Tag: frustration

Posted in desire, love, poetry

Geometry

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

We’ve aligned ourselves in a conundrum, standing in a circle that doesn’t connect, dancing round and round this game of heartache, tripping out of line, falling in passion's trap, waiting for the hand next door to pull us back into the flirtation of friendship, the guise of fitting together, sucked deep into the mystery of not quite chemistry, the him and the me and the him and the her and the us confused by timing, by equations we can’t solve. So we walk side by side at an impasse, frustrated by the same emotion, all in love but not with the right one.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. One of my best friends just got engaged and we’ve been talking about how she knew that he was her partner for life. Her answer, simple and honestly vague, is that something deep inside her just knew.

There’s no common factor that can explain why sometimes we feel romantic chemistry and sometimes we don’t. There’s no trick to lining up that connection. I’ve always been someone that feels it right away and in my experience, no matter how much time I spend with a person doesn’t change whether or not that spark is there. I do believe that love is a decision, ultimately, but it’s foundation is built upon that invisible force that draws you to each other. It’s frustrating when chemistry just misses or when bad timing prevents the heart from sensing it. There are no set paths to falling in love and that exploration, that heartbreak, that discovery, that journey is why we write.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Intertwined

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Intertwined Cobblestones connected in definite pattern like the traditions of a family— making pancakes every Sunday morning. Buckled seams and cracked impressions shout from the street— the tensions of being too close to the people that you love. Without the foundation of bricks supporting Main Street’s travelers the town would crumble. The road’s imperfections, though rocky, holds the community together. The sarcasm of a father, the impatience of a mother, or the tantrums of a child cannot break the cement that binds them. Did you notice that my name isn’t the only signature on this poem? I’m proud to share ownership of this piece with my mom. It was a collaboration not without frustration. We’re different writers. I like sentences. She likes stand alone images. I like verbs. She likes describing words. But somehow it worked and in the end I think we both learned something. Thanks mom, for sharing your wisdom and treating us all to your poetic beauty.

Smile, it’s Tuesday.

–Leanne Rebecca