Temptation

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

temptation

https://dorinacostras.com/paintings/

Long lashes lowered.

Full lips over a knowing smile.

Flowing tresses that tease with their softness.

Curves that entice with her every move.

Open and willing, flaunting her needs.

Encouraging, suggesting, ignoring his ring.

****

No one will miss it.

It’s just a few dollars.

They have so much.

She has so little.

The children need shoes.

There’s no food in the cupboards and the rent is due.

So easy to slip the money,

From the cash drawer into her pocket.

****

The doctor says no.

Anymore and he’ll die.

But the need is so strong.

The struggle so fierce.

The addiction controls his every move.

****

Temptation is thrown at us from everywhere.

How we respond to it is our choice.

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That’s Not Me

depression

I rarely write in depth about my personal life. What I have to say is generally through the words of a poem and the meaning is fairly obvious to those who read it. I don’t mince words and I don’t beat around the bush…I say what the hell is on my mind and the consequences be damn. But I have been struggling for years with a sort of depression that comes from things not having worked out the way I had envisioned. And I know I’m not alone in these kinds of feelings. I truly believe, everyone, at one point or another has suffered through these kinds of feelings. It’s how we deal with them that makes the difference.

When I divorced my second husband, I had in mind that my life would somehow be different, that I would be better off on my own. I didn’t want or need anyone telling me how I should or shouldn’t live my life…to insinuate that my thoughts and feelings were secondary to his. At age 46, I had had enough of that and after fifteen years of marriage to this man, I left my marriage.

I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do, how I would afford to take care of myself or if love would ever find me again. I fell into what the doctor’s told me was “low-grade” depression. I was prescribed anti-depressants and although they may have worked, I was uncomfortable taking drugs, so I stopped…which probably wasn’t the smartest move because whatever depression I had been feeling quickly escalated. I moped around, felt like a sloth, drank way too much wine and slept and slept and slept. I was motivated only to go to work (bills still had to paid) and would put on my happy face for my children when they visited (can’t let the kids know what a basket-case Mom was).

stronger

This went on for over two years. Even though I began dating again, I wasn’t able to give myself to the notion of a “true romance.” I fought it and felt undeserving of any sort of kindness he showed me. We never became the sort of relationship I felt I was meant for and we soon broke things off. I fell into an even deeper depression and found myself almost unable to climb out of it. I had failed at my marriage, failed at a potential relationship, I was unable to keep my finances in order, I had cut off most of my family,  and my children  were getting older and didn’t need to rely on me. Who was I, if I wasn’t a mother? A wife? Not even a girlfriend? I was nobody.

I turned inward. I filled journal after journal with crazy scribblings, rants, injustices done to me. Page after page of anger, resentment, built-up words that had gone unsaid. It poured out of me like a mad, raging thunderstorm. Cutting and slicing, the rain beating me down into a drenched mess of emotion.

And it was weird, but writing, for me, was the answer. To write the words, that had for years rolled around inside my head, seemed to give me a sense of relief, of freedom.

I never shared any of this with anyone. Those journals were for me and me only. In fact, I no longer even have them, they were ripped up and thrown into the trash years ago. I no longer needed them, I had said what I needed. Nobody else needed to read it. I doubt they would even understand the torture of feeling useless, unworthy and unneeded.

Depression is real, it makes us forget everything that’s good and beautiful in our lives. It weighs so heavily that at times we feel as though we are being smothered by the sheer enormity of it. Thoughts of suicide constantly flicker and seems like the only answer to find the relief from the black and dark places that fill our minds. It is a heavy weight that begs us to follow it into a murky cesspool.

I cannot say that my dark thoughts have disappeared, they have not, it’s not that simple. What keeps me in the light, is my children and my grandson. How completely selfish would it be of me to forget what I mean to THEM? What kind of suffering would they go through because I had decided that ending my life was the only possible solution?

But, No! I am stronger than that! I want to see my son fall in love and give his heart to another! I want to see my daughter and son-in-law, grow old together! I want to see my grandson grow into a man! These are the things that life is about.

So, I pull myself out of the cesspool and just get on with things.

happyagain

Your Love

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

when i think of you

Artwork by Tatyana Ilieva 

You’re the medley of every slow song,

That sings to my soul.

 

You’re the breeze as it moves silently through the trees,

Whispering into my ears.

 

You’re the waves of the ocean as they crash over my body,

Leaving me tingling as they slide back to regain momentum.

 

You touch me on so many different levels.

Your presence soothes me.

Your arms calm me as they hold me close.

 

Knowing you are near, whether in the same room,

Or just outside the door,

Comforts and eases my mind.

 

Your smile of happiness, your eyes filled with love,

Tell me what I need to hear.

 

Your heart beating into my ear, as I lie against your chest,

Speaks to my own heart.

 

Burying my face into your pillow,

After you’ve left.

Your warmth still lingers,

Bringing a smile to my face.

 

If this day were to be my last

I’d be thankful that you had shared your love with me.

 

 

 

 

I May Not Be a Woman After All….

pile of magazines

Reading a woman’s rag mag was quite an eye-opener for me. Being a woman, I thought I had the whole “woman” thing figured out. Come to find out, I know squat about being a woman. I discovered I was so far out of the loop that I almost wasn’t even a woman.

Here’s a list of the finer points of being a woman that educated me.

  1. That women on the backside of forty…well, pushing the fifty mark…are sexy! Who knew? I guess a lot more men than I thought are excited by a woman that has had some life experiences and isn’t afraid to show her true self. In fact, it seems to take the pressure off of them to not be so concerned about how they look.

guy watching tv

2. That Alpha women are highly sought after. An independent woman who can take care of herself, pay her own bills, is assertive, aggressive and opinionated isn’t such a bad thing after all.

50 shades

3. That a woman’s body is her temple…she just needs to know how to accessorize it properly.

scarf

with half a scarf.

woman and sheet

a perfectly placed sheet

angels

and those damn wings.

4. Make-up is now done in a way that it needs to look like we’re not wearing make-up…despite the layers we’ve troweled on to make it look that way.

lots of makeup

5. Exercise is still one of the healthiest ways to stay young. Just stay away from gyms where young people go.

booty shorts

But if forty/fifty plus is considered sexy, well dammit what the hell is sixty gonna be? I’m gonna rock my independence by wearing what I feel like and doing exactly what makes me happy!

uma thurman pulp fiction