They say she has the eyes of Medusa,

A cold and calculating gaze

Meant to turn a heart to stone.

I say she has the eyes of Minerva,

A wise and studious stare

Meant to show the world her strength.

#poetry #perception #strength

I was nothing but a shadow

A patch of dark

In the light

I was nothing but a shadow

I was afraid

Of fading into the night

I was nothing but a shadow

Although my heart was heavy

My smile was bright

I was nothing but a shadow

But your beautiful eyes

Made me want to fight

I was nothing but a shadow

And you're so good

You made me remember what's right

I am nothing but the light

My eyes shine bright

I am no longer a shadow

Fading into the night

Please take a moment and check out this live reading of my poem, "Mountains and Meditation." The purpose is to bring a positive light to mental illness. Let me help others down the mountain. I'd like to thank @A for watching it live.

https://www.facebook.com/jamesmatthew.byers/videos/1762031557145718/

I held you so close, so tightly and for so long, I could no longer feel your presence—

You became a part of me; everywhere I went, every thought I carried, each pain we shared together.

But over the decades and decades of human living, I forgot you were there;

and that it was a we stuck in here.

I sought comfort of solitude in escaping, and with each escape denied you ever were; talked myself into my own imagination and your fabrication.

But when I began to crumble you held me deeper.

Though I ignored you as I quickly and quietly broke, I always sensed your noise; my heavy purple cloak;

your hum in my drum of ear, warm pressures of the touch, scents of your energy—never more than a hush.

Dark escapes became my only channel to our memories; the sense, security, and presence of your love.

All you wanted was me,

here with you,

in our complete.

You kept me from drowning that day, and the dog tame while biting my face;

you gathered me up, helped me breathe and refused my blood to drain.

I broke and became your broken chore;

you wanted nothing but for me to recognize, and ignore no more.

With each drink I drank too much, with each hole I caused and piece I cracked,

made was room and I soon awoke.

With new space you came right through to this world where I once had,

and then lost you.

Your loyalty let me see once was our reality;

the once of holding you for air and sight;

your invisible love that pumps all life.

I remember a place elsewhere from here,

no body, no pain, no sun, no alone.

No memories to be forgotten, just a now and here and always, all in one.

I remember that.

And now I know,

And I hope I always do,

That I am a We;

You are a Mind of Mine;

And together;

We are a Whole.

When you begin to tire

Just breathe

When your body starts to ache

Just breathe

When your mind begins to fret

Just breathe

When your thoughts start to swirl

Just breathe

When you need a short rest

Just breathe

When your emotions shake

Just breathe

When your heart begins to be anxious

Just breathe

When depression creeps around

Just breathe

When your mind starts to panic

Just breathe

When your eyes start to show fear

Just breathe

When your mouth wants to scream

Just breathe

When you want to yell at the world

Just breathe

He kept me alive within the pages of his artwork; splashed with numerous hues. My fingertips became his paintbrushes and I would freeze time just to be his muse. But, as the incessant clockwork had its way, my face soon seemed weary, laced with boredom. He is an artist; he can’t limit himself. Art is borderless but, love isn’t.

That raven-haired, ceramic-skinned assistant, Veronica soon served as an inspiration for the portraits he made. My lips remained sealed; I didn’t want to believe that I wasn’t his muse anymore. He concealed canvases and lied about working overtime; I couldn’t bring myself to utter something because my lips quivered every time he said he loved me but, didn’t mean it.

Hopelessness painted our house instead of vibrant hues on the night when over dinner, instead of halfhearted sweet-nothings, I asked about her. His mouth overflowed with denial but, I saw the guilt creep into his irises. My heart raced as he forcibly admitted the truth. The table was littered with incomplete verses, fully-bloomed falsehoods and a plate of the apple pie he adored.

When sunlight poured through the window, I threw everything that I thought belonged to me into a bag and stared at it, realizing that the past five years of my life have shrunken into a mere bag. With misty eyes, I left him a note, telling him not to look for me because I might not be in places he may expect me to be.

The plate of apple pie remained untouched.

I had a home but, I was lost. Stumbling through the bustling city, I ended up at a bar. Anxious, drunk sport-enthusiasts were hurling words at the television screen. I drowned my sorrows in a glass of vodka punch, letting a few tears escape. Losing track of time, I gulped down the drinks recklessly. I began to feet nothing; neither sadness nor elation. The rainbow streaks of light were abstractly splashed across the room and the bartender’s face swirled in a blur. Amidst a pandemonium, I felt as if I was fading into one of those faceless strangers; I was slowly forgetting who I was. I tapped my phone and texted my husband about how happy I was to be partying at the bar which was my usual haunt. It felt surprisingly good and as the last drop of alcohol slid down my burnt throat, my eyes began to droop low.

