Blood Moon

Blood Moon, gonna come around soon

I wanna get to the land where my body's in tune

with the tides of life, and the whole of the Universe

My tongue in love with the words I construe

I don't want you in my Blood Moon

I want the peace of knowing solitude

My food will not endure the journey for two

I pray the Blood Moon take me far from you

Softly, you step to me

I am not hearing the words

You speak so slowly

I make my peace

I whisper to you, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

Blood Moon, I come to you

in this land of sand and destitution

for my heart and mind -

the restitution for the years I've adhered

to your constitution

I bide my time by the Wheel of the Moon

as She waxes and wanes me full to new

I guess my healing lies inside Her movements

Will She heal me of this love for you?

I don't want you in my Blood Moon

It will not do to break myself in two for you

Don't ask me, "Baby, can I follow you to the Blood Moon?"

I will refuse you...

Softly you step to me

I am not hearing the words you speak

So slowly, I make my peace

I whisper to you, "Yeah, yeah yeah..."

(Con calma de mi alma

y el amor de mi corazon,

sur la luz de luna brilla)

The Cloak of Shame

Guilt and shame are worthless emotions. They siphon energy into a spiraling, self-wallowing pool, that fills and fills until you're either submerged and drowning in it, or you're smart enough to dive down and open the drain. I've given up on both options, and tend to let go of my mistakes more quickly than I ever used to. It's not that I don't feel the sensation of shame. I'm just not going to let it ruin my day.

In general, as a rule, I try to live my life by this principal: I try not to do anything that I can't be completely honest about - with myself or others. I journal everyday, and if I weren't able to write something down (for fear that it might eventually be discovered), well, that's a huge sign I seriously fucked up. By the same token, I write this blog, and have regular and open conversations with my friends about my life and journey, the lessons I'm learning, and my spiritual growth. If there were something which I had to hide from them or from my readers, again, it must have been bad. Those occurrences are very few and far between, but, I am not perfect. I sometimes screw up living by my own standards. I, at times, am a huge hypocrite. It is at these moments when I feel I am "Cloaked In Shame."

I can't remember from which incident I first coined that term, but several come to mind. Like the time when my band, Mad Love, was playing at a local VFW. Low pressure show, no huge audience or anything... there to hone our chops and have fun. One of my bandmates and I decided on a shot and a beer before the show. Tequila, was our choice that night. The bartender poured, and I thought it looked like a pretty tall shot... but my friend swilled hers down without blinking, and so I followed suit. I was debuting a cover song that night - a rap, thick with words and articulation - that I had been wanting to perform for years. We were saving it for a later set.

By the time that song came up, I was all the way in the bag. I'm not sure how I was still standing - maybe because I was able to sway from side to side, the drunkard's ditty, and keep my balance that way. Regardless, I was FAR from being able to sing - let alone rap, fast-paced, spitting out all those consonants. The performance TANKED! Big time - definitely the worst show of my life. In fact, it was so bad, that most of the band members left that night without even saying anything to me - a first, and a last (thank God). To make matters worse, I somehow decided to drive myself home, bawling hysterically the whole way. When I got home (by the good graces of angels above), I ran to the bathroom, blinded by my own tears. My then-husband heard me crying, hurried to the bathroom, took one look at me and said, horrified, "Oh my God, Emily! What happened to your face?? Did someone punch you??" I turned to the mirror, confused... and saw that I had been crying so hard, I had a massive bloody nose running down my chin. Cloaked-In-Shame.

Another famous episode was Halloween Eve, 2006. I had suffered a brutal breakup that fall, and was completely out of my mind, body and spirit. I had lost tons of weight from my already small frame. I was in the deepest depths of depression, after being cheated on and lied to and manipulated by my ex. I had to be hospitalized, and on suicide watch. As hard as it is for me to write that, ironically enough, that's not the shameful part of this story. It was, again, at a show - a pre-Halloween show which I performed at only a day or two out of the loony bin. It took some energy to feign normality, but everyone knew I was just not well. I had a drink or two that night, but nothing in excess. Yet, still, somehow, I managed to pass out on stage - falling backwards into the drum riser. Horrified and humiliated, I ran to the green room, laid down on the couch there, crying, and covering my face like a child. I was driven home by our two new back-up singers, who had only just recently met me. Lord, what they must have thought? I hid, lying down on the way-back seat in my new friend's minivan, crying the whole way home. Cloaked-In-Shame.

