Photo by Anna Shvets on
When I first caught eyes with you,
It was exciting, something new,
But you looked away,
And I put you out of my mind,
I went back to the grind,
I had a job to do,

When the whirling tornado of life
Kept throwing us together,
I would catch eyes with you
Because you were my constant,
But you would always look away,
And I would spin around and out of your orbit,
At first, I was sure you weren’t interested in me,
And then, confused that someone would take such great pains
To hide from me a stranger that they never talked to
As to actively turn their back to them in order to hide in plain sight,
I thought you were a jerk but only to mask my pain and hurt.

Until one day, I walked toward and past you,
And you caught my gaze,
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four,
Before you jerked your head in pure torture,
Something I don’t do maybe it’s female privilege,
Or maybe I just crave your connection, 
To be seen, to be desired, to be known,

I watched your perplexing evolution,
When you uttered one shocking syllable “hi”
As you caught my peripheral absolutely unnerving me,
Causing me to utter the same syllable back,

The next day I upped the ante,
And said “morning”,
 You matched my progression,
Arousing your gaze from your feet
To catch the light in my eyes as I passed,
And this dance went on,
Some days no syllables uttered,
Only a head nod as I passed,
Lowering your head but never your eyes,
Submitting a small piece of your soul to our attraction,

Finally, we were alone
No prying eyes or slanderous mouths
Ready for their next bite of gossip,
When you caught me in the kitchen,
You uttered those two same syllables “morning”
Before you darted back into darkness,
No doubt running from the flame in my eyes
Stoked by your presence,
I wish I uttered “wait” held your feet and your eyes
To the fire burning inside me when I am around you,
I need more words, two words, three words, four,
A lifetime of words, maybe a touch or two,
Though I am afraid of your touch,
 I want it too much,

Who is this man that will sacrifice his body
And actively run into a fire,
But now runs away from the fire no doubt in both our eyes,
What is your name?
I don’t even know your name!
For now, I will just call you my firefighter

~ By Hyacinth Hale

Solitary Woman

Photo by Ali Pazani on
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

Safety Net

Photo by Taylor Monahan on
You were supposed to be my safety net,
My soft place to fall when all other men failed me.
Looking back, I don’t know why,
You are more liked barbed wire that disappears,
You catch me, and you cut me deep before vanishing,
And I crash to the ground, not dead but severely broken.

The only evidence I have that you even exist are the scars on my body
And the knot in my stomach every time I think of you,
Pulled in by the few fleeting moments we had,
And then barbed wire pushed in by your absence
And the arrogance that you think I will wait for you,

These feelings exacerbated by your relationship with my mother 
Where you break yourself open to show your inner child,
In hopes that it will be praised and lauded and get back to me,
Digging your hooks into me deeper with intimacies shared through a surrogate,
Emotional vulnerability is my kryptonite,
You vampire! You stick your fangs in me, 
And you suck me dry in hopes to make me wet for you!

It no longer works. These scars you burned in my soul healed 
Enough for me to be deeply angry,
Spurned by the thousand woman you parade in public
While you keep me captive in secret,
My wakeup call was recognizing your delusion,
As you call me Love, pulling me close, turning your hand into a sword
As you stab me in the back,
As you thrust your sword into me, I looked into your eyes,
I am no longer a fool, but you are,
Fooled that you can do what you want to me and still have me,

I am no longer yours. I ripped myself off the nail bed you drove me into hoping my heart Would stay put when the others were wise enough to leave you,
I refuse to sacrifice my dignity for the scarcity of your love,
Bruised, scarred, bloody, I walk on a precarious lonely road without a crutch
Because if I could survive you, I don’t need a safety net.

By Hyacinth Hale

The Fog of Sunrise

Photo by Krivec Ales on
I met you at the end of the dock,
Our meeting place for as long as I can remember,
Old friends, new lovers,
The fog rolled in on the lake in a pink and orange hue
That met the deep blacks and blues of night,
The white fog blended day and night and gave cover
To your feverish kissing of my neck,
I was overcome and gasped,

You gently looked me in the eyes,
You reassured me, and took hold of my hand
As you pulled me in deeper down into the fog,
We were shrouded in our own world that we built long ago,
Familiar yet foreign, something new,
something changing, something to build on,
As I felt you enter inside me, a sharp gasp exhaled this time,
And you kissed it away, and down my neck,
And my breasts, my torso, 
You were softly thrusting until 
You felt me relax, felt me moan an ecstasy,

I will never forget the wetness of the cloud 
That lowly hovered above us,
How it hugged and highlighted every curve of your body,
Or the cool sensation invigorating my skin as it passed over me
Nor the warmth your body leant me,
How we had to rely on each other for such a basic need,
And how it intensified our passion for each other,

I sit holding space in between your thighs
As you wrapped a blanket around us,
And we sipped coffee from a canister that you brought,
We watch the frisky ducks glide across the smoky glass
And dive for their breakfast,
As the sun fully rises, and the day starts,
And a new chapter begins

By Hyacinth Hale


Photo by cottonbro on
I am grasping at a ghost in hopes to feel your skin. I talk to you as if you could talk back, but I don’t dare pick up the phone. We are done. I accepted that, but I miss you!

I know that I have to let you go, but your hauntings feel so comforting. Our goodbye was not satisfying. The door did not close on your way out. You beckoned me to breeze back in at any moment that pleases you, but I’m not a pleasure cruise.  I still miss you whispering in my ear “missy!” Low and sensual like I did something bad. You always knew how to take command of my attention. You still do it even though you are gone!

And then, there are about a thousand things a day that I lean over to tell you, but it’s like hugging the wind. I wanted to get excited about the new season of Stranger Things. Make popcorn and cozy up in your arms, so you could cover my eyes during the scary parts. We talked so much about the Upside Down. You turned my life upside down, flipped it. Now, I cannot even watch the fourth season because I am afraid it will hurt too good. 

When I had a bad date, I wanted to run to you. Knock on your door; tell you how bad the date was and that you were so much better than him. Tell you I’m sorry that I vilified you because there are worse men out there, but I didn’t run. I only wanted to. You see, I had to remind myself just because there are worse men does not mean we were good together, that I still deserve better, that I still deserve all of a man and not just a ghost of one. 

So, one finger, two, I let you go. I release you. Three, four, and every time I find my hand groping for yours in the middle of the night, I will remember to give myself some grace, and let you go again. Just the pinky now, Goodbye my love.

By Hyacinth Hale