

Destitute

You hope to write of it as though it is not that incorrigible word that your heart reverberates with when teetering on the brink of rest. As though it is more or less than what it truly is. But you know it is but one thing that consumes you when you leave yourself to... well- - yourself. And it is most pitiful because in those moments your vices are what look ridiculously enticing. It is warm saccharine to your clouded lungs and slender company to your nimble fingers.

Her resident insomniac

It was always the warm timbre of his voice whispered against her skin that would stir her senses into wake. Then the outline of his troubled brow would come into view and an apology would slip past his lips.

The metal band in his other hand.

She’d often wondered how things would have turned out had she simply let him hold her smaller hand in his. And yet her inherent response was now but a waft of lingering smoke from those stolen nights and bleary mornings that she had savored in the crook of her chest.

She’d never thought she’d alternately want to grasp those memories so close to her and to push them away so strongly.

I would adore

I would adore it if someone were to romance me with inked words rather than using empty verbs in eloquent speech .

I would adore an earnest, sincere, poem. Or just something so unabashedly from the heart.

Something that sets them apart in a way that showcases their eccentricity a la carte of their soul - if my Love would wish to bare.

But maybe that's too much to hope for- or do I dare?

Smooth Away

Some days I look at you 

and all I wish to do is smooth

down that wrinkle atop your

forehead.  

Other days I wish to kiss away 

those two lines that appear beside your lips

when you frown.

Everyday I hope to see your eyes 

crinkle in joy.

Warm

Warm.

Our chests are inches away

and the first thing that comes

to mind is how warm you are.

For a moment I wonder whether 

or not I should be sitting in your lap 

or merely snuggling myself into you.

I do neither.

I sit up, place a knee besides both sides of you, lean

myself against you, weave my fingers through your hair

and kiss your forehead.

Yes. Warm indeed.

Drunken prose

Drunk and I don’t wanna get sober 

The reluctance to sit down and to keep a never ending sway 

is taking over.

Am I just use to you?

Am I in love with you or am I just use to you?

I heard that in a song  once while I handed you

your cup of coffee in the morning- just the way you like it.

I took a moment to think about 

it but it didn`t take long.  

I then took to observing your messy morning hair, your puffy sleepy

eyes, and your lazy morning gait.

Nothing new- nothing particularly vibrant or eye catching about the sight

of your sleepy self.

Just you.

But somehow it`s always enough for me to want kiss you awake 

in ways a cup of coffee can`t wake you.

That`s good enough.

Too exhausted

You were leaning against your jetta in front of my building and 

I was so close to running and literally tackling you in a hug.

You looked dapper.

But I was too exhausted

I could feel the excitement in my chest and I was so close 

to beaming but I settled for a small smile.

I was too exhausted.

I wanted to hug you the way we used

to when I was in highschool.

In that cheesey way of running to each other and

me jumping so you can spin me.

Yeah. We used to do that.

But none of that happened, I was too exhausted.

First time intiating

In my minds eye I am forthright and I pull him 

to me with every intention of doing what I want to do.

But as I stand before him, my fingers meekly curl around 

the strings from his hoodie and I softly tug.

My cheeks warm and he leans down.

Now

Bold lithe fingers.

Impatient nimble hands.

Finger nails digging- only touches command

Perturbed

Frightened-

absolutely frickin' frightened.

That's how I felt the moment I realized 

that I wanted to kiss someone other than you.

I didn't think there would be someone other than you.

What bothered me most was that the basest

of that momentary want wasn't just physical 

attraction. 

Fuck, am I just vulnerable?

I've known vulnerability- but this kind specifically, is scaring me.

I know it's too soon for this, almost four weeks. But that fact doesn't change anything.

Is it his kindness?

Is it his thoughtfulness?

Is it his humor?

Damn it, what's wrong with me?

...

...

...

I can't trust myself.

