There is an essence in me which is not mine.

There is a breath in me which is not mine. 

There is someone inside of me; 

Is it me or the Divine? 

I knew she was bad news the first time I laid eyes on her. There she was in the little reggae haunt in the islands, whirling and swirling, drawing all eyes to her bounteous rounded body, lost in her own world with eyes closed in the heat of the moment. She never stopped dancing, virtually thrusting her body out for all to see, going from man to man in her frenzy. It wasn’t that she was beautiful since her face was slightly off kilter, her body was lusher than the slender norm and she didn’t create the impression that she belonged to the real earth. She had all the earmarks of being slightly disoriented as if she were not of this world but the cosmos was of her, trying valiantly to please her.

I was mesmerized as I watched her white teeth with their slight overbite, latched wantonly onto her sensuous full red pouted lips, promising rapture. Her coffee with cream skin took the spotlight in the dimly lit bar as I realized that she was an amalgam of many races making it difficult to determine her heritage. Green slanted flirtatious eyes showed glints of yellows and browns. Wild curly hair with auburn flecks floated around her, hanging to her waist. Globular breasts peeped from her blouse that was only partially buttoned, having come undone as her spirit kicked its heels to the sound of the band.

I was so drawn to her fire that I knew that I had to have her in my life even when a little nagging murmur at the back of my skull warned me to ignore her magnetism. Alas, the pull of her hypnotic embodiment was too much to resist as I strolled in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner toward her, trying to disguise my eagerness to become one with her.

She turned her voluptuous body toward me and said that she had felt the charisma of my presence from her vantage point but that there were a few things I had to give the green light to if I wanted to play the game with her. “You cannot tame me for I am like a wild bird. I am my own person and come and go as I please,” she mouthed in her animalistic manner.

Against my better judgment, I reluctantly agreed to her terms. She grabbed my hand, led me to her motorcycle parked outside the bar and we roared off into the dark and promising night. As we entered her cozy little apartment above a noisy restaurant, I was enveloped so fully by her aura that outside sounds ceased completely as we gave ourselves to each other with complete abandon.

She threw her clothes off where they landed on the brightly hued carpet. I grabbed her naked body and began caressing and savoring every inch of her charms before unzipping my pants and throwing her onto the rug where we ravished and consumed, crested and fell, over and over, until we were sweating and exhausted. Falling asleep for a little while, we awoke to blooming urgency, the like of which I had never known. This desperate need continued through the balance of the night before we fell into a deep slumber. I awakened with the knowledge that I could never be without her again.

In the month ahead, our climatic passion continued but I woefully noticed that she would absent herself from me from time to time. “I need my space,” she said, “you don’t control me.” For a while, I accepted what she was willing to give me because I was so engrossed in the gifts she was bestowing upon me as I became needy. I had to have her and if that took sacrifices on my part, so be it. I ignored the fact that I was becoming less of a man. When she snatched herself away from me, images of her filled my existence as I became more and more dependent on her benevolent donations. I tried to avoid seeing her casting her glances at other men, negating my suspicions as to what she was doing in her absences.

A few days later, she tore off on her motorcycle leaving me alone to wander down to the soft comfort of the beach, where I daydreamed about her bounty. Returning a little early from my soothing sojourn, I was shocked to hear moans and groans coming from her abode. Flinging open the hurt door of my love, I was confronted by her and another man in our promised bed.

Embarrassment was absent in her demeanor as she said, “I never promised you that I would be faithful. Would you like to join in?”

Devastated, I limped sorrowfully out of our little love nest, catching the next plane to leave the islands of my dreams and jetted back to the emptiness of my life on the mainland. Try as I might, I could not put my little island maiden out of my mind. When I returned to the islands to seek her out once again, she was gone as was my yearning soul. I never saw her again.

It is quite simple. Remove words that once had meaning. Sincerity, honesty, communication, (I don't mean texting or tweeting). How many times do we see people sitting at the same table in a cafe or a Starbucks each on their smart phones. Neither talking to the person across from them.

Have we become so important that talking to one another face to face will soon be obsolete? Send the wrong emoji and you have hurt someone's feelings. Anyone of us during our lifetime will be very lucky if we have two close friends. Not, I'm sorry to say, the 9,321 who are on some list that want to see the salad you're eating at that moment. Or the new shoes. Those are not friends, most are not even acquaintances. They're strangers thirsting for some form of personal connection, but most are harvesting numbers in hopes of getting advertising dollars. It's almost like a perpetual Easter Egg hunt.

I'm sorry to rant, but the lack of social skills of society in the future will be a whole new world. Easily manipulated and yearning for something, but they won't know what. Imagine what it would be like if suddenly for two weeks there is no internet and no phone service. What would it be like? What would happen?           