The last thing I remembered was a black car speeding towards me.

A throbbing head woke me up as sunlight filtered through the window. I bit my chapped lips and squinted at my surroundings. The familiarity of this bedroom haunted me; this used to be ours. But, why was I here? This was the last place I wanted to be.

A cold metallic object clasped in my fingers caught my attention. A sharp-edged knife drenched in blood sneered at me. Alarmed, I threw it across the room and jolted my hand which was covered by blood too. Scarlet bloodstains ran down the hemlines of my dress. Whimpering, I stood up and reached for the doorknob. Tiptoeing through the hallway, I ran into my husband. The look on my face told him everything he needed to know.

“You did something really bad last night,” he said and I shivered.

“What did I…? What did I do? I don’t… I really don’t remember,” I stammered with tears running down my face, once again.

“Overcome by jealousy, you mercilessly stabbed Veronica to death. The cops are on their way, sweetheart. You couldn’t stand the fact that someone else had my attention, could you?”

“What? I didn’t… Victor, I swear I didn’t do it. You know I can’t do something like that,” I cried.

“The weapon was with you, wasn’t it? Don’t touch anything; let them investigate it,” he spoke nonchalantly.

“Don’t you trust me, Vic? I was at the bar last night, I told you. I couldn’t have done this.”

He left the room without saying another word, leaving me clueless and panicked. I shuddered at the thought of murdering someone. I may have never been fond of Veronica but, I wouldn’t go as far as killing her cold-bloodedly. But, the bigger problem was that last night was a blur to me. I forced myself to remember something and it only made my headache worse. I could recollect a crowd of drunken, sports fans, loud cheering, gulping numerous drinks and a black car. I couldn’t find a single answer for the millions of questions buzzing within my mind.

“Charlotte Howell,” my name boomed through the hallways.

I turned to see a team of police officers equipped with guns and other weapons with a firm look plastered over their faces. I sighed as I walked over to them. They told me that I had the right to remain silent just the way criminals are told on movie screens but, this time, I wasn’t an actress, I was Charlotte Bree Howell. Without protesting, I followed their commands and peacefully got into a car marked NYPD.

I watched an officer conversing with Victor, who was smirking. I was told that I was being taken to the police station for interrogation but, I knew better. They had recovered the weapon and stashed it in a transparent bag labeled “evidence”. Enveloped by shock and disbelief, I felt my heartbeats pace up. The thing I regretted the most was getting so drunk that I couldn’t remember a single shred of what happened last night after I exited the bar.

After the car halted, I stepped down as gracefully as I could when I realized that I was going to encounter paparazzi. Photographs will be clicked and coupled with saucy headlines for tomorrow’s newspaper since I was the famous artist, Victor Howell’s socialite wife. The news about Veronica’s murder spread like wildfire and burnt my reputation on the way. I admit that I was senselessly drunk but, I do know myself well enough to believe that I didn’t fatally stab Veronica.

I knew that suspects were considered innocent till proven guilty but, since the knife was coated with my fingerprints and I had bloodstains on my dress, it wouldn’t take long for them to place the blame on me even though I couldn’t have been more clueless. I was questioning myself at this point and wondering if the darker side of mine took over last night and stabbed Veronica Baldwin till she was lifeless.

I was ushered into a dim-lit room and asked to take a seat as my anxiety doubled by the minute. I answered the questions as truthfully as I could but, it wasn’t a clear picture to me, it was a myriad of blurs. I remembered nothing about what occurred after I stepped out of the bar at dinnertime and woke up in the bedroom at the house shared by my husband and me. They intricately noted down the details and made various entries about the time I left the house, what I was doing before entering the bar, when I left and what I did in the meantime.

After leaving the police station, I sheltered myself by checking into a ritzy hotel, accompanied with the little bag which had my belongings. It felt as if I was losing my mind and my soul seemed to be cluttered with chaos. Everything that happened last night was just too much to fathom.

I scribbled in my notepad to distract myself from the turbulent waves of emotions crashing against my heart:

the artist’s dainty mistress

lay lifeless

with her blood running down my sundress.

I was told that the police department will be closely observing my surroundings and what I was up to since the prime suspicion had landed on me. It made me feel like a criminal.

May be I was one.

Born amongst the winter months, when warmth is far forgotten

When life is but a rotten seed, or so I’ve thought so often

Grisly thoughts of memory past, which now so brightly loom

The wind brings mist from farther north, where I will be bound soon

What hath become of brighter days, with song and merry sight?