Tired

Their are times when the screen of
my laptop loses it`s sharp lines and
nothing is in focus.
Things become a haze
of blurry fuzzy lines.
And in these moments theirs never
a sense worry or fear about my
state of vision but rather a sense of
calm. The kind of feeling that
comes hand in hand when
one comes to the realization of
`oh, I must be tired`.


This keeps happening.
I really must be fucking tired.

Something old with someone new.

I thought I'd try something old with someone new a few days ago. 

But to my dismay- I just wanted to see you sitting across the table .

Herself

As a young girl she’d dipped

her toes into the comfort of her own mind.

She hid in the nooks and crannies

of her soul. Hoping that all those who

treaded- would do so lightly.

If not cautiously, for she had

long been scared into the only

place she knew well.

Meager Moment

People say that the bathroom is where their best kind of thinking is done. That used to be the case for me. More specifically the bath- or shower if you will.

I used to love taking baths. But I realized, if I stay 

in too long, the sound of my own thoughts drown out every thing else,

that I become still, as does the water.

So still.

When movement becomes necessary the feeling of the water moving across my skin, and the sound of it all, is what snaps me out of my cluttered mind. 

I don't like leaving myself to my own thoughts. They consume me.

..

..

Today I thought that I'd treat myself to a warm bath. And I remembered you during this particular time of pruning. It was about a few months ago- I sat in your tub and you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall as you read. Art of War, was it ?

I don't know.

But I do recall you said 'do you mind me reading here, love?' 

I remember I scoffed, flicked bubbles at you, and said 'Does my company bore you?'

You spoke immediately. ' Actually, naked or not I really like your company. I could always just read in my room, but I want to read beside you.' A sarcastic response was on the tip of my tongue but you gave me that crooked grin and fetched your book anyways. 

You really did read. It was endearing. I could tell by the way that you changed your position every so often to read more comfortably.

I enjoyed the silence but then my fingers started to prune and my own thoughts became too loud. 

That's when your voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

-

That's what I remembered today.

Damn, I just miss you.

I wonder

I wonder what I’ll be doing when the thought of missing you no longer hurts, but is a dull blur at the edge of my mind. Will I be in the middle of washing the dishes when the thought of you hits me? Will I be able to smile without tearing up? Will I have forgotten our escapades, our random walks, our comfortable silences?

You.

Your humor, your crooked smile, your character, your sincerity?

 Will I be able to look at you without wanting to rediscover you?

…

…

 But I still wonder.

What am I to do?

Your continuous motion inspires my tumultuous emotion 

Never ceasing, but at times, a glimpse

of quiet distortion

In your smile, it’s there, though barely so

Yet inevitably, it seems, it’ll be the fore of your woes

Sex and nothing else

A stranger asked me something terribly important yesterday. It was in a crowded room full of young well dressed adults, it was a soiree of sorts. Everyone was looking at me, it was in the midst of the presentation and the presenter searched the crowd and chose me first. I was buzzed and exhausted but the alcohol was doing wonders. I was feeling light and all I really wanted to do was to groove to all the beats with someone- anyone, as long as their was some sort of human contact. Fuck, things never really go well when there's alcohol involved with this kind of emotion. 

So the presenter asked me this:

"What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of love?"

And I didn't think twice. I smirked, I fucking smirked and I lightly scoffed as though what would come from my lips would be the most obvious answer and I said. 

..

...

"Sex." 

SEX? What the fuck? I kind of expected more from myself. What's wrong with me? How basic can I get? Love means more to me than just that. Although, sex is an aspect of a romantic relationship that can come and go, it's not something that lasts. Sex can be beautiful, it's a union of two people who love each other, but it's not something that fully encompasses my perception of love. Damn, why couldn't I have said something like ' patience, long-suffering, wonderful, fleeting, transient?' 

But damn, maybe it really just was the alcohol and the performances that were sexy.

Sandalwood and Pancakes

I resisted the urge to lick my dry lips and to stuff my hands roughly into my pocket. The neatly pressed sheets and the intricately patterened golden bed post made for a posh like backdrop to her form. Slender hands lay almost dainty-like atop her lap— the image blurred my senses back to a sun filled apartment, the hazy scent of sandalwood and pancakes.

