Adapt

 

It’s been more than a year. About ten or eleven months longer. Give or take a few weeks. I thought about posting a year to the date last year, but why should I? It’s not going to make a difference. Time passes whether you are having fun or not. I suggest you choose how to pass the time in a way that works out best for you. I took a year off before & that was harder to do back then. Right now, it wasn’t so hard to take time off and I’m still enjoying my freedom which is hard to explain… you definitely won’t understand what I mean as long as you’re tethered to any daily habit. No judgments. I think everyone has an obsessive habit. 

Habits are tricky things. Good ones are hard to maintain and bad ones are hard to give up. Learning to adapt to change is how you survive. I’ve been though a lot of change, most everyone has, and adapting to the change was rewarding. 

Anyhoo... I’ve written new things and I've edited then rewritten things that I swore were finished. The creative process often leaves me nostalgic, which has presented the thought of sharing something from the vault. This piece is a bit of a continuation of an older short story titled, Reveal. You can read it in a post here. 

Do you take time off from anything? Was it difficult to quit? How did you feel when returned to it? 

Enjoy! 
kisses, m. 

Unveiled 

“Let your mind wander,” he tells me with a whisper as he leans over my shoulder.

“It’s ok,” I gently rub his arm and look up into his eyes with a smile, “I don’t need her, I have you.”

 

It’s been several years since I said goodbye to emma. We didn’t part on bad terms. We just parted. I know how he feels about her because of what she did for me creatively. Yet he can’t help but encourage me to write. He knows that part of me is empty and lost floundering without the words even though they remind me of her. It’s funny but since we met, I haven’t lacked for inspiration. He’s everything emma wasn’t, supportive, trustworthy, gentle and kind. He brings balance to the darkness within me and I’ve never taken or used him for inspiration the way I needed her. I don’t need to. He gives to me so freely that I could never betray that trust.

 

“It’s taking shape well. Has the madman given up on him?”

“No. But, I am finishing the chapter tonight. And as a matter of fact the mad…”

“Don’t tell me!”

“Spoilers!” I nudge him with my arm.

 

“Quiet, I’ll be ready to read this chapter as soon as you’re done for tonight. Don’t worry about the rough draft and don’t keep me waiting.” He kisses my neck and quietly walks back across the room. It’s 3am but he’s still awake. I don’t mind him waiting while I work. In fact, I think I’ve come to enjoy it. Sometimes he works, sometimes he watches me while pretending to read and sometimes like tonight, he goes through old letters that accumulated at the PO Box.

 

“Anything good?” I giggle.

“Get back to work,” He playfully tosses an envelope at me. “Holy f---! Christine’s getting married!”

“No way! I thought they weren’t serious a few weeks ago. You told me…”

“I know but things change. They want you to shoot their Save the Date photo based on a old snapshot of yours. Is your camera still…” he trails off while reading the letter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just something about the notes she included. I didn’t think they were even that sentimental. Do you recall I mentioned that they didn’t believe in mementos or ephemera last fall when they met at the carnival?”

“Their second date! Yes! Let me see the note and the photo of this mystery man stealing your sister away,” I stop and wait for him to respond. He doesn’t so I resume with the madman’s confession.

 

After what seems like a half hour, he returns setting a photo next to my right arm along with a magnifying glass.

 

“Take a look.” He insists and looks like he’s seen a ghost. When he hands me the single photo reminiscent of one you’d see in strip of photos from a booth. I can see a couple kissing without using the magnifier. It’s emma. And me.

 

“What is this? She’s gone! This can't be recent.” I tell him.

“I thought there were no secrets. No silent things between us. I’ve never minded your former muses and welcomed the past openly in our lives, but if you’re hiding something from me…”

“Why would Christine send this?" I demand not understanding, "This is the photo she wants to copy. I don’t understand. Are you teasing me? I thought you wouldn’t joke about her. Why didn’t you just tell me there was a photo in the mail?!”

“It’s not a joke. This wasn’t from Christine. I don’t know what it is about. But the photo came from the mail and…. You need to look at it again.”

“I know what it is. It’s an old photo of me with emma. But I haven’t seen her in… years.” I am telling the truth but it feels like I’m lying. My ears are on fire, and I’m crying. I miss her and it’s been far too long.

