Friday, July 10, 2009

she allowed this to be…

he yo-yos her feelings with no regard…
playin cruel games with her heart…
he’s off scorin another notch…
while her pain is tearing her apart…

she waits for him yet again…
he swaggers in bad as can be…
she knows what he’s been about…
disrespect a scent he wears proudly…

somewhere she misplaced her own worth…
foolish hope keepin her with this man…
she taught him how to treat her by tolerating…
he’s an ass just because he can…

she had made him her reason…
and forgotten her own rhyme…
she let him mistreat her…
and make her his victim, time after time…

responsibility a double edged sword…
the hand must close tight around the blade…
she must make a choice now…
even as she watches her light fade…

her life is better lived alone…
she must take courage and this truth embrace…
she must take back her power…
her mirror stands ready for her to face…

face herself, face her fears…
face that she allowed this to be…
peel away the layers of how and why…
only then will she truly be free…

 

Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 09:57:39 | Permalink | Comments Off

Be real with me…be with me…

strip away the facade…
baby, you don’t have to play games…
be real with me…
open your world to me…
this pain you carry ain’t my load to bear…
shouldn’t be yours either…
let go, let go and breathe…
i’ll take care of you.
it’s a trip how clouded our pain
can make skies we have yet to wake up to…
past hurts we drag into our future…
we mess up potential joy before
we have a chance to welcome
that smile,
that touch,
that soft kiss…
the games we play to avoid what once was…
we lose ourselves trying to make up rules as we go along…
God, let it go, be real with me…
be real with yourself…
then and only then,
can you be with me…
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 09:02:39 | Permalink | Comments Off

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

girl

for all my years…i am 38 years old…i wonder why i’m not cynical or jaded…i’ve experienced plenty of disappointment, plenty of hardship and plenty of consequence from choices poorly made…yet, somehow…i’m still very idealistic and, my thoughts are like that of a young girl…i still believe people are fundamentally good…i believe in principal and, i believe in the magic and mystery of life…i don’t understand when people hurt one another…i am angered at injustice and truly bewildered at this world that finds so many ways to justify killing and destroying people’s dreams, lives…each other…tonite, despite a wonderful day with great friends…my heart is sad…i’ll breathe thru it…but, my soul is achin a bit…

g’nite…

Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 09:38:55 | Permalink | Comments Off

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Be…

Be the light you seek…
be the hero you would look up to…
be all that you would lay upon another’s shoulders…
you are your own life’s answers…
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 19:31:29 | Permalink | Comments Off

Friday, July 3, 2009

clear view of the moon…

sat out on my porch tonite…fast becoming a favorite pasttime…had m’self a cigar and a glass of wine…nothing but the nite, a breeze to cut thru the humidity and a tree blowing soft beside my apartment…god…i love my solitude on nights such a this…a time for reflection…i contemplate my life…life in general…i ask m’self the same unending questions i’ve asked since i can remember…all the why, how, what if’s that my heart desires an answer for…there is a peace i feel on nites like this that reminds me to breathe deep and take a step back from life every once in awhile…there is more than this…more going on that needs/begs exploring…and i’m more than happy to comply..
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 08:48:04 | Permalink | Comments Off

Sunday, June 21, 2009

soft, sexy….sex

sex, soft, sexy, wet…all encompassing sex….
mmmm, kisses trailin moist from neck to thigh…
hands caressing wherever they find skin….
fingers tracing lips,
rubbin places that send hot shivers down the spine…
distractions are…what?
nonexistent, the focus is she on he and he on she,
one pleasing the other or is it vice versa? 
bodies melding together so that the bliss one feels transfers to the other…
pleasure spots licked simply for the sake of pleasure,
there is nothing else but for the night breeze blowing soft upon naked skin…
whispers carried to the night sky,
like prayers to appease the jealous gods…
rocking back and forth into each other,
all at once soothing, sensual, sweetly sexual,
definitions to define a relationship unnecessary,
but to say this is just ‘sex’ is….wrong…
this is…two people enjoying one another,
finding the art and ecstacy of one another…
exploring the palettes that each other hold…
bringing out wondrous colors and glorious symphonies…
so into each other they are…
breaths mix and match each other’s rhythm…
rhyme nor reason matter, they find their own…rhyme and reason…
night passes into morning and they part from each other’s presence…
facing the day a bit tired, a bit raw…but with a hunger sated, an appetite satisfied…
with memories swirlin brilliant and wild in their heads…
of a night of sweet sex, soft, sexy, wet…all encompassing sex…
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 21:01:51 | Permalink | Comments Off

