Misguided Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

Fond Reminiscing

Such sudden and complete

dissipation of rage, untried 

prior to this moment in

my life, has blindsided me

Left me blessedly bewildered 

relief dripping from my 

fingertips, weight falling 

in waves. Is this what peace

feels like? That elusive 

state people speak of

inhabiting... genuinely?

 

Gratitude. I am grateful 

for this very specific pain

you have caused me.

And though my life is empty

of you now, my heart feels full

in a way it has never known.

 

I meant something.

More than mere gratification.

More than a desire satiated.

 

And I have a correction to
make, for in this one

gesture my heart has 

changed... I no longer resent

your return. Nor do I wish for

your regret of it. For your 

reappearance brought with

it confirmation of hopes

nearly lost, and in your 

departing goodbye was

a gift I never expected 

I’d receive. Ribbons wrapped

In thorns though they were

There is blossoming now,

In knowing

 

That I could fulfill

so many roles in one

man’s story... that I could be

that which he desires 

such that staying away 

is no choice at all for him to make...

and also she who he sacrifices

all of those desires 

for, volunteers to deny

the pull he has for her very

companionship on the

pyre of her well-being…

to prioritize her healing

Her journey towards

certain reconciliation with

her innate worth.

 

But mostly she who

incites a shifting

of tectonic plates, a precious 

and holy change. To be the

lens through which you 
finally see yourself clearly.

 

And I pray that vision holds 

you through this pain. I hope

that you take it and see this

rebirthing through.

 

For when closure finally comes

it is not as a slammed door,

but rather a gently shut

window, glass intact

for viewing what was had

with room for gratitude-

and you left me the option, 

unruined, for

fond reminiscing. 

 

Promise me you’ll

do that too.

[misguided-ivy]

Spun

I wonder if the man behind the counter at the record shop noticed the storm brewing in my eyes. How they couldn’t meet his, and they jutted around avoiding direct confrontation, as I choked back the flood of emotion. If he thought there was something was wrong with him... or that I was a bitch. But the truth is that he looked too much like you and I crumbled in his presence. That I barely made it out the front door with my Hansa Session in hand before I broke down. If anyone caught sight of my panic attack. And I don’t know how much longer I can go on pretending that I’m anything close to functional. I am so very exhausted of the effort it takes to hold my pieces into something resembling human. Something that looks whole and healing... but I am broken, and tired of trying to fix this mess of a form I have been left in.

[misguided-ivy]

My veins are filled with wet cement, waiting to harden in the moment of my unmoving.

My heart is a hungry void lashing out at the expanse in longing that aches with the vibrations of loss.

I am a monument to loneliness.

[misguided-ivy]

Haunted by the Living

This body shakes with involuntary grief from the aftershocks of loss and it is dizzy with so much leftover shame. How is it that you can make me feel guilty from a world and a half away even though, if ‘checking your ex’s social media’ was a legitimate Anonymous group (and it should be) then I’d be coming up on six weeks clean of you. But my conscience feels weighted when I take inventory of how effectively you were able to make me doubt myself. How your past words and deeds still meander through my thoughts and resonate in the hollowness I’m left in. How I abuse myself with our memories and go over every little thing I said, everything I long to say now... and let it choke me with possible re-interpretations the churning of ‘what-if’s in my stomach. Exhausting every possible way I could have been to blame, making mental gymnastics out of refusing to believe that you are just the sum of these cruelties. The words you put in my mouth to justify your way out of your promises to not go anywhere. The intentions you believe me to have. None of them are true. None of them are me. I did not once say that you are an awful person, though maybe I should have... but even now I do not agree with such simplistic sentiments. You are a tortured man who simply could not speak his truths in the presence of someone so hellbent on making hers known. And if intuition screams anything of truth into my splintered soul it is this; you came to resent me for not holding my insecurities and wounds (I bruise so goddamn easily), like a seasoned drunk does his gin and tonic, like you held on to your grudges waiting to only speak them as spear headed weapons of defense in moments when you felt threatened. I was supposed to keep it all in wasn’t I? Because asking you to look at patterns forming, and kiss me with earnest tenderness as tears dripped, was just too much. Because I did not hold the weight of your guilty feelings over my need to be known deeply. Not cowed to. Not catered to, in empty symbolic reverence... just heard. Just cherished. Just... important. To you. More important than self deception. But I know now, that no one is up to that task.