“Yes. That’s what your saying, but I don’t believe you. I thought we were past this” he stares into my eyes with disappointment. “You know, you don’t need her.”

“I know. She’s in the past.” I try to get the words out but I do miss her.

“It’s hard to believe that. Take a look at the date on the back. Use the magnifier.”

“It’s from last month. This can’t be right. I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand or you don’t want to tell me the truth?”

 

I stop and wonder if I’ve become the madman and this is my chance to confess my sins. Only I don’t know what to confess. The picture he has looks just like an old one that I distinctly remember we had taken in a photo booth. As I consider that she edited the photo to add the date, I start to realize, the significance of it.

 

“It’s our anniversary.”

“No it’s not.” He snaps at me and slams the stack of mail down on the table. 

“Not ours.” I say quietly, “It’s mine and emma’s anniversary. We took that photo years ago; the date on the back is our anniversary this year.”

“You’re older in the picture, it's not the same. I have seen the original. You have it in your scrapbook, in the bedroom. This is not a duplicate of that photo. It is another photo taken later in a different place.”

“Please stop! I don’t need to examine a picture to know my own mind. I haven’t seen her… or been with her. I love you. I’m here with you.” I reach to comfort him but he pushes me away.

 

I’m alone. A feeling I know all too well from my time with emma. Except now, I am desperately begging with the man I love just to believe me.

 

“Have you seen her while you’ve been with me? Where? Here? Was she in our bed?” He walks into the kitchen and pours himself a neat whiskey while interrogating me.

 

I start to say no, but something in me stops the words, because it’s a lie. I realize that I know I’ve seen her since he and I have been together. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want it to be true, but it is. So I tell him what I know is true, “she hasn’t been here.”

 

Like the wonderful muse that she is, emma always creates chaos then disappears.

 

His anger continues to seethe. “You need to tell me. Whatever this is between you or I’m leaving.”

 

A flood of nostalgia passes through my mind as I think back to when I saw her last. It was years ago when we’d recreated the photo in my apartment and made it look like a photo booth. I’d only been with him for a few months, long before we lived here. That last night I saw her, she snuck in to my place. I’d never taken her key, and she took it as an invitation to visit. I wrote and she tried to seduce me, but there was no fight or passion that night. She was gone in the morning, slipping out as quietly as she slipped in. I finished my short story and he thought it was because of him. I have never lacked for inspiration with him, but I could never tell him about that last time with her.

 

Knowing I can’t tell him this,  because of the fight that will ensue, I remind him of my lack of work, “I haven’t written in several months.”

 

“But you started last week, and haven’t stopped. It’s because of her.”

 

“It’s because of you. I didn’t even know that photo would be in the mail. What else came with the photo? A letter?”

 

“A notecard, saying she wants to see you. But does she mean again? You’re hiding. Always hiding how you are.” He pours out the whiskey, slamming the glass down in the sink. He stares at me, like he’s giving me one last chance to confess before going to the bedroom to pack a bag. I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want him to feel like his accusations are acceptable.

 

Although it seems like it is just a card, in the back of my mind, I know emma has let herself back into my life, disrupted my happiness, and this is a declaration of her intent to stay. Even as I listen to him in the other room slamming drawers and throwing his things around, I know that I have to finish writing. At least complete enough work to get the madman out of my mind so all my rational thoughts will return. I can’t think clearly enough to keep reassuring him or even fight with him to stay while my mind is full. So I set back down to let the madman in, and let my love walk out.

 

After several glasses of wine, sunrise is nearly upon the horizon, and the madman has confessed then killed again. Coming out of my creative trance, I realize I’m not alone. I hear footsteps crossing the threshold of the living room, “Are you back to apologize?” I speak into the stillness.

 

“Not unless you make me,” says a voice I haven’t heard in quite some time. “I hope you don’t mind I let myself in yesterday when he picked up the mail.”

 

“Your note wasn’t in the mail, was it?” I stand and turn around to see my former muse, looking far better than she should.

 

“No, I dropped it in when he set the letters on the console. He was very trusting to leave the door unlocked when he went to relieve himself.” She says walking toward me until she’s close enough to touch me, then stops. “You know your guest room is far more inviting than it seems.”

 

“You knew that photo would upset him.” I hiss into her face even though I know better than to provoke her.

