I’m all recycled phrases, bullshit metaphors. Don’t read me. I’m rotting meat. Maggots in pits. I’m blood crusted under the surface of bruised skin. I’m broken teeth, cavities. I’m the fucking soup du jour. But not today’s. Last week’s. Slop no one fucking ate. That paper sheet on the chair at the dentist. Used. Never changed. I’m the fever-sweat skin flakes you left in bed. Vomit in the toilet. Bandages, bloodied. That bowl you left in your bedroom. Covered in fucking black mold. Fucking black mold in general. Those giant sloughs of rubber tires that litter the freeway. Road gators. Fucking whatever. Spoiled milk. Disposable socks at the shoe store. Those plastic sleeves that magazines come in. Fucking useless. Empty coffee cups. Kitchen-drawer, dead batteries. Broken lightbulbs. Morning eye scum. I’m that last sip at the bottom of the glass. No one wants to fucking drink me. I’m last year’s almanac. Last year’s newspapers. Last year’s trends. Last year’s date. Last year’s...what the fuck was I talking about again?

I am ruin.

My soul tastes like neglect.

Like the rotting fruit resting in the produce drawer of your fridge.

Like the plants, somber and wilted, trying to survive in the dark and unsustainable corners of your house.

Like the months of silent landlines and forgotten “I love yous” we never tell our parents.

Like the untouched bible and hollowed out prayers I think are going to save me...

@anarosewood

Shit hurts. That's the reality of life. You think that things will get better and it will, but eventually it will get bad again. You'll feel yourself slipping back into that darkness. You'll see it coming and that's the most terrifying part about all of this. You see it, but can do nothing. Soon, you will be able to hold off the feeling for a while. The thing that you need to remember is that this is not you. It's your brain doing it to you. You can tell your brain to fuck off, but it won't. The important part of this is to remember that your brain is an organ. It can mess up too. You just have to know how to fix it. Soon, you learn to live with your brain and it won't hate you anymore. You can learn to tell it to be quiet and not listen to the awful thoughts that it has. Things will get better, but you have to want them to. It won't happen overnight. It's a process. It can be learned and I know you can do it. Stay strong. Okay? Remember, if nobody else tells you, I love you. I need you here. Don't give up before you are able to see the wonders of the world.

the snow fell like forgotten ashes,

covering the world with your sins.

i never knew

hell was a trap door.

falling through felt like

fooling me twice

and shaming me forever.

no place to go

but up.

no one to love

but myself.

can’t you see the fire?

flames licking

your lips,

like my name once did.

you were my villain

circling the damsel in distress

with clouds of smoke

and make-believe happy endings.

stuck to my pen now,

your misguided love stays frozen

in time and dishonor.

i write to remember.

so my mind has space

for undeserved forgiveness

instead of wasted second chances,

for untouched hearts,

instead of reliving

those days of shattered pieces.

no place to put you

but the page.

no one to write you

but me.

Free Verse  5

Thirst for learning

A new mission  is always on our minds

A sponge ekes every new and wonderful thing we hear

The  want to feel and experience everything new and dear

Wanting  to reel it all in to feel smell and experience new

Why do you race we ask the driver at the race track

They say because it is exhilarating  and fun to do

It is the thrill of the competition the win or the loss

Often the training and the sacrifices...

monies spent and lost on the race car

too many times away from home and loved ones

we look at the Kentucky Derby races and see all the

wonderful horses and wish they could all win..

but there will be success and heartbreak

as only one will be the winner on that big day.

What might be the next mission for you....