Yet still, I find myself begging the broken tether to tingle where it’s other half is still faintly attached to your wrist... to remind you, to plead with you to set down your armor and come back to me.

[misguided-ivy]

With just a splash of almond milk please....

I have CDs in my car now that mock me, ones I can’t listen to because they were purchased in attempt to know you better, to feel you in moments we were apart, through the chords and notes of your favorite bands. Movies I can’t watch because I bought them so I could share them with you, rushing to get them in my possession before making the trip to spend your birthday weekend together. But you didn’t see the gesture for what it was. Saw selfishness in my dejection over your lack of interest in what I wanted to offer up in return for all the pieces of yourself you had opened to me by way of medias that reflected parts of your soul there is no better way of articulating than in moments of shared experience. I played games you thought I’d like and laughed into your chest cuddled up in your bed, taking in your favorite shows, all in tempt to build that deep bond of knowing, all your likes and dislikes, your past. In becoming interwoven with your present. I read you like the pages of my favorite books. You were my House of Leaves, and I longed to be your beloved fantasy series that kept you coming back again and again. But you didn’t ever ask me how I take my coffee. And I drank it bitter and black, thankful that you brought me any at all, even as the acidity disrupted my stomach making calls into our quiet moments that we could both giggle over. You prepared me things the way that you ate them, and when finally I thought I could assert my preferences without offense caused, I told you that it would have tasted a little better with some ketchup but that in the moment I hadn’t thought to ask... and looking back I know that came off as passive aggressive. That my anxiety building made my expressions seem more akin to discontent than the desire that they were, to grow into a boldness with you. To share myself without having to be asked. To walk in the presumption that you wanted to know me too. Though I’m not so sure anymore that you ever did. You reveled in our likeness while failing to notice the beauty in my differences. Not seeing the parts of me that needed teasing out into the open. And I tried to tell you I needed to be brought to the surface. That there wasn’t enough silence, and were far too few questions to prompt my unfolding myself before you like a map. And you never came to me where the x marked, I don’t think you even know the name of the town my life resides in... For four months I read and now eight weeks I’ve spent writing all the things I never said. Wishing deep down that you would finally see what you had. What’s gone now. What could have been. Today would have been half a year together if you had never misinterpreted what sat on my tongue and in haste fled from the potential of us.

[misguided-ivy]

A conversation I wish I could have...

As anxieties mounted

and my insecurities

were affirmed over and over

again, I bit back my fears

and gave instead benefits

of doubt and every compassion

in expressing them. I offered

outs and preemptive

explanations to justify

why your actions were not

malicious. I went against my

instincts to run and trusted

in our love as a safety net.

I chose vulnerability, opened

up my chest cavity to let

you see my soft spots,

my traumas, asked you to

respect my assertion of

what triggered them.

Begged you kindly to work

with me on building a

foundation. A place for

us to wrap our respective

idiosyncrasies into a cocoon

of healing and warmth.

Where we could grow into

each other rather than apart.

But every step I took

towards you, you saw as

an affront. Read my attempt

at reconciliation, and repairing

as an attack on you, rather

than faith in us. All I wanted

was reciprocation. That

my intentions would be

known and acknowledged.

To be afforded the privilege

of learning you too. Of being

allowed in, to see where I

could prevent unintended

damage, and help provide

whatever reassurance you

needed. But you chose

to expel me from your life

instead. Insisted that I was

the one who was abusive.

Did you forget how you

mocked my pain when you

got caught in what started as

a rather innocuous lie, but

turned into a spiraling

storm of defensive attacks

rather than sincere regret?

How you made a show

of stomping around your

room looking for a pen

to write down everything

you do wrong? Rather than

focusing on the reality of the

situation? Projecting the

pain of getting caught, making

your shame my burden to

deal with? And I spent

the whole week after that

holding it in, not ready to

let the flood of emotions out

for fear it would be too

much, too strong and I’d

overwhelm you. But you said

I was safe to get mad at you

if I needed... so when I

felt I would drown if I didn’t,

I opened myself up again.

Asked you look at the forming

pattern of defensive retaliation

and commit to working through

it, with me. Hand in hand.

Because I believed in you.

Believed you when you said

you hadn’t meant it. That you

we’re sorry. That I was safe.

And maybe it’s naive,

but I still believe that you’re

better than this. That we were

something special worth

mending. Worth the growing

pains of accidental steps

on the toes of each other’s

past experiences. I hope

deep down, that you know it.

Know that I never meant

you any harm. Know that

I loved you with all that

I had. And that I’m sorry.