There are so many other stories that keep rushing to mind: fights with family members, sexcapades with men in relationships, my thieving episodes from teenage-hood, lies I've told... I have many things to feel ashamed about. Sometimes, these memories come out of nowhere, and I find that I start talking or singing out loud to myself when they do - a defense mechanism to sort of drown-out the thoughts. I don't know that shame ever really goes away entirely. We just compartmentalize, and move on as best as we can, knowing there's no way to go back and erase those things from the history books. And, even if we could, would we? Aren't our mistakes also a valuable part of our personal evolutions? I can try to look at it that way, and give thanks for the lessons I've learned... but for some other incidences, even years later, the sting of guilt still has a sharp bite on my soul.

I liken the Cloak of Shame to Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. A massively huge cape that encircles your entire being - but no one can see it, except for you. No one really knows these scars I wear and bear throughout my life. As I "slap on the happy," I brilliantly disguise the terrible embarrassment with terrific accomplishments, self-confidence and an eagerness to repent for these unsung sins by helping others, trying my best to have a more positive effect on the world and lives around me.

And when I commit these grand lapses in judgments, betraying myself and my values, and causing direct or indirect harm on others, while I don the Cloak, I know that the best course of action is to reflect upon how I could have done things differently, and strive always to make better choices in the future. No need to wallow. No need to spin on it. Acknowledge, bless and let it go, as best as you can. After all, everyone - and I mean every one - makes mistakes.

(But let's try to make less and less from here on out, 'kay?)

Guess I'm Not a Bitch After All

Throughout my life, I have had it in my mind that I am a bitch.

I'm not sure how or when that seed was planted in my brain, but can easily identify points along the way that have reinforced the notion. The "bitchiness" is rolled into and tied up with a whole lot of negative mindspeak I've had about myself - that I'm a "bad" person, that I am "too emotional," that I am "crazy."

But, yeah, I'm not so sure about that anymore.

I grew up in a house with a lot of sibling rivalry and abuse, and can imagine that my anger and violence were born primarily as a function of survival - when you have a bully of a sister six years your senior who torments you physically and emotionally, you need to summon up all the rage you can to try to fight back. From the emotional dysfunction in my home life, my family certainly saw many incidences when I was "out of control," or "troubled." I would eavesdrop on conversations the adults would have about me, and heard words like "neurotic," and "certifiable." I didn't know what either of those words meant, but I knew by the tone of the conversation that it wasn't good, and that I wasn't good. So, it's likely the negative self-perception started then, at home, in my youth.

By nature, I have a very strong-willed personality. I am opinionated and out-spoken. I have many leader-like qualities, and have always traveled at the head of the pack. In middle school, I masked on heaping loads of false bravado to cover my tween insecurities, and might have been seen as intimidating and confident, almost too sure of myself (which was all an act, I assure you). I was a little wild, a little "advanced" for my young age - sexually, and in maturity - which might have seemed somewhat threatening.

However, I was also very sensitive, and so desperately afraid of what people thought of me... If I were invited to a party, let's say, I would be nauseous with anxiety about going - and often times, ended up staying home because I assumed something bad would happen to me, and couldn't calm my nerves. On the other hand, if I wasn't invited to a particular party, I would have been beside myself with grief, and would have thought that everyone must hate me and would dread going to school the following Monday to have to face them all. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Now, as an adult, I realize that most kids that age ride that same, scary emotional roller-coaster. I also realize that my friends back then saw me very differently than I would have thought.

In high school, I was tormented by older girls, who probably didn't like my strong personality nor my blossoming talents. I would often have my head bashed into my locker, and used to keep a collection of hate notes that would get passed to me in choir. I got beat up at a few football games. In the 10th grade, to my utter humiliation, I actually ended up on a "Bitch List" that had been circulating around school. I was #2 on the list. The parents of all the girls who made it on the list were called in to the Vice Principal's office, to be assured that the school was dealing with the matter effectively. I will never forget the look on my mother's face - that her 15 yr old was the #2 bitch in a school of 1500 kids. Horrifying.

