A Tale

It is a story I tell about the ones who left

The love that was lost

Those who did not see me until I was long gone

It is full of truth and tinged with love

It makes some people laugh and others cry

It is a good tale

I know it well

I have told it so many times

The pages of the book are tattered

Perhaps a chapter is missing

Maybe lost in a move or during a windstorm

They ask for these words

And listen with wide eyes and eager ears

As I regale them with details

Of the roads less travelled and embraces lost in time

This tome holds the names of my memories

And now you are part of the story

That I sometimes skip

Because it is something I would rather not think

Of in my journey

But every once in a while

I repeat those words that include you and miss you

For that is all you are now

A story I tell that makes me remember and makes me laugh

And wonder if maybe I should leave this part out

As it does not fit with the rest

It seems a misfit, a stranger

Just as you seem to be someone I did not know at all



You told me to wait

Treated me like I

Was a child who wanted

Forbidden candy

I looked down in shame

Wanting to please you

Knowing that I caused

Irritation with my desire

I went back to the place

You indicated I belonged

And sat down cross-legged

Foolishly believing you

Would come for me

Minutes passed to hours

Hours to days

And I looked out the window

At the setting sun

And realized you

Would never be back

I would cry except

I know that my tears

Would be seen by no one

And my sorrow would be

Unknown to you

As silly as it seems

I hate to cry alone

So I swallow my tears

And stand up stretching

Swearing to myself

“Never again!”

Hoping I will not

But knowing myself

All too well


If it were not for the smell there would be no indication

That the sweet perfume that once was still existed in this beautiful bottle

You would not close your eyes

And remember a time when the dab on your delicate wrist

Made men swoon

And turned you into someone else

You would not walk with mincing steps on high heels that are not yours

You would not wear that dress or the see-through shirt

You would not kiss him

You would not fall in love

Better to see the bottle as it is


Smelling vaguely of something familiar but not quite known

Shoved in the back of your junk drawer

Next to a love letter from Tim in grade school

And old chapstick

Forgotten and where it belongs


You can cut me with your sharp knife

Tell me it does not hurt

But I still feel the pain

You can push the tip deep

Twisting the blade inside me

Making me cry

And you can claim you did not

Mean to cause me this

Did not mean to wound

I can pretend to believe you

I can open my mouth to your kiss

And my ears to your lies

We can be this, not real

We can be something I remember

Something from long ago

I can pretend you were sent to save me

You can pretend to love me

We can have a facade of joy

And in the dark when we turn our backs

Facing the wall and thinking

We will know

This was not reality, we were not here

This was all something we wished for

A dream…something not real

I can hold you and kiss that spot

The one on your neck that makes you tremble

And I can imagine

I will remember when we were new

When you sighed at the thought

Of us together

I can remember that once I had you

Once you were mine body and soul

And now….now you are gone

Even though I see you sitting across from me

And I can hold your hand

I know you are no longer

What was once only



This is a circus

The ringleader is loud

His red jacket is too tight

Buttons stretched and worn at the elbows

His hair is slicked back and his moustache is waxed

“Welcome!” he yells and everyone flinches

The tigers come out

Their muscles rippling under their fur

Their eyes looking sharply for escape, even though they will never run

The elephants are giving rides and the children sit on their backs

Clutching the saddle with sticky hands and yelling in joy and terror

The trapeze artists swing overhead

Death defying with no net

The crowd applauds and lift their eyes upward

This is the circus

The tent is empty

Popcorn boxes and drink cups litter the ground

Tired men clean the floor and spread clean straw

Young girls hide behind the bleachers

And giggle at the young boys

Who are pretending to be lion tamers

And fire eaters

The ringleader sits alone in his tent

Before an old cracked mirror

And gazes at himself in sadness

For he realized that this circus will end soon

As the sun sets on the midsummer day

The workers trudge back to their tents

And the lions close their eyes

The strong man kisses his bible

And everyone goes to sleep

And dreams that they are free


It is true that true love can conquer all. It is also true that loving someone can conquer you. I do not believe that fairy tales come true. I do not think that happiness is just around the corner. I have found that opening a present does not mean that you are getting a gift. Sometimes it is best to look at the pretty wrapping and then just put it back. Not everything ends well. Most things don’t. I was told today that happiness is bigger and envelopes the sorrow. I do not believe that. No matter how much happiness you have, it can all be taken away. People die. People leave. People hurt you. You can give everything and it does not mean that it will matter. It does not mean others will care. All of my decisions in life have led me here. Do I like it here? Hell no! Do I wish I was somewhere else, someone else? All the time. I have come to the realization that what I want is not in the cards for me. I am not the “lucky” one. I do not trust my intuition. I do not trust my heart. I no longer think that there is someone out there who will be genuine. I have had a life full of people who tell me things they do not mean. Lies of “good intentions” and hope. I no longer wish to be on the receiving end of these words. I do not want to hear them. Do not open your mouth and tell me things that cannot be. Do not tell me you tried. Trying is blood, sweat, and tears. I see no sweat on your brow. I see no blood on your hands. I see no tears on your cheeks. I am tired of people’s “efforts” to be good and to care. Their efforts are short lived and pathetic. Their efforts have caused me pain. As it always is. And most likely always will be. Love? I don’t even want to hear that word anymore. I want to look at you and if your lips move I do not wish to hear what sound you emit. I do not wish to know how I am not enough. I do not wish to know how I will never be enough. I don’t want to know anything. I wish I never had this knowledge. It eats at my soul and burns my heart. This pain is not worth any joy I may have felt for a fleeting moment. For the joy was not real was it? I would have to say THAT is the truth. The only truth I know. .


The magician removed his hat

To show me it was empty

“Abracadabra!” he yelled as he

Waved his black wand

I stood on my tiptoes to try

To see the secret inside

“Ah, ah, ah” he says with a

Wicked smile and a waving finger

“Not yet, you have to earn it”

I am confused but he assures me

The requests he has are small

A ring for my finger and a white dress

A promise from my lips

“Not much” he whispers in my ear

“Not much to see my magic!”

I willingly give him my hand

The ring slips on so easily

And the dress is beautiful

The promise is a bit scary

Till death seems so long

But I so love magic so I concede

He turns to me a glint in his eye

“I shall show you tomorrow”

Please I say, but he shakes his head

“Anticipation is a lovely thing”

I suppose I can wait a day

A day turns into weeks

Weeks turn to years

I have not forgotten his promise

But life seems to have got in the way

As we pass in the dark one night

I ask to finally see the magic he promised

“Very well, you have been so patient”

He pulls the black hat from the

Back of the closet

Dusts it off and says the magic words

And waves his black wand

Proudly he tips the hat my way

I look inside and begin to cry

For the hat is empty

He laughs and throws it back

In the dirty corner of the closet

He turns and skips away without a goodbye

Going on to his next audience

Forgetting me, and my promise,

And my wish for magic

As he lures another into his

Magic show

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