 

Instead of reacting with words, she pulls me against her and whispers in my ear, “I’m not trying to do anything to him. I thought you'd see it before him.”

“Why are you here?” I try to object and pull away, but she pulls tighter. 

“I'm just here to help you. I missed you…. and you know how you get. But he’s wrong, you aren’t hiding anything, anymore.”

 

I want to give in, because I miss this. I miss her. So I let my hands slide around hers and she leans in to kiss my neck.

 

“What if he comes back?” I interrupt her slowly moving lips with a twist of my head.

 

“He won’t.” She says and looks into my eyes. “At least not right now. Always worrying instead of giving into the rhythm of living. You aren’t disappointed he left, or you would have stopped writing.”

 

I know she’s right, I didn’t stop him from going, just like I don’t really want to stop her from coming back into my life. 

Slowly stepping backwards, she slinks away from me with my glass of wine. “Come, forget your mind, let your heart wander. Let’s talk.”

“But I need to finish…” I try to make an excuse. 

“You’re already finished.” She sits down on the sofa and taps the seat next to her with a smile. 

“Playing the game?" I ask walking slowly towards her, mostly because I think she’s provoking me.

“No, I just like you this way. You’re unveiled and unguarded without your mask. It’s been a long time. We have a lot to talk about.”

Unmasking myself for her was always the fun part of our game. It was ours and no one else's. Removing the mask is unnecessary now because she knows me all too well. There's nothing hidden between us. But she still wants to play.

“Shhh,” I say as I sit down next to her. “Let the feelings and words fall into place. Enjoy the rhythm. They will come when we are ready.”

Just as easily as I let her wander out my heart and my mind, I let emma back in.

Face

You don’t have to attend every argument you are invited to. The only person you have to face, after all, is yourself. The world and people aren’t in your way. You are. Don’t stand in your own way. Try taking a breathe and try looking at things again. It’s never as complicated as someone wants you to believe. Love yourself. 

Do you view the world as against you or standing your way? Why?

Here’s one from the Immersed series.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Clean

(7-6-2016)

I'm wounded. 

Body exhausted.

Tired.

Achy. 

Dirty.

The day nearly stole my soul

And he demands attention. 

Eagerly waiting for me

He holds his gaze.

Too weak to refuse him

I submit.

Gently he disrobes me 

And with a nod I'm his.

Bare to his eyes. 

Open to his touch. 

Softly he massages my neck & back.

He insists upon my fulfillment. 

My body is tight.

Emotions closed off.

I'm needing release.

And he knows this. 

Tired of my excuses 

He persists.

Taking control.

The way he knows I like.

Moments of his hands press my body forward until I open up to him.

My sun kissed brown hair falls when he unravels it. 

Although unhappy with the abrupt change of color he says nothing while continuing to assert his will.

My hair falls and catches the air currents from the fan and begins bouncing like the wind has a hold.  

Gently he caresses my neck, my arms & breasts before kissing the top of my forehead. 

With a slight indication he lifts and carries me to the bathroom. Setting me down he motions to the bath. 

Quietly I draw the bathwater and wait. 

There's only still between us.

Silently he removes his clothing and reveals himself. 

His eyes look me up and down. 

Lips open with a smirk. 

Letting his fingers run across my skin he teases. 

With a quick gentleness he runs his hands up my spine, through my hair & moves my head to meet his. 

His breathing is calm and deep as he leans closer with his mouth.

With a gentle kiss, he encourages me to move toward the warm water with him.

Completely lost to my own will I hesitate.

His strong slender frame moves without mine.

In an instant he's at rest in the tub.

The gentleness of his arms insist me to join him while his eyes never break their stare.

As I follow his lead I'm lost in thoughts of the day trying to break my mind free.

Moving by his volition I untie myself from the memories that haunt.

It's only when he pulls me down to him and holds me in his arms that the day falls away. 

These feelings have never subsided.

I'm reminded how lost I am when I'm away from his arms. 

Dirty and consumed by the madness of the world. 

Found by his touch...

I'm clean.

Up

You don’t fear living once you are in control of it. Unlike falling and hitting bottom in failure and having to get back up... there is no falling or hitting bottom in love. Only rising. Love elevates every part of you. When love is there you will know it. It completely hits you and you don’t have to force it or let go to feel it. It’s just there and fills you with joy and adoration. 