After high school, and throughout my adult life, though the negative self-perception had been firmly rooted in me, I wouldn't say that I have been perceived as a bitch. I know people have seen me bitch others out. I know some of my friends fear ever making me angry or getting me riled up. And for sure, my ex-boyfriends and ex-husband have seen demons come flying right out of me. It's easy for others to see that I am emotional, yes, and that I have a quick temper. I have remained very opinionated and outspoken. I can be very bossy at times. Yet, while I have had some volatile arguments and confrontations with certain people who are no longer in my life, in general, I think most people find me quite agreeable, having a lot of social grace, typically upbeat, and eager to make others feel comfortable around me.

But the negative thoughts about myself, that belief that I am a bitch and a bad person, has remained. It has poisoned some relationships. It has enabled me to behave badly, raging in situations when I have felt threatened or hurt. It has been the source of the deep depression that has spiraled out of control at different points in my life. So much power that little inner voice has had, and yet all it is, is simply a thought.

There is a flip side to this coin, however, and this is what has recently just occurred to me. That same negative little voice in my head doesn't just have influence on my bad behavior... but manifests in other ways as well. Because I feel bad about myself, because I still fear what others think of me, and seek that approval and validation that I am a good person after all... I forgive where I shouldn't. I am gracious towards those who offend. I reach out to those who turn away. I give where it's not reciprocated. I take the high road too often, and it's because of that deep-rooted self-loathing that seeks approval, that needs attention, that is desperate for love - as if someone's love could validate my merit, and prove that I am good and deserving.

Well, I think I'm getting over all that.

There's this other voice in my head that's been cropping up a lot more often these days. I like her tone. She sings real sweet. And she's LOUD - I think she's been drowning out the voice I've been listening to all these years. This new voice tells me that all those qualities I have - being opinionated, outspoken, emotional, and direct - are virtues which others admire, and don't despise. She validates what a powerful, amazing, talented woman I am - and that these gifts I've been given can be harnessed and used to temper my emotions, control my rage, prevent myself from spiraling into depression... that I have the ability and strength to make those choices. She also has been pointing out to me the situations in which I am spending energy - good, loving energy - on people who really don't deserve it, reminding me that I don't need approval from people who aren't even on my level. I need to leave them behind as I ascend to greater heights.

I am not a bitch. I am not crazy. I am not too emotional. I'm not neurotic, nor certifiable. I am not troubled. I am not wicked. I am not bad.

I am a lover, and have a huge heart. I am a giver, and have such great desire to help my loved ones in their hours of need. I am direct, and people can always count on me to be honest. I own my shit - I walk my walk, and talk my talk; I don't say one thing and do or mean another. I am joyous and fun. I share what I have. I see the glass half-full. I look for positive solutions. I am open. I am not ashamed. I have strength of mind and will. I am independent. I am free.

After all these years, and all this time, God damn it feels good to be me.

Again and Again and Again (Will You Never Learn?)

Did this really just happen again?

Did I seriously let my tires spin again

for what I thought, this time, was at least a friend?

Fuck me, I guess. It never ends.

Though he hasn't said, I know this dread.

I know what it means when my bed

is empty, but my heart is full...

when he's not there to calm my soul...

God, how they fucking beg

and plead at first - they get in your head,

and all you know is right and true for you

becomes unglued.

Seal 'er up! Lay the bricks!

Entomb myself from all this sick

trickery of mind and heart.

Tried to do it from the start...

... but they all have an angle, don't they?

So clever for such stupid, simple brains.

Convinced me my fortress would be my demise,

so I helped him knock it down to size.

Just when the walls began to fall down 'round me

he chose to flee. Puh-leeze.

I've been here a hundred times before:

got what he wanted, and ran out the door.

Yeah, it hurts, I feel the sting.

Gave him great care. Gave everything

in my heart in his greatest hour of need.

Now he's full up, and I'm left hoping to bleed.

Older and wiser and harder I become.

I don't cry anymore, 'cause I'm not that dumb

to waste my tears on the men of the world.

It's the same old game since I was a girl.

I'm icing the fires in my chest.

Waiting for winter to help freeze my breast.

I will learn from this shit pile of pain once again...

he's just a man, after all... hardly a friend.

