To Know Her

Dim light falls on her, gently exposing her feminine contours
and her intimate contemplation in the night’s late hours.
To know her, is to know an exceptionally beautiful aura;
to hold her heart, is to intimately know the levels of her depths
and to hold her soul and body tightly in loving caress.
With her pulled up, the strands that are left brush against her neck.
Like the petals of a burgundy rose, she is gorgeous and delicate.
With or without heels — she is sensual in her steps.
She gives of herself and exudes love with every breath.

Aura of Her

She meditates in darkness

Bathed in feminine softness

Bearing the contours of a sensual goddess

The aesthetic mystery of her body
is just the surface

Her soul is beautiful and perfect in its purpose

Her voice is like many peaceful streams
and summer sunlight glistening on the surface
of calm rivers

Blue Dreams

Colors of blue variations enter into intimate spaces.
Dark blue flows through, leaving light blue traces.
Ultramarine blue lips on a goddess, leaves the mark of a celestial kiss.
Chelsea blue, covering New York City in the warmth of spring is almost ethereal;
Midnight blue, contrasting against an ivory backdrop is beautiful.
Majorelle blue silk, brushing against soft cream colored quilts is next to sensual.
A blue sapphire shinning in its clarity is a wondrous thing of mystery;
On a golden throne, indigo stands alone, but together with ivory
It is an empyrean beauty for the eyes to see.
Navy blue and cream, should never go unseen.
Egyptian blue, approached me subtly

With white chocolate dipped strawberries
And kissed me in an erotic dream.

Ryan’s Journal

11:17 AM
Toms River, NJ

Two days ago, I found out my father was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. He was always a heavy smoker, but stage four lung cancer is a shock to our whole family. My father and I, haven’t spoken to each other for the last five years; I had to hear the news through the voice of my crying mother. He told my two sisters and my brother the news sometime last week, but they didn’t tell me shit. Even though he told them to keep it from me, my mother couldn’t hold it in any longer. I’m saddened by the news, but I’m not going to cry about it. My father is an abusive piece of shit. I’m the first born, and my siblings had it easy in comparison to what he did to my mother and I. Still, there is some strange resentment from them towards me. What the hell did I do? Is it because I never came back home for their bullshit Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners? I don’t know why my mother decided to stay with him after all the beatings and emotional abuse. When I became older, I figured it was because of the money he made — and the fact that my mother never finished college and didn’t have a trade, or anyway to sustain a family of four children on her own. My father was an aviation mechanic for thirty years and always made good money, along with doing gunsmithing on the side. He did take care of a family of five, and we never went to bed hungry — and always had good Christmases. Anything would set my father off, and the nights he came home intoxicated, my mother and I knew he would become abusive. She would tell me to hide in the closet in my room, and I would hear her wailing from being beaten. I hated him then, and I hate him now. Fuck him. When he dies, I might not even show up at the funeral, though it may break my mother’s heart. I love her, but I don’t know if I can do it. I’m seven years older than the second oldest sibling Laura. Her version of my childhood is revisionist bullshit. After my father suffered a heart attack, he slowed down significantly with the drinking and the abuse, so my brother and sisters didn’t go through what my mother and I went through. They don’t know a goddamn thing. I have this underlying anger in me; I tend to take things too far. If someone hurts me, I want them to hurt one hundred times more; then I want them gone.

Since my high school days, I’ve liked fighting, and really inflicting pain on any perceived enemies. Once, I broke this kid’s jaw in two places; he had been teasing me, and trying to bully me for weeks — I’d had enough. When I came home that day ,I thought I was in for a beating, but my father was proud of me, and even allowed me to drink half of his six pack of cold beer. My mother, just stared at me with tears and went back into her bedroom. I think I was sixteen years old at the time. One day, I was walking home from school, and the kid’s father approached me, screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs. I told my father about what happened, and the next day he went looking for him. when he found him, he told the guy he would kill him if he ever came near me again. Years later, I found out that my father stuck the barrel of his .45 Colt, into the guy’s mouth. From what I hear, the guy urinated on himself. Though he was protective of his family from other people, he was the monster who constantly beat my mother and severely damaged my mental health.