For a moment, I lingered.

The reverie, however, fell apart when the corner of her lips tugged down. She crossed her ankles and my gaze followed her lithe legs clad in opaque stockings, then to her flimsy cream robe.

“This isn’t a game. You need to leave.” 

Her demand sounded hollow to me and the lack of urgency in her tone stole my breath. I had pictured this moment to be filled with passion of the admonishing kind- I would plead until my knees ached, and somehow we would both give into the weight of it all. And yet none of my dramatic expectations had been met. I had gone over the possibilities and yet this wasn’t one of them. This wide space between us was never part of those damn ridiculious possibilities.

I looked to my shoes.

Resentment pricked at my mind and I bit back a mirthless chuckle— heavy and vile. I sighed before I spoke “No. I can’t leave.” Something flickered in her tired brown eyes as I swallowed the lump of nerves down my throat. My palms were moist with perspiration and the need to wipe them made my fingers twitch.

“Steven,” she called out. My chest ached but I couldn’t help but savor the way my name quietly slipped past her lips. I could already feel my resolve begin to melt as her eyes softened.

“I—” I paused to recollect the words in my mind. But the task proved difficult as her gaze did not falter. “I can get you away from all this. We can leave.” Her delicate eyebrows began to furrow, so my mouth moved faster. “And– an—just. I. You just gotta hear me out!” I ignored the desperation that had grown much too evident in my voice. It pained me to stare, her thin wrists, her collar bone jutted unhealthily under her skin, her makeup somewhat hid the gauntness of her cheeks and it was was all so damn unnatural, really.

Her gaze steeled and she stood, the swell of her hips more pronounced as she stepped towards me. “I’m here for a reason.” My mouth ran dry and she looked away.

One lone face, so vivid, stood in my mind. There was only one man this woman would break herself for.

I ignored the sudden weakness in my knees. “That much, huh? You love him this much.” I croaked.

There was a pregnant pause and my hands balled into fists. Until finally, I dared to peak at her clear face.

The tears and the solid determination in her eyes was enough for me to understand. 

I miss you

I miss waking up to you in the morning.

With our limbs tangled, our hair mused.

Chest to chest, spent, from the nights we’d pursued.

I miss the serenity of it all-

our fingers entwined- I was truly enthralled.

Some nights, we’d walk hours and hours with no sense of time to recall.

Now, those memories are grainy at most

But I hold on-

and it’s no boast.

Transience.

Stretches of comfortable silences

coupled with bouts of your crooked smiles brilliance. 

I couldn’t help but admire your resounding resilience. 

Fleeting

minutely wonderful

A partnership- a lasting friendship- I didn’t care to be careful.

Now, at times, ’What If’s’ are all I stifle.

This is the first poem that that had anything to do with love. and it's taken me years to be able to extract the feelings in my heart and to convey them in actual words. I normally have this sort of mental block that inhibits me from writing about this topic no matter the kind of relationship it's about, be it about loving my parents to being about a romantic relationship. It's just one of those things. So in a way I'm kind of happy that I was able to get this down.

Salutations everyone. My name is Ruth. It has come to my attention that the amount of time I spend on tumblr, daily, is utterly outrageous! In light of fasting my strange addiction to said website, I shall be starting anew with blogger.com. That is not to say that I'm going to stay away from tumblr forever, but rather, this will be a lot more intimate of a blog that will solely focus on my writing and life in general which could include fashion or thrift finds.

  I find that the my most intimate poems or thoughts get lost in the haze of the reblogging spell of: 'OMG, I love fooooood! REBLOG.' Or 'OMFG- legend of korra is out REBLOG.' or 'ryan gosling is a sexy ass mofo REBLOG!' 

I need time away from the instant reblog. I'd always wanted to seriously blog, I have a feeling that through this route, I'll be able to see the progress of my writing, fashion, or just me. Anyways, I hope that whomever does stumble upon this blog, will be able to find a kindred spirit in me.