Plague of the Penis, Part 2: Hot and Cold

It comes in waves, I say. It must be astrological, or something, because there are patterns and trends in the relationships around me, despite the vast differences in circumstance, personalities, and contexts. I see it in my own life, and I have half a dozen women friends going through it too... the next level of the unfortunate Plague, flu-like in its intensity and contagion, which I have simply dubbed "Hot and Cold."

I bet many of you already know where this is headed. Let you be forewarned that this blog will be a huge pile of generalities and discrimination - but yes, I certainly know that what I am writing is NOT true for EVERYone. There are always exceptions to the rule. I GET IT. Still, there is a HUGE likelihood that many will undoubtedly be able to relate, and it is for those unlucky bastards that I write these words. After all, someone needs to say this shit...

Once again, I'll start with my own personal scenario:

So, I had made it a point last year that I would not get involved in another long-term, serious, committed relationship until I had accomplished some much needed inner work on myself with some level of success and achievement. I'm not there yet. However, celibacy was never a consideration for this unspecified period of time - hell no! Girl has needs - STRONG needs that grow up like weeds, and sometimes wind and twist and choke all ration and reason from my brain! This is some powerful stuff, a woman's desire. God forbid, I deny myself the pleasures of passion and sex and lust.

But this is dangerous stuff: for to truly feel that kind of passion and intensity I long for, most often there's some semblance of an emotional connection involved. Totally random sex has little panache. Yet, for a girl who is ever cautious to remain unattached and single, those emotions and feelings can be tricky tricky tricky.

The pattern in MY experiences tends to go like this: I meet a guy that I like, and he likes me. We fuck or don't fuck - that's besides the point - but the mutual attraction is there. Dude man becomes glamoured... he sees all of the extraordinary qualities I possess, and becomes covetous - wanting me all to himself. I protest, clearly explaining I want to be single, my past relationships haven't worked out so well, I need time. Dude man can't wait - he's so bewitched, that before you know it, he's making grand declarations of love and desire and trying to tie up my schedule and my future with... him. He sees a goddess he wants on his arm. I see red flags and hear the alarm.

His persistence, however, and his charm and beauty, weaken my resolve. I try not to show it, and continue to deny his more serious emotional advances, as he begs me to "at least be OPEN to the idea that it could work out." Cracks in my armor. Mortar falling apart at the seams. Roots becoming unearthed. Little flecks of hope wisp into my old wounds. I want to believe. I hope to be loved. It does feel good. He is a good guy. Aw, shit. Here we fucking go again...

So, now, he's convinced me to entertain the idea a little more seriously than I had wanted to. I find myself texting him more often. Calling more often. Missing him and wanting to make plans to see him more often... and just like that, BAM! He backs off. His calls and texts are less and less frequent. He skips out on plans made. He pocket calls while he's out with his friends, laughing and partying, while I'm sitting at home missing him, crying for the 50,000th time over "Sense and Sensibility." What just happened here??? He made himself emotionally vulnerable by confessing he's falling in love, and then had to back off. In the meantime, I fell like a sucker for that shit. Now he's moved on, and I find myself attached and unrequited, and there's no explanation or closure in store? P.O.P.!!!

Here's the first variation of Hot and Cold. We'll call this friend of mine, "Forgotten Foxy." So, Foxy was involved with a guy she met while away at school. Same kind of scenario... she was hesitant to open her heart and get into a relationship, while he persisted for weeks with flowery declarations, (both spoken and written in poetry form) - this dude man was pulling out ALL the stops, and investing some serious thought, time and energy into it all. So, Foxy succumbed, and fell in love. They had to live long-distance for awhile, which is trying on any relationship, but they loved each other and were trying to make it work til she'd return to school in the fall.

Alas, the strain on the relationship became too great. When you can't look into someone's eyes, feel their touch, sense their energy, and are entirely dependent on phone calls and skyping, there leaves much room for misinterpretation and misunderstanding. Foxy had the notion that maybe her man was up to no good, hanging out with girls and such. He denied, and tried his best to console her fears... but then there was some evidence that her suspicions were accurate. Separated from her love, and losing faith in his intentions, Foxy's heart was breaking slowly. After much discussion, and with some fear and grief, she agreed that the two would "take a month off" from their long-distance communique, and wait til she had returned to school, to be in each other's presence, and then decide if their love is true.

