Autumn Days

Breezy winds sweep the leaves outside into an everlasting twister

And not even the birds come out to play on this very wicked day.

The rain falls in intermittent sheets

And the trees groan in both glee and protest

As their branches are whipped around and their leaves are strewn from their limbs,



The coming of winter used to be a peaceful time,

A time to go on a stroll to nowhere only to return when the sun had long since set beneath the horizon.

It was the time to put on a sweater and go to the beach to watch the waves lap lazily at the shore,

Sitting until you’re pleasantly chilly and the sun is just touching the ever present waves.


Now it’s the time to stay indoors

To read book after book because they’re going out of style faster than a groundhog can peek its head out of its hole.

It’s time to light the fire and wait for the next break in the storm,

To wait for relief.


Autumn is the time of death and mourning

Because although the trees are colorful and pretty those colors are a cry for help

And as nature sheds its pretty leaves they are left bare naked in the midst of a long, cold winter.

A winter that seems to never cease, that is unrelenting in its bitter freezing breath.


Autumn is the time for concerts that last way past our bedtime and go on until the early morning,

And as we come stumbling up the staircase we belatedly realize that we are too tired to notice that solid feeling of reality.


With Autumn comes the time of falling

Falling in love, and out of love, and into stories and out of situations that have long since boggled or mind.

And as we sit here, indoors, with the fire at full blast we think of fall.

The time of falling.


The A of Sexuality

English: An asexual symbol that originates fro...

English: An asexual symbol that originates from the AVEN community (Asexual Visibility and Education Network) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


There are some things in my life that I really don’t need,

Like the close physical attraction that other people seek.

They ogle and gasp and state this apparent need,

While I silently sit and wonder at their audacity.

It is always what is expected and what people call sane,

Or normal or right or any other name.


But there are some things that I don’t often get to see,

Like people being praised for their asexuality.

I repeatedly hear jokes about this uncommonly stated stand,

And I sit there and take it because they just don’t understand.


Those silent touches and words whispered in the all too willing ear,

The commonly insistent murmurings of wishing they were here.

Cuddling and coddling and those things that others love,

I have to admit I just don’t care when push comes to shove.


And I must accept that I’m more affectionate than others that I see,

But that is just a part of what makes me me.

So I will hold your hand if you want and I will give you a hug,

Or even a kiss if I feel like expressing my love.

But if we go much further you will come soon to see,

That I will close up and lock down,

As it is just not a part of me.


I find people interesting and it’s perceived a little odd,

But I don’t find them beautiful, or hot, or any of the above.

I like cake and secrets and a lot of conversation,

And because of this I’m not always considered a relation.


Even the minority to a certain degree,

Does not agree with my asexuality.

But that is fine and I accept it and on the days that I don’t,

I remember I must be strong,

For others who won’t.

The Girl That I Was Is The Woman That I Am

The girl that I used to be,

she used to sing at the top of her lungs to a tune all her own,

she would bounce from place to place,

Creating a tornado from beginning to end.

She would create ten different crafts in one day

Then show them off to anyone who would look.

She played with the boys in the mud for hours,

To come home and shake herself off like a dog.


She wore culottes and skirts and not-so-secretly abhorred them

because they were too girly and feminine.

She went to church and said her prayers like a good girl,

And then would go play tag and swing on the monkey bars

with not a care as to who would see her undergarments.

She didn’t care about money, or crushes,

Or who wore what, where, when, why or how.

She was young, and wild, and free…


And even now I wear those dresses on Sunday’s,

And sing those nonsensical tunes,

And play in the dirt, and climb to the tops of the trees,

I still go off with my friends for a little fun

For the day,

Or until I remember that test coming up,

Or that homework assignment due in t-minus 22 hours,

Or the clothes that still need to be washed,

Or the shift that needs to worked,

Or any other mundane activity that now has an inexplicable meaning

in my now overwhelming life.


But that little girl,

She is there,

Humming her tunes,

Playing in the mud,

As naive and nonsensical as she has ever been,

And I adore her,

And I miss her.

And I know her,

Because she is me.

Free Climbing

Inching my way across the steep ledge,

Breathing slowly despite my hearts fast pace.

Grab here, move there, crawl along the edge,

Even if the space is too small to feel really safe.


Don’t look down,

Don’t look down.

Don’t look down!

I look down.


The water breathing beneath me,

Calm until I hit it’s surface,

Then it’s a storm without an eye,

Constant push and pull until it is hard to breathe,



I jolt as I lose my grip and quickly adjust,

Just hold on tighter and keep moving,

Keep moving.


Move your leg down, down,

Almost to the water now.

Almost to the end.


Keep your grip,

And inch your arm up a foot,

Maybe two.


Don’t let go,

Don’t let go,

Don’t let go.

You’re almost done.


Now climb,




Don’t look down.







I can’t help but hope that you feel for me

 what I feel for you.

And even though I know you don’t,

I can’t stop waiting for our someday to come.


Maybe tomorrow when the sky isn’t blue

 and the trees refuse to grow,

You’ll want to feel my arms around you,

 and I’ll never have to let go.


I can’t help but hope.


For giving up hope means the beginning of nothing

 and the end of something.

And I would rather have something

 and hope for everything,

Than have nothing

 and hope for something.


I can’t help but hope.


A Thousand Years

I would wait for you for a thousand years

If I knew that it would dry these tears.

I would travel the world with just my backpack attached

If I knew that it would bring you back.

Running from my fears was never the right way

But you let the light make up my everlasting days.


And now I don’t know what to do or what to say

I just wish that my words were enough to keep you from going away.

Your love was my strength and your word brought me back

To happier times that are so long past.


Your few simple words keep on running through my overused head

And I just keep on wishing and hoping that you hadn’t left.

The days are seeming longer and when my head hits my bed

I can’t stop remembering that you are now dead…


Rest in peace, dear loved one, I won’t see you for a while.

But I really hope you know I’ll never stop seeing your sweet sweet smile.