LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

I  want a guy in a pink silk suit who winks a lot and says I’m cute. Sometimes he’d call me Hun, eyes and skin shone like sun, looking at me in my femininity. The infinity of fertility. He was shy but so was I, he’d walk by, I’d catch my breath. Hated when he called me ‘Beth’ until even in silence I knew his step. I’d echo out his hollow and knew his depth. She’s so shallow, he’s so complex.  Been gone two years now, still wonder what comes next.  Two princes to one Tiger King, so take that ring and with much aplomb  speak it so and make it be,  forget your Princess H-bomb and marry me. How do you live in a house without feeling? How do you survive a savage day?  I only want you to love me,  I don’t need to always get my way.  If we both in unison sing we know there’s nothing  either could say.  I’d have you, I’d hold you, I could never dare control you,  you’re ferrel and I like you that way.  Every mood of his face  had its own place  now it’s an empty parking lot.  Fading memories 

My grandpa had died recently.  I found out via a Facebook post and I’m proud of myself for demonstrating some grace as I wasn’t too thrilled to have discovered this information second hand through an electronic social media platform.   I was successfully able to control my emotions (ended up having a severe unanticipated reaction to Wellbutrin back in May 2021) and it was refreshing.  I didn’t let that Monkey Mind get the upper hand this time.  #Accomplishments A lot has happened in my personal life— again —dear readers and albeit I really prefer to actually type, I may start to resort to writing/posting in my blog via my thumbs.  Which isn’t ideal at all but wasting pointless hours on Facebook doesn’t really sound appealing anymore either.  Nor being seated in front of my tv, or hell, seated at all period.  But I apologize, my life seemed to completely go haywire even independent of covid.  I fell off, and in all sorts of ways at that.   As I feel

He got a new pet on my birthday. The same day he found out I was seeing someone else.   Loves her so much. But it don’t add up.  All of your pictures show this puppy…love. Not a happy life.  Not a happy home. Not a happy wife.  Not happy kids. Your sunglasses blinders, your masks lids.  Instead, They show where you hid, up late at night.  When weed kik it. Texting when we shouldn’t have. Saying things better left unsaid. Now like water trapped inside my head.  I remember when you were so excited about those pillows you bought, you told me, you showed me. You mentioned. But now?—practically every picture shared is of this dog, with those same pillows, in what is our sunroom. And you were always an honest loyal man. Or so I thought.  Why do you say you love this dog—but not the wife?   How could you not stir, sit, drink, and think of me every night?  With your watered down proof, a chest full of razors, and your heart a knife?  Knowing full well in truth, that I’m Mrs. Write. 

I didn’t know, I could love  you so. My single rose. Plucked  yet still somehow grows. I didn’t know. No lyric prepared me, no single prayer  could ever have saved me.  Love, like a dragon’s lair  something I saw  now not so sure was there. And what use am I? When you can have the whole entire sky.  Every sheen and hue  remind only of you. To what purpose  or what point  was I even born? When I am left  so forlorn. Grateful only  once you’re gone. As if all the birds  conspired of you  just so there could be  a dawn. For all that is left of you  is in song. Yet sometimes still,  in a stifled sigh or yawn  I can catch you sideways.  But only during cloudy afternoons  on Fridays.