I’m falling, falling for you,
Dusted off my broken heart,
To give, give to you,
You told me I was safe,
Safe with you,
I heard it all before,
But somehow with you
It rings true
You saw my heart,
broke it’s hard candy shell,
Let my soul spill out
from my lips to your ears
You sat, sat right there,
In my pain without judgement,
And that’s why I’m falling,
Falling for you
Sat down on the ground, Crisscross applesauce, Put my hands in the dirt, Trying to make sense of life without you, No nuggets of wisdom gleaned, Came up with a blade of grass as fragile, And precious as your life was, It blew away just like you did, I laid flat on my back, Searched the clouds for your face, To see if you were peaking Through the floor of Heaven, But I couldn’t find you, The clouds were shapeless Without you pointing to a specific cloud To provide meaning, I am looking for the meaning Without you in my life, But how can you quantify the loss of someone Who kisses me at sunrise, and kisses me at sunset Because the sun made me look more radiant In those golden hours, But your golden hours were every hour, Every moment I spent with you in between, Even when we were in an argument, And there were some times that I hated you, But I always always loved you! You were plucked from this earth too soon, Your golden radiance extinguished, But your love will last in my heart, And those you loved as long as we shall live, Until we meet again my beloved blade of grass! By Hyacinth Hale
The most depressing thing is to look at someone who loves you dearly, and realize you could never love them the same way back.
I am a solitary woman whose love languages Are touch and quality time, And no amount of loving myself or touching myself Or taking myself on dates because I deserve a good time too, Will negate the hole I feel of not having a man, The hole that can only be filled by a man’s hands, His hands stretched out like a clock openly embracing my body, Oh, how I wish I could stop time’s persistent flow, If only to drink in the stimuli of your body, And absorb it on a cellular level like warm sunshine, and have the salty sea spray envelope my body at the beach! I want your voice played on a loop, I want to feel the constant, Yet unpredictable pressure of your fingers Running alongside my skin, I want the image of your face, And the dilation of your eyes Seared in the back of my brain, I want the scent of your cologne mixed With your sweat and pheromones wafting Like lazy jazz notes hanging in the air, I want the taste of your tongue warm and sweet Like grilled pineapple to be the last taste I ever taste, I want to freeze time, But its persnickety cadence persists, And your hands keep missing mine, We can’t seem to catch our breath, Yet alone each other, I am a solitary woman whose love languages Are touch and quality time, I’ve learned to adapt, I have learned to wrap myself in a weighted blanket, It is warm and pressurized, But I can still feel the coldness Of the metal washers sewn in, I have learned to say my inner dialogue out loud, I may seem crazy, but I feel a little less lonely in the moment, I distract myself with smells of lit candles like Tahitian Dreams And Mahogany Coconut, watch the flame flicker, and the aroma waft Until the fury light extinguishes slowly sinking the smell to the ground, I buy take out for two if only To have my lunch prepared for the next day, Or if I am feeling brave, I grab a table for one, And I distract myself by scrolling fake Instagram photos, If I want to hear praise, I will spend three hours getting ready To go for a bagel, and take four hundred photos Just to feel the dopamine hits of people pressing the like button, I am a solitary woman, I learned self-defense, and make my own money, I have plumbers and mechanics on speed dial, I do my own car research, and I found my own voice To tell off whomever needs a good tongue lashing, But my love languages are touch and quality time, And loving myself is not the same as Someone loving me the way I crave to be loved Strong and gentle urgent and timeless. I am a solitary woman in need of the love of a man, And I am not ashamed By Hyacinth Hale
You are medicine, you are healing, you are what I need. Not the constant dopamine hit that I took, and the withdrawal of the last twenty men that I tried to love but that never seemed to love me back because they left and came back and left and came back before leaving for good. They left me searching for the next hit. Truthfully, I still search sometimes. My body still remembers the rush of knowing a man is undone just by the site of you. A quick glance from the eyes to the lips even lower studying the curvature of your body is enough to send shockwaves through a man. Make him buy you drinks, buy you dinner. It’s the first sign of his interest. The first sign that leads to love, but it does not show respect. Show me a man that respects women, and I will show you a man that was raised by a woman who respects herself and taught her son to do the same. When I say you are medicine, I mean my scars still itch, but you kiss them anyway. When I say you are healing, I mean you set boundaries for me, and they are good. When I say you are what I need, you, darling, are what I wish I had from the very beginning, but I’m glad. I’m glad that I went through those men because now I will cherish you like licking the whip cream off the cherry on top of a sundae, slow and sensuous, relishing every moment, you can taste the cherry bursting flavor, the sticky white whip cream residue oozing down the sides. The best part about eating the cherry is the rest of the sundae. You still have the rest of the sundae below to eat, and we have so many more Sundays of our own, and someday I hope to spend forever and a day kissing old scars that are faded and no longer itch because we took the time to heal them. By Hyacinth Hale
The veil was torn, and like a rug pulled from under me, I fell to the ground. Laid out like a corpse for all to see for the first time, I was exposed. You didn’t ask to see me like this, and I didn’t want to show you. I never hid who I was or what I go through, but plucky charisma goes a long way to assuage the burning hell I walk through on a daily basis. Incapacitated, emaciated, gaunt, breath shallow until I smell life and my lungs hold on to that oxygen desperately like a toxic relationship pushing and pulling my chest. My heart working double time to compensate. I wake disoriented to see you in the doorway smiling at me as I come to. Your eyes heartbroken for the both of us. At first, I thought you were a mirage. Something I dreamed of often so when you spoke, and I heard the kind timber of your voice, I was taken back. “Feliz Navidad” you said. A Merry Christmas it was indeed. Maybe this year this was our gift to each other. Pain and tenderness like a Christmas tree’s twinkling glow in the darkness such beauty and life from a plant that was violently severed from its roots oozing sap. Death always smells so sweet when it’s dressed up. I am not dying, but a part of me did that day. The part that checks all lists twice and tries to make everything perfect. No one, especially me, could have predicted this would happen. I could not plan for it. I could not prepare you. My plans go to shit anyway, but at least we would have had a plan. Destiny interceded for us. Like vapor clearing from my eyes you vanished. A plane to catch, a continent between us, you might as well have been a mirage. I could explain away an illusion of my fragmented mind but not a man who leaves. I know I was in good hands my friends rushed in, tapping into what all mothers know and only the ones they love benefit from, the nurturing touch of the scared yet courageous. Makeshift nurses, battle tested, and battle ready. They swarmed me in a frenzy, and you made your exit. All I wanted to know for months was if you would cross that fence you’ve been hugging like the door jam you left. I guess I got my answer. I couldn’t help but think that this was our chance. Your chance to show me what I am to you. In the frenzy, your voice rang out “feel better” before everything went black, and all I heard was the hollow sound of your footsteps walking away. I should hate you for leaving, but I don’t. You did as much as you could. Loved me as much as your heart allowed. Your veil was pierced today too. You could no longer hide behind the Casanova bravado you bolster. You were exposed under the twinkling light of a Christmas tree.
Hyacinth Hale Poetry 