Saturday, June 20, 2009

light and song…

she dazzled as she walked…
this old woman from the
house on the hill…
her hair was white as snow…
her smile brilliant and her eyes wise…
more than the light she emanated…
there was also a sound…
like that of a song…
a melody that played just under
the conscious hearing…
only someone who ‘listened’,
in that crazy, kooky kinda way,
could hear that song…
the same type of person who understands the way of things old
and unmapped…
this white haired woman was a storyteller,
a visionary who saw past the hardened edges of so called ‘reality’…
she saw the truth of things from where the eyes of the story peered deep
into the soul…
and she reached in…drawing out the hidden parts,
those parts people were too afraid to show…or,
too afraid to look upon.
she had an easy way about her…
made people feel at home, no matter what station in life they belonged to…
she was a love set apart,
a love that obeyed no rules so…she was accepted on all realms…
without even trying…
when she told her stories, the People stood in awed silence…
they knew these stories she was telling…had lived them…once,
long ago…before time had become a constraint upon existence…
the People breathed in her words and felt freed from chains
they’d worn from before their birth…chains they’d been born into,
as soon as the warmth of the womb had been taken from them…
she told the stories that needed telling…
stories that needed to be lifted to the heavens so that the gods…
if gods were listening…would know…
that she knew what they were up to…
she gave hope to the People…and she held the People responsible…
for the madness of this world can be blamed on ‘gods’ for only so long…
this storyteller told stories filled with solution…
and the solution was…
responsibility…
go back to the Old Ways, she urged…
go back to what you, the People, know, feel, breathe as right…
there are no gods on which to place blame and, there are no gods on which to depend
for rescue..it is all up to you…
the People…
so said the storyteller…with hair as white as snow…and a melody emanating from her being…
‘it is all up to you…the People’…
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 10:26:57 | Permalink | Comments Off

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Our Healing Is At Hand

There is no right or wrong way to write truth…
for truth is it’s own poet, it’s own storyteller…
So many voices, so many languages…
all rising up on high to speak…
truth.
Perspectives shared, brought together like so many patterns
on a patchwork quilt.
Colors so vivid, so vibrant their hues, only the eyes of the soul
can bear gaze upon it.
Songs, oh the songs! 
They all rise and fall with a beat so old as to go back to a time before time…
existed.
They call forth a dance only the Spirit can know.
They call forth from memories buried deep inside the blessed depths of all Humanity.
Lay down your arms, set aside your hate, I beg thee to a world that won’t listen.
The People are lost within a crazed, infectious swirl of foolishness.
Lies have blinded, deafened, deadened the souls of so many.
But…there are no right or wrong ways to write truth…
I say this again and again.
First thru a hushed voice, timid in my new found resolve to speak.
I raise my voice and note a resonance, as tho’ I am joining the voices of many-
many from the world over.
I draw from this realized sense, a sense far beyond that of bravery. 
I know that the truth I seek, the truth of which I speak will be spoken
from places on high, from places down low.
Colors and songs will ribbon these words and
Spirits will raise their once downcast eyes.
I will call out the People, 
lay down your arms, set aside your hate, 
for Truth has come back for us and our healing…
oh yes…our healing is at hand.
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 10:59:56 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

You gotta face this pain…

This thing that’s got you locked up so tight,
this pain that keeps you from breathing full-
you gotta face it, you gotta step back away from it,
turn and face it.
You must first take a moment to accept it’s existence,
understand that it forever is an indelible mark upon your soul.
But only for a moment because then…
you have to stand your ground and tell this pain,
this ugly tortured mark upon your soul that you are taking control now.
You say these things softly but with resoluteness and conviction.
You tell this pain that you are no longer defined by it,
that instead, you will re-define yourself with the lessons it has taught you.
You will take this ugly mark and you will from it draw beauty,
you will see thru new eyes and look upon the world with compassion, love and empathy;
with the eyes once of a tortured boy but now of a man who has been there and knows the depth of pain, loss, disappointment.
As you say these things to the pain that has burrowed for so long in your heart,
something else will begin it’s emerging from deeper still within you.
This mark upon your soul will shed its calloused skin and a light will blaze
through the darkness where once you chose to hide…you see…it’s all choice.
You will breathe full for the first time in what seemed to be always,
you will finally…choose…to breathe full.
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 10:02:07 | Permalink | Comments Off

Poetry

Poetry gives you a key to emotions you lock up tight,
until you finally find the words…the words are like a storm
that builds up slowly, taking up power from places deep inside,
wide open spaces that yield to freedom for the poet’s soul.
Poetry is its own entity, a life force that moves of its own will,
taking the poet places familiar sometimes and sometimes unknown.
When my pen strikes up a conversation with the pad before me,
I feel like a third wheel, I’m given the privilege to be part of the words being written
but I must not, cannot, will not interrupt.
The flow and power rises from places deep inside me,
a storm that builds and must run its course and I, like a whirling dust devil,
swirl in ecstatic freedom.
Posted by cristina (All Rights Reserved. Copyright MCM © 2002-2011) in 09:41:50 | Permalink | Comments Off