Do you thirst to learn....feeling and thirsting

©Julia A Knaake

Luscious Lips

Just look at your lips

so excitingly full

yet warm and inviting

 to my heart

 why do they send

this invite

 what enticement

is in the draw

I am so drawn

to their full red pout

 with my heart doing flips

with undying love

taking form

 willing us never

to be apart

sensually you send a sting

or bite burrowing deep

 into my crawl

teasingly after a lull

a long lull

the throbbing seduction

 finally clips my love

 for you deeply born

 enticing us never to be apart

© Julia A Knaake

Business as usual

down at the inlet

      every day deals set

      boats in

               boats out

               sales made

                         deals delayed

anything movable

         business as usual

©  Julia A Knaake

Ode to the Pastie      

Succulent tasty little parcels 

still warm from the heat

smells permeating the air

taste buds salivating

Tender baby spinach leaves

 appealing to the eye 

comfortingly warmed or cool

the flavor mixed well is bold

Bits of pungent white onion 

may bring a tear to your eye

Maui Sweet, Vidalia or Walla Walla

mild or sweet characteristic taste

Extra virgin olive oil,the purest

processed with great care

with pure flavor of fresh olives

used quickly at highest peak

Intense and intoxicating flavorful

 oregano, wild or sweet  marjoram

 small grayish green oval leaves

 petite  white or pink flowers

Blending together with morsels 

soft creamy  and  brine-d Feta

create the most delicious 

perfectly blended spinach pasties

© Julia A Knaake

Impetuous One

Oh my your words are of impetuous sound

acting on the spur of the moment said to me

consider the consequences of your action

possibly my lips you desired  to be  found

why would I give them willingly to thee

what would be your emotional reaction

if these luscious lips to yours were bound

then so quickly you would learn to see

my impulse may give a thought to some action

get your amorous thoughts back to the ground

if ever you wish my kisses to be given  free

you must earn them yourself  to the maxim. 

© Julia A Knaake

Morning Thoughts 

The temperature was twenty-four

I saw the sun rising out

my lace curtained window and

with an adventurous spirit

 I bundled up with coat and scarf

for a brave short outdoor walk. 

Waking up to the rumbling 

sound of wind machines 

in the apple orchards 

is akin to being at an airfield 

with  all planes starting at once

 with a thunderous sound.

I  heard the birds high 

in the cottonwood trees 

making loud noises as to where

 their nests they were building

 would be placed for the 

spring babes to be born.

A lone hound dog was barking

 at the speeding cars with occupants

 on their way to work scurrying 

to wait in a long drive up to

  buy that coffee they 

could have made at home.

The temperature now is twenty-eight

Apple blossoms should survive 

in these many Yakima orchards

so it's time for me to go back inside

 and have a cup of hot black java...

 where it is a bit warmer.

©  Julia A Knaake

Finding Treasure

Won't you come 

and find your 

dear one

knowing 

not who

 they are

     .today

seeing and 

touching their

 face you will 

know they are

 the one

who will 

come to

 you and 

........say

I am here

dear one

dear one 

I am here

 to stay...

everyday.

© Julia A Knaake

Always for the better

May  have not been  realized

one has  gone a long way

to changing someones life

always for the better

Your influence has taught them

how to be more confident

in their daily actions

always for the better

Being  proud of their life

chosen by themselves

It is understood oh so well

always for the better

Your work has finalized

if needed will ask another day

now there will be no strife

always for the better

seems like a miracle gem

only for this recipient

a big smile is their reactions

always for the better

Advice awaits  no more strife

searching for answers finally delves

in their search only they can tell

always for the better

© Julia A Knaake

________

Whisper screams. My head hammered, throbbing harder with each breath of life I inhaled, my lungs flaring with the thought of you. Until it was all I could hear. Until it was all I could see. Until it was all I could smell, taste and feel. Your voice. Your hands. Your eyes. Your lips. Your tongue. It tipped me over the edge. My fingertips still shivering, trembling with ache. It was only a playful game, an accident. My shoulder bumped into yours. But then– our bare skin brushed. I felt your naked flesh. Soft and rough. Your tiny skin hairs tickled my collarbone. Your thick muscles crashed into me. And something dark woke in me. Heavy with desperate want. Hunger gnawed my insides. My heartbeat bellowed against my ribs.

Whisper screams. Hush thunder. The veins in my head drummed in a harsh rhythm. My ears buzzed. You were everywhere. In the air, in my mind. Dripping in the particles of my sweat that ran down my skin, glistening with silver. Sticky and wet. You left me breathless. Naked. Drained. But, then.

My world whitened as if lit by thousands of scorching suns. A hot wash of white flames burning everything. And in its wake, there were only grains of dust left. My heart crumbled to ashes under your foot. Overlooked, unseen, ignored.

And—

Silent. I drowned in your shadow.

I put my heart and soul into it

i bleed and sweat so that you'll see what i feel.