She passed those first few weeks like a champ: giving him his space, treating herself to fulfilling adventures, getting her goals and priorities in check. She was feeling stronger than ever, returning to her power. They spoke here and there, keeping tabs on each other, but both abiding by the terms of their agreement. Then came the fourth week, the week before she'd leave for school, and for their reunion. Emotions began to surface again, and she thought it was the good time to begin reconnecting by phone.

He confessed to her one night that he had been trying to date a young 20-yr old, but she was refusing his advances. Foxy listened, gave him advice, and even comforted him - taking the "higher road" of friendship, if that's what their love was destined to be. Yet days later, a little confused, and emotions intensifying as the road trip cross country drew near, she tried to call, text, im, skype - communicate in any way, to clarify their situation and KNOW what to expect when she arrived back at school. No answer. None. No message returned. No respect, no closure. Foxy was left dangling, wondering, asking "Why?!" over and over and over again. Filled with anxiety, frustration, and utter confusion as to how he could have been so in love (so hot) for months on end, and then so out of love (turned cold) within a matter of weeks, Foxy flipped her fucking lid. I commiserated, and told her, "The requirement should be that you have to use just as many words to get OUT of a relationship as you do getting IN to one." P.O.P.!!!

Second variation: my friend we'll call... "Jilted Jolie." Jolie met her man in January, as casual acquaintances at work. She was never one to be tied down, though the thought had crossed her mind from time to time. She was in her mid-20s, enjoying her single life in the cities, and always keeping a few lovers about her. He joined her roster, and it was clear to both that their arrangement was purely physical, and anything but serious.

Months and months passed, and while other lovers in her life had come and gone, this one stayed on. She couldn't help but take notice of the increasing frequency of their passionate nights, as well as the increased passion they seemed to be sharing. Yet, she held fast to the context of their relationship ("casual," only) DESPITE his yearnings to want to "have the talk." She resisted the conversation, feeling it would be the inevitable nail in the coffin for the rather pleasurable affair they were both enjoying. His behavior became erratic - one day talking about love and marriage and having children together, then chalking it up as a joke and insisting he didn't want to be in a committed relationship with her. Jolie didn't know what to think.

But she was thinking. She was seriously considering his awkward suggestions that maybe what they had together would/could be a pretty solid relationship. It had been a decade since she'd walked that path... and it started to sound better and better as the months continued on. They had a solid friendship, hot sex, similar interests... and at this point, had been "casual" for ten months, and even unintentionally monogamous for two. So, what would be the harm in having "the talk," as he'd been wanting, and give it a shot as a real, defined, committed couple?

She opened her heart, and let the flood of love for him rush in. The dam of protecting her heart had crumbled beneath her, and the levies had broken as well. And so she reached out to him... reached out just a day or two after he had left her a voicemail ending with, "I love you." Suddenly, he's not interested in talking. His behavior became even more unstable: ditching her one night while out with friends, then stopping by to visit a few days later. She kept trying to communicate, but he was unavailable, uninterested, inconsistent as she grew impatient.

Finally, after spending time together once again on one fated evening, she finally said, "I really want to talk to you about us." His reaction was borderline violent, as he cursed at her, and kicked her out of his home. Left her on the street, confused, and crying alone. Three weeks have passed, and he calls no more. She thought she was giving him what he had wanted, what he had expressed: to discuss and decide what their future together would be. But, somewhere along the lines, unbeknownst to her, he had changed his mind? When? Why? The same stupid questions we're all asking ourselves. P.O.P.!!!

Variation number three: I introduce to you to "Angel Angle." Now this girl is truly born out of the heart of love. She doesn't deny her emotions, is clear about her intentions: she wants to give and receive some good lovin'. She is young, gorgeous, sexy, talented... a true catch for anyone lucky enough to catch her eye and win her heart.

After recently getting dumped by a neglectful boyfriend of one year, Angel was distraught... beside herself. Always trying to give the benefit of the doubt, look for the deeper meaning, believe in the true goodness of others (even when they are douche bags), she forgives even where she shouldn't. She pined and mourned for her lost love. She was bereft. She thought her heart would never heal.

Until she walked in on a party one night, and saw him with another girl on his lap. Stunned and likely infuriated, she turned the tables. The hope that he had been missing her as much as she was him was crushed in that instant. She understood perfectly just exactly what kind of man he truly is. She sealed up her heart, and began to do what I had been hoping she would: she turned that attention and energy back onto herself. Within that very week, her joy in life had returned, opportunities were ablaze, and plans were being made for a trip to the islands this winter - a long trip, which will inevitably change her whole life.