Here’s one about being hit with love that’s just old.

Do you fall or rise in love? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

hit

(2-13-2011)

What is it honey? Tell me about it then. Love. What about? It hits you that’s for sure. Knocks the wind out of you if you’re not careful.

Let me tell you… Loving is the easy part. The going for it that’s the tricky part. Most people won’t get close enough before backing out. How does it happen?

Well you meet someone and you find yourself getting to know each other. All too well. That’s always fun. Soon enough you can‘t stand to be apart and you start telling yourself: It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. And somehow you know you’re in too deep.

At that moment of depth you know you’ve been seduced by their charm.  The feeling you get when they’re around is overwhelming happy. There is no one else you’d rather be with. You still wonder if it was supposed to be different. Wasn’t it?

Your defenses are down. You are completely caught off guard. But that is love. And then there’s no other way it could have been. It happened when you weren’t looking. A wall you can’t get around, over, or crawl under.

Before too long comes the realization: I’m hit. This person’s love has wounded me. I’m not the same as I was.

No way it’s all a big accident and fooling is no longer an option. When you look in the mirror you know by your own reflection that it’s growing inside. Love. An emotion that can not be caged is bigger, louder and completely taking you by surprise. Standing face to face with the inevitable and its more than you care to think about.  You’re consumed with the hope that they are feeling the same.

How do you know?  My dear, you don’t. Have to believe they’re hit just like you.

Fairytale

“Life itself is a most wonderful fairytale.”

-Hans Christian Andersen

Read the fairytale or live it? Life is the fairytale and you get to experience it happening every second you are alive! Don’t let anyone tell you that you haven’t experienced a fairytale because it’s outside of their limited perception. Everyone experiences the miracle of living and it truly is a choice to see the magic & wonder in each moment of it. Some people just don’t stop and take in every moment presently. They wait to live based on things that may or may not happen. 

Things come and go, find gratefulness for everyone & everything that you experience in life. There are no losses when it comes to love, dreams, jobs or friends & family... there only lessons and memories from the good and bad. You can live your own fairytale and you don’t need anyone or a book of any color to tell you how it goes, you just need yourself.  Fight and put in the work... the fairytale exists. When you are discouraged, remember even characters in the books struggle to get their happiness. 

Here’s one about a story... 

Do you experience the magic of living or do you let someone tell you that you’re not or missing out? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Once

(12-29-10)

“Once.”

“Once upon a time?” 

“I suppose so.”

“Go on then...”

“Once...”

“Upon a time,” 

“...He loved me. Once there was someone who truly loved me. As cliché as it sounds the one thing that really got me through many years alone was knowing that he loved me.”

“Who? G-G-”

“No child. Not your grandfather. He was someone before we met. Don’t get me wrong child your grandfather was a wonderful man but we had a different kind of love. We were both two people that loved each other very much, but in our own way. What endured our relationship all those years was a strong underlying friendship. This man, was my first true love.”

“Tell me more.”

“He wasn’t like your granddad. That’s to be understood. No love affair is the same. Some are passionate. Some are lovely. And some end before they ever start. One thing is that they are without reason. Well, he surprised me. Wasn’t like any man I ever met. A gentler, kinder man. More of a gentleman than he’d think…”

“B..but…”

“I could hear that “but” before you ever got it out. He… couldn’t. The easy way to put this is that he didn’t return like he promised.”

“War?”

“Nothing like that. Things keep people away, sometimes.”

“Would you have married him?”

“Child, I don’t know that answer. That’s from a time that never finished itself. A moment in the past that can never be completed.”

“Huh?”

 “Whatever happened in the past pales in comparison to what is happening right now. That can not be recaptured. No matter how much you want it to be different there is no other way. I’m lucky to have had him in my life. We spent some of the best moments of our life together and I’m glad he was there in my life. But I continued to have a sweet life with your grandfather.”

“Happily ever after!”

“A fairytale that has been a joy to live and even sweeter because I have you.”