After I graduated high school, I left home and never looked back. My mother sent me to live with her sister, in Toms River, New Jersey; one state away from my hometown of Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania. In Toms River, I learned a trade — and ironically became an aviation mechanic like my father. All my other siblings finished college, and my sister Laura received her Master’s in Finance. She met some guy in college, and they got married. I rarely speak to my siblings, but I accept it as part of my reality. I have one niece and two nephews that I’ve only seen a few times; that fucking bothers me. I’ve never married, because I don’t think I’m the marrying type, but my girlfriend Melissa has been with me for five years now, and I love her. Lately, I’ve been going to therapy and working everyday to purge the anger out of my system. Melissa’s been supporting me, and she’s such an encouragement; the tears are falling right now. I love her so much. Signing off for now — I have grocery shopping to do. Melissa is eight months pregnant, and it was so unexpected; but a beautiful surprise. I don’t think my daughter will get to meet my father; I don’t know how I feel about that right now. The oncologist told him he has roughly six months left. Damn.

In Her Weeping

The black veil is taken away by strong winds,
exposing the depths of agony in her weeping;
there is anguish in her rising, and no rest in her sleeping.
Listen intently, and hear the sorrow of her speaking.
Before misery takes over completely,
she hides the joyous parts of her heart for safe keeping.
The weight of woe makes it hard for her to breathe;
the heaviness of it tears the soul’s fabric
and causes wailing of the deeply wounded spirit.
Unceasing torment renders her numb and listless.
In the darkness, she whispers incoherent utterances in the chair she sits.
Reality is harsh in its coldness — and it can be merciless;
Oh heaven, please turn her many tears in to diamonds,
and her piercing wails, into a joyous song.
Death has taken away from her, what she has loved for so long—
hands, adorned in black satin gloves, lovingly slide down the entire length of the casket,
where inside there is lifelessness — heavy teardrops fall on him
as she leans over, and as if in a trance — she stares at him.
She whispers something to him, before kissing him;
an utterance of secrecy that only belongs to her and him.
Six solemn faced men line up to carry him, to hollowed earth, where they will lay him.
It is there, that she comes with flowers, and weeps in her praying.
The cold fall winds blow against her face and cause her tears to fall away,
as if trying to comfort her in her mourning.
She will see him again in the light of heaven’s dawning.
He is no more, but in her heart, she carries him,
so he walks among the living — breathing, seeing, and whispering.
Even in his departing, her heart still belongs to him.
She is beautiful, as much as she is loving.
She is beautiful, as much as she is loving.







Hold On

Before the pain, she laughed beautifully and wrote her name,
and after it came, it brought lifelessness and dark rain;
but she was never told that she was not to blame,
so when she cried, she was ashamed — and sorrow,
consternation, and anger boiled in her veins.
Though she may pass feigned smiles, if you look into her eyes,
it is there that great pain lies—
draining her joy and her essence through a forced disguise.
But there is a quiet strength that fuels the fire of hope,
and in that hope she survives, pushing back against fear and its lies;
tears constantly fall, and somehow in a desolate place, she manages to smile.
Her tears are dried and looking through gorgeous eyes,
she will abide and make it through the night.

Beauty of Her Being

She stands there, heartbroken,
but with resolve to move on and flourish again.
In silent reflection, her heart calls to heaven
for a true love to send.
She had forgotten to love herself,
so to herself she made amends,
promising to never neglect her heart again.
Until she finds him,
she will be restored in the light of healing in the interim.
Like flowers in spring with vibrant colors blooming—
The beauty of her being is stunning;
in her cogitation, she has found
that she was created in divine perfection,
and her faults make her human.
She will love again.
She is determined.