With her regained confidence and exuberance, her energy and attractiveness exuded from every pore. An old friend, a sexy old friend, came onto the scene, and the two started palling around until all hours of the night. A couple of times, they would crash at one or the other's house, on the same bed or couch, talking for hours, sexual tension building. They kissed... and it was so hot, Angel had all but forgotten about what's-his-name from yesteryear.

New dude had to leave town for work - has a gig where he's on the road a lot. Angel used that time to keep moving forward with her big plans, but couldn't help thinking of him - the dynamic was so intense! He, obviously, couldn't stop thinking of her either - called from the road at one point, entertaining the idea of going with her to the islands this winter... She was so excited, she almost burst!!! But, she kept her cool, and used her head, and reminded him of the amazing opportunity he would be passing up in his work. Just as she was trying to focus her energy on her life, she wanted him to do the same - but he was certainly invited for a visit, and she started to consider how they might carry on some kind of long distance relationship.

He came back into town, and they got together again. They spent a night wrapped up in each other's arms - no sex, but an extremely sensual, orgasmic experience. He would be in town for a few weeks before taking off again. She had hoped to spend as much time together as possible.

But after that night, he all but disappeared from her life. Stopped returning calls and texts. Was hanging out with mutual friends, but not inviting her. Ran into her one day, and said they could get together later that night, and stood her up. No word or mention of why? What went wrong? Did she do or say something to offend? Hot and Cold, man!!! P.O.P.!!!

I started writing about this a week or more ago. Since then, the calls and emails have been pouring in - other women, friends and even readers of my blog, who have asked advice about similar situations. It's truly an epidemic! That's why I say it must be something astrological, or floating in the air. As I listen to and read the varying scenarios, I find myself repeating the same words to others as I keep writing to and telling myself:

As a bare minimum, my sisters, respect and dignity should be the requirements of any relationship. If a man has no balls to communicate, to end a relationship he is no longer interested in, to give closure, and to have integrity, then what more about these men do we really need to know? The "why's" simply don't matter. The tears you shed he likely has no concern for. The hours you spend tormented and confused is simply time you are wasting, time that could be opened up and freed for a man who might better reciprocate the loving energy you are willing to invest. It's easier said than done, I know. We must grieve the end of a love or season. It is unfair, it is painful, it is pura mierda (pure bullshit).

In trying to let go, we must resist the urge to continue reaching out to that which would only keep pushing us away. We must stop justifying our "reasons" why we need to call or text or email. We need to accept the douche-baggery for what it is. Our attempts prove to be futile, and we rarely get the reaction we most hope for.

In moments of weakness: call up a girlfriend instead. The love of our friends is the best cure against the dreaded Plague.

Resolution (A Song for the Equinox)

Now the spirits are close

as the year begins to die...

We are seeking union with you,

sacred mass communion.

Pomegranates and wine,

divine scripture coded in time

one day to reveal

what in you is ethereal...

Mother, I have come to bleed,

sweet life dripping from me.

This soul which you bestowed in me

is no longer lonely

for she has seen the angels streaming,

the gods competing

for her love.

All things live inside Her love.

Green, the color of weeds in my kitchen.

I boil in my pot the soul of my traditional ways.

I use my gaze to bless manifestation of life

in these times of spiritless in nation,

in these times of strife.

Yes, the spirits are close,

they are fast closing in,

and this revolution

can become a resolution.

Re-solution.

Revolution... re-evolution.

Resolution... re-soulution.

Revolution... re-evolution.

Resolution... the solution...

A Pair of Scar-Cross'd Lovers

Romeo came from Borneo,

an orphan, rescued from the jungle

and a life of poverty and a mother's shame.

Those who took him changed his name.

Brown skin taped so thinly to tiny bones.

They brought him home, and

rarely ever heard him cry,

at least, that is, until the sister died

of cancer - so young, life unspent.

From her parents' arms she went

and closed her eyes for the final time.

Her spirit must have brushed his side

for they said he cried.

He howled and yowled an infant's "goodbye."

