It most definitely is not a game, but for years I wore a game face. I was that person who kept it all bottled inside — the fear, the rage, the sadness, the confusion, the loneliness. But to everyone, I was good. I was fine. To the naked eye a placid lake, yet a churning sea underneath …
Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You
Find the complete version here.
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©Christine Kelly 2019
Photo by Brandi Redd on Unsplash
I give my confessions
to him.
In all honesty.
In complete acceptance.
Words spoken like an Act of Contrition
as I unveil my sins.
Sometimes singularly
and slowly
other times in tangled narratives
given in a rush of spleen
as I peel away the last vestiges of false image.
A veneer so sweet it made my teeth ache.
The insistence of honey over vinegar
made more palatable by convention.
The spicy, savory, and sometimes sour
oft disdained,
a whisky burn
not for the faint of heart.
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Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced.
Within the shadow
Of the storm
This tempest’s brew
Forget me not
For I am
At once
the waves that crash
With ferocity
Upon your silent shore
And the safe harbor
You plot your course to
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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017
Artwork by Nikolena Petolas
The room is low lit and hums with a dozen conversations.
Sitting amidst the noisy chatter of friends, she is the quiet one. Watching and listening, she takes it all in.
The opening notes of a song begin to play and her eyes light up.
It’s her song.
She jumps to her feet and heads to the dance floor, oblivious to others.
This girl, alone on the dance floor, loses herself in the music. She’s in her own world.
Her long skirt brushes her calves as her hips sway. As she closes her eyes her head falls back. With her arms extended above her, curved gracefully, she becomes the song.
She is a pale skinned girl with short dark hair, a long errant strand curling along her bare neck. Her slender body moves with feeling, the lyrics resonating deeply within her.
She has no idea of the picture she paints to those who watch. The vision presented to someone like you.
Watching from a table in the back.
Watching as she dances alone.
Uninhibited.
Free.
Wild.
Feeling every note of music in every part of her.
You watch her, transfixed, a smile touching your lips.
You see the creature beneath the modest clothes and the young, innocent face.
You see me.
The me that I do not know.
The me that you will know.
As I lose myself in that moment.
As I lose myself in the music.
As I lose myself
in being me.
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*First posted in February of this year.
‘How Soon Is Now?’ written and performed © The Smiths
Words on this blog post ©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017
Photograph is of the French actress Audrey Tautou. For several reasons she, and this picture, perfectly illustrated this post. The photo was taken by Ralph Wenig in 2013.
I am not made of stone.
I have been told
That I wear my heart upon my sleeve
That my writing tells all.
While my writing is imbued with
My thoughts, my feelings, my desires
I write only what I want known.
I am a world of private thoughts and feelings
Pain and joy
Mine to share
If I desire.
You will not find me crying publicly
But that does not mean I don’t hurt
It does not mean that the tears I shed
Don’t run hot down my face
When I am alone.
I am not made of stone
I get confused and frustrated
I have feelings
I have pride
I can be hurt by unkindness
By insensitivity
Especially when it’s unwarranted
Though you’ll never know how much.
No, I am not made of stone
I am made
Of heart
And soul
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*Not a new piece but always relevant, always me.
©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015
Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced
I am the girl…
all of my life accepted by all
but embraced by few
as kindred.
A life lived on the fringes.
The quiet, acceptance, and understanding I needed
found within.
A solitary life amid others
where the voices heard were my own.
Distinct and indistinct.
The tenor of my present and past
guiding me forward.
The world that I created
gentling the sometimes-jagged edges
of this life
as I cast an unwavering gaze upon the future.
Refusing to flinch
at harsh light, cold wind, or seemingly impossible odds.
The tears that fall are my own
to see
to know
a burden I carry.
To be unknown
except to myself.
A melancholy prospect
as I hold that façade in place
by sheer willpower and determination.
Protecting my inner life
until the day that someone starts to dismantle it
with kind eyes that see me clearly
and with a touch that tells me
I am home.
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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017
Photograph taken from Pinterest; original provenance unknown.
Consider this
Behind her shy smile and shining eyes…
…Is a world of private, intense thoughts
Of fantasies she dares not voice
Of pain and disappointment
She has tamped down
Until there is only a whisper
Of disquiet
…Is a world you can only guess at
Unless she lets you in
And if she lets you in
You just might find…
The thoughts she has allowed to bloom and flower
That she has nurtured with a faithful heart
And deep desire running through her veins
Thick as blood
It is a world of sensuous, decadent thoughts
Of complete surrender
In mind, body and soul
Thoughts that center completely
Upon you
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©SirenSong1208
Photograph taken from PerfectlyPersuasive