For now I roam through darkest crypts along this endless night

Where shadows grasp with lustful sights, to quell such dire want

Their glasses brim with foulest drops that turns the stomach daunt

What vile deed I abruptly struck for sternest punishment so

In all the years I’ve faced the worst, I’m still my darkest foe

And when the stars come crashing down upon my shaken frame

The man who comes to take the retched, will surely call my name

The bones do ache and nerves stay clenched, such age without the years

I’d hung my eyes from others sight, the gallows made of fears

Always less than those I’d gaze, and less than those I don’t

So cruel those gods who’d curse me so, so pray to them I won’t

No desire to lead the hearts of men, nor follow the brightest light

I’ll wander now, till sorrow comes, and all I’ll see is white…

“Gray,” she replied while straightening her back to accompany her brazen tone.

Silence stung the air circulating through the car. The emphatic delivery of her answer had disrupted the flirtatious fluidity that had entangled the two in uninterrupted banter over the past hour. She couldn't help herself. The color had once again started to systematically drain from the world she had come to know and love the closer she came to their parting of ways. It had all become too painful of a ceremony to shroud under the 'c'est la vie' facade she had been trying to maintain. 

Dorian focused her gaze upon the coastline, empty aside from the vicious winter swell pounding against the white sand shores. She rolled down the passenger side window, permitting her right hand to play with the balmy air outside, slicing through it in undulating waves. She closed her eyes and embraced the warm light spilling through the car’s windows. Longing for this paradise rippled through each of her days. He always initiated their stream of synthetically digitized interactions, forcing her to continually long for the happiness that swallowed her entirety. The technology of the future charged with eliminating the separation between people and places had been serving to remind her where she wished she was when she was not. 

“Gray? Why gray?” James’s confusion was soaked in to every syllable of his response after her abrupt answer to his playful probing.

She looked over at him. At his bright green eyes focused on the gray cement ahead of him as the car rolled closer to their end.

“Well.. Gray has this way of shading a person’s perception. It happens slowly and then all at once as Hemmingway put it. You are walking down the street wearing your rose tinted glasses and then it knocks the wind out of you. And you start to see the world as it actually is, existing in absence. Like the color gray, it is found directly between white and black on the color spectrum. If you look up the word “gray” it is actually defined as being without color. And when it hits you, well then your fucked. With your eyesight no longer impaired, you notice the world around you is functioning to fill an inherent sense of absence, because it creates purpose for humanity.”

“So you’re saying I create purpose in your life?” he teased with an arrogant smirk slapped across his face.

“No. What I am saying is that you have created an absence within me..” the pain was painted upon her words as she spoke, “that I know you will never relent to fill. We, you and I, exist in a poetically tragic state of passing goodbyes. You entered my life slowly then all of sudden the gray came crashing into my world and I was not ready for it. And after I met you, the world looked uglier. You are every shade of gray I want in my life but cannot endure the continuous pain that your absence causes.”

James’s face was tight. “What airline are you flying again?” The airport terminals appeared through the front windshield offering an opportune escape from responding to her imploring explanation.

“Hawaiian Airlines,” her chest hurt as it always had from his absence.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to live her life in love with his gray. She wanted to scream out into the gray world he had created for her and she found herself trudging through each day because of him.

The car stopped. She looked over at James but her voice was absent. She slid out the passenger side of the car and gathered her backpack from the truck bed. She came around to the driver side of the car and met James standing outside smiling at her. He hugged her and she kissed him on the cheek. He leaned in to kiss her on the lips but she pushed him back. “Aw, come on, one kiss for the road. I’m going to miss you.”

“No,” She turned her face away refusing his offer of affection.

“Text me when you land,” James offered, his tone sympathetic, knowing he had escaped responding to her proclamation of want and love.

Dorian managed a smile, turned and walked toward the airport doors. James’s voice echoed against the gray world around her, “I love you, I’m sorry that I will always be gray for you. Don’t go to Bali!”

Typical she thought, ‘don’t go to Bali, but you can’t stay here’ is what he truly meant. She looked up, watched an airplane take off into the bright blue expanse of a cloudless sky, disrupting its innate beauty with its gray body, and whispered to herself while walking through the sliding glass doors of the airport, “I love you too.’

Four miles

does not seem very far, 

does not sound very far,

even in a city like Los Angeles.

Especially at three in the morning,

when you can safely assume

traffic will be light;

and even on a bicycle - 

     I was in pretty good shape - 

I figured I could be to your place

in fifteen, twenty minutes tops

and told you so over the phone,

telling you to just hold on, 

just wait fifteen minutes and I would

be there and we could talk it out, 

that I would stay with you until the morning

and then we could go get coffee in

Santa Monica and I would skip work

and spend the day with you, so just

hold on, don't do anything you will

regret.

I love you like a brother, I told you,

and just hang on until I get there,

goddammit. But no matter how hard

I rode, and how many cars there actually were

out at three-fifteen a.m. and how many

nearly ran me over, it turns out that

four miles is exactly the distance

from before to after,

from the possible to the irreversible,

from one side of the world

     to the other. 

From one broken heart to two.