Everyone has a dark side. Some bury it deep beneath their skin in cracking black bottles of anger and pain. Emotions trapped beneath, "I'm fine," beneath the lies. They smile and laugh until the bottles break as rivers of tears or chaotic storms. Or silent as the night, the bottles shatter themselves and watch the crimson run. These are the ones that break. 

Everyone has a dark side. Some use it as a mask. A black shield to hide their pain and wipe the tears away. Cover up the light because they don't want to live up to anyone's expectations and when people see good, they expect good; nothing else will suffice. But deep beneath the tall walls and hard shell is a heart of gold with cracks and scars. A heart that's waiting to be healed. They think it's weak to ask for help. These are the ones who hurt to conceal that they are broken. 

Everyone has a dark side. Some embrace it with an inhuman joy, a psychopathic love of watching others suffers. Of torturing those that hurt them or those that did nothing but good. These are the ones that destroy. The ones that will laugh as the world burns. 

Everyone has a dark side. Some let it out thought fighting or calm. Find healthy ways to let the darkness go so the light can be free. They run to leave frustration behind and find the calm inside the storm of life. The draw to let the pain cover the art in beautiful forms rather then cover their mind in an unending darkness. Theses are the lucky ones. 

Everyone has a dark side but no one is born pure evil for even black holes as born of shining stars. Life can shape us to its design but we're the ones that either choose to let it or make our own path. Everyone has good in them but whilst some snuff it out until only one ember remains, others let it burn until their last remaining day when a supernova bursts away. Both the light and dark are a part of us. We're the ones that decide what that means. Whether we bury and break; shield and hurt; embrace with unnatural cruelty or let the light shine free of the dark burdens and let them burn away... 

I'm feeling freaking frustrated, 

foes, friends, and family finding faults, 

flipping fervor for fear, 

fickle freedom, 

while flattering financial feats fondle fiction, 

foolish friction fraternize fair fantasies far from fantastic, 

fire flamed filled fences, 

forced father fatalities, 

fetal fraternity facilities feeding feminist fish foods, 

fingers forgetting fundamental functions, 

fuel fees, frantic freeway flux, and fleeing focus fade frontal foresight, 

false flight falling fifty-five feet fornenst a feeble fringe fathoming future fulfillment, 

fist of fury fighting ferocious phenomena fending folding figures funneling flaky facts, 

futile fashion, fruitless freelance, 

frivolous frequencies flooding favorable fellowship, 

fiending freakish foreign forsaken flavors framed in familiar fabric, 

flying phobia, failing phobia, 

forward footsteps filming the finale following frustration.

Aloha amateurs, anticipate an articulate alliteration. Any artistic author always aims at acquiring awards and almost always achieves actual acclamation, and advantageous approval. Applicants' accomplishments avidly acknowledges ability and academia alike. Apparently appropriate arguments accompany abstract. Authorship attracts apprenticeship. Abundant aesthetic animation advertises advanced art. Autonomous agents attempt against another. Artists apply an admissible attractive afterthought. Applaud all amazing adherence, admittedly absurd. Alas, aspire again, avoid anger, adopt admiration. 

She saw sunsets - sparkling skies singing sweet symphonies, serenading souls. She sighed. Such simplicity, such serendipity spoken so silently, so strongly.

Songs swam softly. Sibylline stars stretched seaward, stealing sadness, stealing sorrow, stealing suffering. She stared serenely. She saw serenity. She saw subtle symmetries sliding, swinging surreptitiously. She saw secrets swiftly slipping stealthily, separating spiteful storms.

Sometimes, she saw several scenarios simultaneously, saw sympathy sprouting stoically. Surely society shall succeed, shall surpass superfluous solidarity. Steadfast surveillance should soothe suspicions - so she solicits.

Solemnly, she stood straight, saluted Socrates' sagacity, saluted sentient sacredness. Somehow, society shall succeed - so she speculates.

Should she surmise something so shaky? Should she sanction systemic submission, subsidise servility shamelessly? Should she surrender satisfaction so swiftly? Seek sycophants? Slyly side swipe sobriety?

Shhh. Such stupid, sneaky suppositions. Stop. Stop subjugating suppression, she says. Stop shrouding snakes, stitching shadows, sheltering sin so stubbornly. Shirk savagery! Seek sangfroid! sensitive, subaqueous striations. Scintillating shimmers shall suffice.

Stalk Sigmund, she says. Study splendid sweet sparks, succulent sweethearts. Stargaze, sublimate saints. Sing songs, strum strings, show solicitude. Shine significantly. Secure sanguine smiles.

So, subsequently, society shall succeed. Surely, someday.

So she'll still see sunsets, still see sparkling skies singing sweet symphonies, serenading souls simplistically, silently, strongly.

©CJ

Child inside my heart 

love steeps slowly in vessel

strengthening of bond.