Alive love alive

Art is lovely but... so is being alive. No one needs art to survive or to live. Art is an expressive experience not a necessity for any interior of a home or yourself. And it shouldn’t come at the cost of truly being alive. This doll would prefer her favorite Ken and dolls took care of their needs before creating for any reason. She suggests that anyone who bullies others into creation should simply be ignored. That kind of garbage human has no respect or compassion for others. Self care is a priority before creation... because if you can’t manage taking care of yourself or your basic needs then the art you create truly isn’t an extension of you. It’s merely another distraction. 

Just remember you always have the ability to transform your life... you decide to change, not someone else. People who try to convince you to live their way usually want something or to use you. Listen to yourself and if you have someone who offers you the chance to put yourself first, instead of the artwork, then you should take it. Don’t trade the people who treat you kindly for those that that treat you poorly. Nothing is worth trading your happiness and well-being for. Love yourself. 

Here’s one from the book about being tired of how things are...

Enjoy!

Kisses,

-m.

Things that go without saying

(10-09-2010)

Things that go without saying.

The mornings start out with a feeling of despair, a sense of remorse for last nights actions. Always the guilt remains. Perhaps over the party or the people, however it isn’t necessarily the case. Some of the parties happen to be fabulous and without a doubt the peak of it all. The fabulous people can’t help but fake it, that’s just what they do. I’m not like them, I’m just me. Not cheap enough to let them own me. Guilty for letting them try.

Even this morning when he wasn’t there. Who, is not important. Just that I’m here still. In his bed, wearing his shirt and reading his tiny notes that apologize by leaving breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Don’t worry, stay as long as you like. I can’t help the weight that sits in my chest like an anchor pulling me down.

The panic attack hits at 6am during my shower. Heart races like it can’t catch up to the rest of my body as I continue to wash the night off of me. Wash that man right out of my hair along with the 12-hr party the smoke, the drinks, and Johnny C’s blood off of my elbow. Water can cleanse my body, but not my cold dark soul. And there’s nothing to be done about my Cavalli dress with a line of Johnny C’s blow smeared across the breasts and the countless cocktails that fabulous Reggie dropped across my lap while talking to the Countess Jessica Grant.

The darkest moments are after I’ve spent the night out with a man who doesn’t know me, doesn’t love me and doesn’t want to. A man who leaves breakfast before slinking out the door, back to his life, maybe his wife, maybe his girlfriend, back to his real.

Even more revealing is that these are the things, the very REAL things I keep to myself. The pieces of raw, vulnerable me the boys will never know or ask to know. The pieces that I choose to leave behind. The moment I cross the threshold into the party begins the transformation. Put on the best FAKE. Keep it clean. Lift your chin slightly to the right. Now act natural. Posing for the imaginary camera. The one that scrutinizes every little detail that’s wrong. One false move and you are considered bitter. Ungrateful. Tired. Get out of the way. Someone is waiting to take your place.

She can have it. Let her. Maybe I’m bitter. Or ungrateful. 

Knowing that when I return back to these quiet moments alone I can remove my smile, the insincere fraud, like it was a soiled dress. Then comes the dreading for the next time when perhaps I once again won’t have the strength to say no. My hand wipes away the steam coated mirror and leaves me staring at the stranger in the mirror. The haggard woman that drinks too much, talks too loud and moves about the party just because it’s what is expected. Coming face to face with the reflection that my life feels out of control and I want out. But I don’t know how.

My towel wrapped hair and I walk through his wardrobe. Vintage Louboutin heels in the three different colors. He didn’t always live alone. She left her Chanel boots from three seasons ago and faux leather wrap. These tiny remnants of a former ‘someone’ lay at rest among his suits and jackets, demolition denim and t-shirts, watches and shoes. He probably doesn’t know. This reveals more about him than he could ever say. She probably thought maybe I’ll come back someday. And he just didn’t notice.

At least I’ll have fresh clothes. That makes up for breakfast. Not impressive without the company. Why couldn’t he be out getting coffee?  I don’t like waking up alone. Yet I choose to. Notes are getting old now. Yet I accept them. At least he’s the same no one important leaving me notes and breakfast. Consistency is better than just anyone. It appeases the feelings of guilt. And the boots don’t hurt.

These boots, the clothes, the notes, the breakfast all come after the fabulous night. Mornings all alone filled with things that I’ll never say. Things that no one will ever ask to know. Things that they don’t care to know. They’ll never know the guilt, the contempt, or the disgust. What they’ll see is the ensemble, the smile and the best piece put forward.