Juliet was born ill-met:

her sisters cried outside the birthing room doors.

A boy, they wanted, nothing less or more.

Their resentment and tears

painted pictures clear of the years to come.

She would ever be a lonely little one.

She was clever and precocious,

even as a babe -

desperately trying to sway attention her way.

In her high chair, she thought, "I bet if I could reach

that cup over there, someone would see

and then they would know there's so much I can do!

I mean, after all, I'm worth something too..."

She got at the cup, tiny fingers clenched tight

but the hot cocoa splashed on her chest

and her white skin puckered and popped -

third degree burns she had incurred.

'Twas the first of many a hard lesson she would learn...

Romeo's folks got the notion that he

should not be alone, so back to Borneo with speed

to the jungle and stench and destitution once again

to find for their son a couple new friends.

A boy and a girl, related by blood.

They came and they rescued these two from a flood

of violence, and death, unaware of the pain

that was etched in their bones, inherently ingrained.

They changed their names

and brought them new life.

Thrust from darkness and terror, straight into the light.

And so, there were three, meant to be family,

except that new sister could not leave behind

the pain and the fear and her will to survive...

fratricide crossed her mind

as the years ticked on.

She couldn't let go, yet she couldn't hold on.

Afraid for the life of young Romeo, and more,

new sister was painfully shown the door...

New brother remained, and the three were now two.

Yet, inside new brother, a devil's pain grew.

Juliet would wander, as soon as she learned to walk.

She whistled and sang and found herself talking

to anyone who'd listen.

Take herself to the movies, to the library, or store...

walked herself to preschool when she was just four.

Her daddy had gone, her mom wasn't there.

Her sisters, of course, never once seemed to care.

All the neighbors who knew her knew, too, she was troubled.

She acted out in ways no child should ever

be allowed in a crowd, or at home, for that matter.

But neglect had made her young soul so much sadder

and madder than other most children her age.

Her family was certain it was all "just a phase."

At the young age of eight, Juliet met her fate:

a man in a car tried to lure her his way,

as he pointed to toys overflowing in the back,

and told her to choose one from the sack on his lap.

He seemed nice enough, he smiled and was kind...

(he was the first of what would be many to try

to get their kicks off of this trusting young fool).

His wife had been her first-grade teacher at school.

She reached in the bag for the rare gift of a toy,

but found the bottom cut out, and grabbed onto his boy

parts. And thus started a legacy to come:

a girl who'd be used by men just for fun.

When they were both twelve, at that moment in time,

Romeo and Juliet, each more or less both broken inside

found each other. And, maybe, they each recognized

the scars on their hearts which they tried to disguise.

They kissed. The very first kiss of their lives.

They kissed, and caught sight of the souls in their eyes.

Too young yet to know, understand or comprehend,

the two were soon parted, yet carried on as friends.

By the end of their schooling, they had drifted far apart,

had fallen in loves and suffered broken hearts.

Romeo and new brother, both handsome and groomed

seemed as different to her as the sun and the moon.

While Romeo's beauty and the soul in his eyes

had always enchanted her, she ever despised

new brother, for he teased her and brought her to tears.

Unknowing, perhaps, that she shared his same fears

of pain and rejection, and feeling alone.

They mirrored their longings for a safe place to call home.

For as yet, Juliet, held for Romeo, her friend

a love and a kiss and a memory without end.

But new brother, she swore, would forever be

the nemesis of her youth, and her arch-enemy.

Romeo was a shy one, bright-eyed, but soft-spoken,

while Juliet's tongue and her voice were her token

to starring on stage, and commanding the scene.

With her flair for dramatics, she faked self-esteem.

The years would pass by... almost too many to count,

and their paths led them far and then near, and about

as she gypsied around and he broke out of his shell.

He was snorting cocaine; she was stripping in hell.

Romeo, as a man, had asserted himself,

had flirted his way to the top of the shelf

where the liquors were costly, but the women even more.

The diamond he'd bought was intended for a whore

but she wouldn't stop hookin'.

And so he kept lookin' for the woman

who'd keep his mind and loins cookin'.

He dabbled around, and finally found

a soul/spirit sister who eventually wound up

bearing his son... the Phoenix of his life:

from the ashes of trashes, he vowed to then rise

and embrace the glory of his first born son.

A child's spirit could change anyone....