I dont think you understand when I say , i put my heart and soul into it

im being serious that was my everything and without your appreciation

I am nothing

I feel nothing

I just want to be fucking famous

Yesterday, at 4:35, as soon as the sun pressed itself hard through the front window, I saw a fingerprint, an unknown tiny smear, and a wing, perhaps from a fly.  Yes, I am always compelled at that dreaded moment of the day to grab the Windex bottle and paper towels, but window washing is just so overwhelmingly annoying, I was proud of myself when I turned around and pretended I didn’t see what I had just saw.  Anyway, I knew I would forget all about the four alarm fire if I could hold on for approximately 53 minutes till the sun went down, and I did, but later today at that approximate time, if again the sun is blaring, let’s see, by calculation at 4:37 and 30 seconds, I can’t say for sure if I will be able to make it through another day without my finger on the spray bottle trigger.  Maybe the clouds will roll in and I’ll catch a break. Don’t look at me like I’m pathetic. I like things clean and I like rules. Is it a crime when I’m at a loss for something to do, like now, that the very last thing I want to do becomes something I must do? Except windows. You see? Maybe I’m not so pathetic. Drawers are another story. Even there I have made progress, but still, I admit a disorganized drawer makes me unhinged. But how would it get disorganized in the first place, you might ask, if it bothers me so much?  Simple answer. It’s not my own drawers that are disorganized. In my drawers, each shirt is folded uniform to the next, stacked evenly, and nothing is ever overstuffed. The drawers of my princely husband and my mutinous teenage son are another story. But now I have been banned from touching them. Teaming up against me one day, several years ago, right out of the play book of one of those alternative intervention scenes, they sat me down and told me that my so called organizational skills were not their problem and were interpreted by them as an invasion of privacy. Imagine that. Refrigerator, kitchen cabinets, bathroom drawers and anything else communal, they have given me a get out of jail free pass card for total control, convivially impartinging the words, “Have at it, knock yourself out!” But when it comes to their own personal clothing drawers and so called junk drawers, and, my husband sternly added before the top secret call to order was complete, “The garage shelves, too. Keep your gnarly greedy little fingers to yourself!” When my son was little and during the early years of our marriage, I always put away their clothes and organized their drawers. But then at some point they started paying attention, accusing me of throwing things out, because they were right. Did they think that I could just stuff and stuff their stuff until the drawers decided on their own to explode? And there is no way I can leave things on top of the dresser without it driving me bonkers, but for the most part I am proud to say I have learned to treat their drawers like a window. In my son’s room it doesn’t matter as much. I can just shut his door. But my husband’s dresser is in my face after I put away my own clothes. Truthfully he’s been pretty good about my demands, at least in this one particular knotty affair. When he comes home, he goes right to our bedroom and puts away his pile of clothes, then he takes off his suit, hangs up his tie, places his shoes on the shoe rack, and puts on comfy clothes, all before he says hello. That’s love. I know, because I used to watch his every move to make sure he did things right, but I forgot to mention, he put a stop to that too during a subsequent pow wow.  So see? I can change and learn to oblige and let their drawers be. But here’s the dilemma at hand. Just now, I found one of my husband’s socks left in the dryer from yesterday, by me! How could I be so utterly foolish. The one that got away. This abomination has never happened to me before. One poor sock has a partner waiting for it in his drawer. I just know it. Funny, my husband didn’t mention it last night when he knows that sock needs its other, so I ask you, is it such a big deal for me to open up his sock drawer and return this one lonely sock to its significant other? How could this be wrong? Oh boy, I’ll take your silence as a yes. I’m going in. What a rush. Christ! The socks in here are livin’ la vida loca! How does he manage? Let’s see. Can I back away and pretend like I didn’t just see this mishmash, and turn my back on my frazzle freak? Too late. Hmmmm, where is that pesky black sock in this sea of black socks? How can he live like this and not want my prowess?  Really. Must I dig? What’s this? A small box? It’s not my birthday and besides the last time Howard bought me a piece of jewelry, was just after I popped the boy-bun out of my oven. Oh. A tennis bracelet. This is definitely not for me. Howard knows I do not wear bracelets because they interfere with the many intricate daily tasks my hands perform. Who is this for? No. Could it be? Why on earth would he want someone other than me?