This used to be the life… maybe I want a new one. This is something that I’ll never say.

Give & Take

Life is full of compromise. But in order to compromise with anyone, you must know your limitations and have boundaries. There will always be someone scolding you or telling you that you are giving too much or taking too much from others... likely they’re mad you aren’t giving to them. Don’t listen to their words. Trust yourself and develop an instinct for what works best for you. The world is full of a lot of nonsense including people and it’s a choice of what you have to listen to. I could give you answers... but where’s the fun of you learning the truth yourself?  And you’re never alone in learning, someone will have the answer or help out if you ask. 

Do you let people tell you who to give to or take from? Didn’t think so.

Here’s something that’s about asking and maybe about boundaries... ala Matisse, I won’t discuss it.  

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Please

(10-20-17)

Please don’t write me a song.

Please don’t sing for me.

Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Please don’t say you love me.

Please don’t say you’ll care.

Please don’t make me wait for you, when you won’t be there.

Please be different.

Please be kind.

Please be honest and speak your mind.

Please give your opinions.

Please give your time.

Please give your heart when you ask for mine.

Please don’t lie to me.

Please don’t manipulate truth.

Please don’t tell me things that really happened aren’t real.

Please have an open heart.

Please have compassion in your soul.

Please be a better man, than those you’ve met before.

Please don’t make me jealous.

Please don’t play with my head.

Please don’t be cruel and make me watch the others you take to bed.

Please be warm.

Please be affectionate.

Please be aware of when to be dominant and when to be weak.

Please don’t hit me.

Please don’t harm others.

Please don’t think there’s strength or power in violence.

Please love yourself.

Please have love for others. 

Please let love guide you when have lost yourself along the way.

Please. Love.

Stay True

In a world that wants constantly to change you... be true to yourself. There will always be small men with their little ideas and big words to try to hold you down or dictate what you do... stay true to yourself.  There are no reasons for anyone to want to change you unless you’re harming yourself. And if that’s the case, it’s still truly up to you to decide when to change no matter their concern.

Do you let others have an opinion on your life? Why or why not?

Here’s an old one... from Immersed. 

Enjoy,

Kisses, m.

Third Reason 

(2-17-16)

“Third Reason.”

When he says it I thought there were only two. But he continues to drop the words onto the floor by the desk. The wooden one I so carefully refinished last week when he was too busy to come home on time; the time between the appointments I canceled to make time for him. The damage is done because I don’t trust him to keep his word when all he does is spill them over something that he has no right to contradict me over. 

“Fourth Reason,” he says trying to capture my eyes which have too long been focused on the desk. 

The desk he helped me pick out that windy Tuesday when the rain was absolutely breath-taking last month. A month before that, he loved the way I looked and there were no reasons to doubt my choices. Even when they disagreed with his, there were no reasons. Reasons cut through my mind trying to disassemble my logic. Sharp with the potential to harm, much like the scissors resting on the edge of the desk. The edge closest to the corner where my right hand rests. I imagine the grip of the handle nestled cooly between my fingers. 

I was left handed as a child and my mother switched my grip. At times I fumble with my right hand correcting for the dominance of the left. But not today.

It’s a brave new world before us. Before he can get out the fifth reason. I slide my left hand over to my right toward the scissors. With a determined grip I reach up and cut off a piece of my hair. His words come to a halt.  

One inch. Two inches. Three inches. Then Four. 

There are no more reasons why I shouldn’t cut my hair. 

The Truth

A Buddhist, Christian and an Atheist all walk in a room and tell you a lie... which is a better person? 

None. A lie is a lie. No one is superior when there’s no honesty. There’s no better human, artist, etc. when you have to condescend another person to attain that prize.

The truth may hurt but lies do more damage in the end. The only person you can trust not to lie to you is yourself. Letting anyone tell you anything about yourself other than what you know to be true isn’t going to make you feel good about yourself. People will always lie to you if you let them. Mostly they’ll say something negative to knock you off course because they need to feel better about their own insecurity without having to compete with you. You'll never have their validation because they never truly validate themselves. You know what’s best for you. Listen to your intuition & learn to trust yourself.

Here’s an old one about lying... 

Do you lie to yourself? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Lies.
(7-10-09)

Lies. 