Juliet was a fucking hot mess

in that cum-stained dress

she had harbored for years.

A souvenir of sorts that would bear her tears

and fears of living alone in this world.

She slapped on her face and strapped on her pearls

and painted the scene with her colorful voice.

Everywhere she went she'd enchant with her noise

and her sound, and her words and her brain

and her pain that seeped through

everything she would do.

The lonely desperation inside of her grew,

and she latched herself onto pretty men with good talk,

who'd fall for her face, but even more for her confident walk

which was staged, just like everything else.

She never knew love, even for herself.

New brother was floating around then, too.

Had re-met Juliet, and easily made her swoon.

They buried their grudges and cast off their pain,

and devoted two weeks of their lives to each other in vain:

'twas a shame, when he finally left.

She'd come to accept him, and felt so bereft

when he took leave from her life

never to be seen again.

She had hoped, at the least, he'd still be her friend.

But away he blew, and so she did too...

to Mexico, for years, she started life anew.

She discovered her spirit and re-met her soul,

and began to grow into the woman we would know...

Onwards and upwards, Romeo and Juliet did strive.

So different, and yet so alike in their lives

and their journeys and lessons and tithes

they did give to the people and places

they found themselves in.

He quit the whole club scene to find something more stable.

She married a man and did all she was able to do

to control her emotions and fears,

a wild bird clipping its own wings just to hear

the "I love you," she'd waited for all of her life.

Turns out, she made a most terrible wife.

Romeo was still looking for a woman to love,

and thought, once again, he had found what he wanted:

a young, pretty thing to wear on his arm.

Trouble was, after all, she was too young and far

from wanting a life as a wife or a mother.

She left him just weeks before he found out new brother

had taken his life, hung himself from a tree.

He ended the pain that had caused him to be

divided inside by his two families.

Belonging to both or to none, or for some

stupid reason he chose his own death.

Romeo's heart near fell out of his chest.

Juliet was left alone once again.

Her husband abandoned her like all the other men.

The stress and the pain of the wounds he'd inflicted

had broken her back, and she had been sickened

with grief and the fear and the pain of her life.

The doctors insisted she go under the knife.

They sliced her spine open to remove the disease

that had crippled her all the way down to her knees.

They sewed her back up, and she went home to heal

her body and mind, heart and spirit, for real.

Confined to a bed for weeks and weeks on end,

it was there where she learned of her enemy-turned-friend.

"Oh, dear God!" she exclaimed as her head set a-spin.

It was most certain now: she'd never see him again.

But 'twas Romeo, Romeo who first came to mind.

"Wherefore art thou Romeo?" she questioned inside.

The decades had passed, but she endeavored to find

him, knowing he needed her there at his side.

She tracked him down, and hobbled her way, dressed in blue,

to wrap him in love, as he hoped she would do.

She entered, they met, looking older it's true...

but their souls in their eyes were the same as they knew

way back when, when they kissed, twelve years old, back at school.

And, in that moment, she knew just what to do.

Juliet took hold of Romeo's hand.

"You're coming with me," was her only command.

She brought him to her home, and kept him three days.

She sang to his heart, took care of him, made

him eat, and sleep, and cry and talk.

She gave to him all of the love she'd reserved

for the men who walked out on her, all undeserving.

Instead of her needing, she relished in serving

the beautiful, pained, grieving Romeo.

She licked up his tears, and felt her heart grow.

And he, amazed, at this creature so fine,

lifted her shirt and kissed the scar on her spine

in a gesture of thanks, and so filled with love.

The pair of them, holed up together above

the din of the city, and the smell of the cars.

They held tight to each other, as if they had never been

parted, way back, twenty years ago or more.

They held tight to each other as new brother watched o'er them

from his celestial perch, finally free from his pain,

and so happy to see these two together again.

A tragedy shared, yet their love like a salve

erasing the wounds from the lives they once had.

Hand in hand as they stepped, heart to heart, soul to soul...

First kiss to the last pair of lips they shall know.

"You see? It was fate, that first day when we met,"

Romeo whispered in the ear of Juliet.

And she, still reserved and unsure of the risk

leapt into the void, and succumbed to his kiss.

A pair of scar-cross'd lovers, at last released from their woes...

tis the new page in life for Juliet and her Romeo.