The ones we tell ourselves to keep going. Little white ones. Deep dark malevolent ones. Those things we can’t bear to be true. So often we lie just to cope. Defense mechanism.

I did not kill him.

Just another fabrication to get through the night. These ominous moments filled with a determined silence; and distant din of the city coming to life. Dawn will be here soon.

He’ll start breathing again.

I stole $5 from the piggy bank when I was a kid. My mom caught me trying to hide the broken pieces of the shattered pig under the front porch. I lied and told her I dropped the bank accidentally. Through my crocodile tears I sobbed how I was afraid she’d be mad, so I was going to use the money to replace it. A WHOPPER! But she bought it. So begin my life of deceit.

I did not hit him with the car and back over the body five times.

Small truths we keep to ourselves. The real honest things are what we're most scared to share. It’s the little pieces of genuine humanity that make us most vulnerable we don’t share. But the lies roll off the tongue; spill out the mouth like sweet gems of music being released for the first time.

I did not shoot him with a rifle.

Unprovoked deceit. Cold manipulative and calculated deception. “I was married once”, it’s what I tell them, the men. It’s my line you could say. They all eat it up. I explain that he beat me, raped me, etc. Sympathy for the liar. Smile a little. Put on a fake. Show them your false innocence. Devil in a blue dress. But it gets them each and every time… HOOK, LINE, SINKER.

I did not drive his unconscious body to the middle of nowhere in the dark hours of the morning.

You could say it was a bit like fishing. THE BAIT: Makeup, Tight Dress, Cleavage, Stilettos. And that was just for kicks. The first time it happened I wasn’t even trying… You see, I was lonely that night and being in, was far too unbearable. So I went out for a drink. Came up with a good story, and the rest was something I wasn’t prepared for.

I did not ask him to leave with me.

No one ever tells you that lying can lead to good things do they? See the first time it happened, was a bit of luck for me. A man offered to buy my drink. I was bored, lonely and didn’t see any harm in company so I accepted. We traded our fake stories. He hid his wedding band. Lovely line on his left hand was the give away. See most men don’t realize just how big an imprint that band leaves around your finger. Yes, I could see the line where his ring rested. And of course he was married. That was his lie.

I did not slip drugs into his drink.

Liars are we all. Everyone is a liar. Big ones, little ones. Mom’s to children, bosses to employees, government to the population for control. That’s all it is. Control. Like trained animals that jump through hoops for a false prize promised to them. For us, there is no promised land. Even lying to ourselves in the end. Heaven and Hell.

I did not offer to buy his drink.

He was married, I knew it. I went along for the ride anyhow. After two drinks we stop. He says “let’s get outta here”. I agree. Before he makes it to the car he falls down. Drunk. Lucky me. I ask him what he’s driving and attempt to help him up. He is spinning and incoherent. I take his keys and try to find it using the alarm. It’s a ‘68 Chevy P.U. Cherry red. Nothing more than that I could tell you about it. Not a gear head, but I do appreciate a pretty picture. I managed to drag this idiot over to it. As I’m shoving this drunk into the cab out of his pocket drops a bottle of pills. Date Rape BS. I get upset. He’s passed out. That was supposed to be me. So I shove his body over, fire up the truck and peel out.

I did not smile and sit down next to him at the bar.

Lying to myself always was the easy part of life. It was harder to swallow someone else’s story. That bastard tried to drug me. Idiot! Wasn’t he in for a treat? I drove out to some unmarked dirt road. Threw him out and was about to leave him when… the gears slipped! And just like that, the truck backed over him. THUMP! THUMP! “Oh God”! I instantly throw it in gear and go forward with out thinking. THUMP! THUMP! “Shit”! I get out and assess the damage.

I did not go to the bar last night.

He’s not breathing and his head resembles a smashed cabbage. Brains are falling out. I would panic, but everyone in that bar is a liar and not one of those people could honestly say they really knew who he was. No one would notice or bother to say a thing when the authorities came looking. No one would talk… unless these other cheaters wanted to admit these infidelities to their spouses waiting patiently by the phone at home.

I did not kill anyone.

Simple truths we continue to share with ourselves. The lies – complicated deception – we save for the eager audience that awaits us out in the world.

I am not a liar.