Sorry my sweetness, that

anything I ever said made

you feel less than my everything.

But I cannot go on begging

to be loved by someone

so staunchly caught up in

their defenses. So ready and

willing to believe me to be

a villain as the result of

any misstep. I wish

that things had gone

differently. That they hadn’t

had to end. But I thank you

for the brief but all-encompassing

happiness I got to share

with you, in the little time

that we had.

[misguided-ivy]

Predatorily Predisposed

I am attracted to all

that the world deems

distinctly ominous

maybe the strands

of death pull

more tautly against

the appeal of pleasantries

to those whose demons

dress in Sunday pleats

and stain their pews

with blood bleached

away, leaving

overly whitened teeth

all the better for

“harmless” leering,

my dear

at least the old

and weary reaper

withholds from deceit

beauty without

obvious deformity

hints to cautious

minds that malice

boils beneath

because why else

cover one’s darkness

in pastel pinks

and perfectly knotted

bow-ties if not

to conceal a poison

far more deadly

my penchant for

pessimism aside

I need to stop

running towards

everything that

swears it wants to kill

me, because honest

murderers are not

making themselves more

trustworthy merely

by admitting to their

bloodlust, and rather

than use the brash reality

they display to ward

myself off, to keep

myself safe

I fall hard for

the self proclaimed

and act astonished

when they don’t

use that self awareness to

evolve, to change

- C. Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

[misguided-ivy]

This is what society did to the women of my family, and not what my mother did to me...

My mother wore

yes like a lapel pin

tucked beneath the

outer layer of her skin

and I inherited

the blood that was

always ready to drip

from the never said

“I’d really rather not”s

but I learn best the lessons

that were never meant

to be taught because

my soul always

gets caught reading

messages in the negative

space, hauntings passed

down from generation

to generation, saturated

into the walls of our home

where my mother raised

me to be freer than she

was, as her mother

had done for her, and her

sisters. Progress happens

incrementally and side

effects of old ways

leech themselves into

new beliefs despite the

best intentioned teachings.

My mother always told me

to trust my instincts

and I know beyond a

shadow of a doubt

that she meant it, that

she wanted nothing more

earnestly for both of us,

her daughters but I

saw instead of listened

saw her swallow her feelings

like sawdust coating a throat

that never learned to keep

down that which

the body needed, heard

her say yes with her

mouth into the phone

while her brow furrowed

and her shoulders

tensed, and I heard the

frustration of the

aftermath, heard her sorrow

felt the exhaustion permeating

the hurt born from unbending

selflessness, and how no one

ever thought through the

level of imposition it was

even to ask, because she

always said yes. No one asked

what it was she needed but

couldn’t bring herself to

feel worthy of. Yes is my

family disease, a lineage

handed to the women

of my tree packaged

with the bow of decay

called decency

and No felt foreign

for long enough that when

I needed it my tongue

could not cup the sound

and my vocal chords

sang songs of quiet

acquiescence while my

instincts cried behind

the music stand for

my lost innocence

- C. Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

[misguided-ivy]

Surgeon General Forgot to Warn Me

I find myself peeling

ingredient labels from

my flesh compulsively

in this world that weighs

the traumas of women

in the way they do

cuts of red meat, for

men to decide if the

risk of the heart

disease increasing

from each indulgence

is worth it, and the

meat that bites back

kills man is the greatest of

all known evils... and I

want to show them

true evil, but those who

feast on innocent

blood cast no

conscience in mirrors

backed by silver

so I remain

in shadows,

peeling

- C. Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

Disassociate

[misguided-ivy]

Sleep Depravity

words get butchered

and sown back together

in sentences that resemble

not the intended sentiments

but which make indulgently

sweet laughter bubble

up from between the gaps

of moments that loop

in on themselves and expand

suddenly into skyward

butterfly wings, and I can

feel the hollowness

evacuating itself from my

core in the wake of infectious

levity, and I breathe

unencumbered now as

I ease into such

pleasant dreamings

- C. Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

[misguided-ivy]

Glitch Ridden

my aura is eternally

morphing shades

of iridescence, refracting

light and hue through

my personality of

perpetual impermanence

I am a holographic

illusion of a human

and a mirage of traits

that disappear from me

the moment someone

captures a feeling

of certainty resulting

from the impression

I made upon them

from the distance between

separate consciousnesses

I evolve and descend

the irreverent glisten

on a soap bubble

the second before it pops

and my laugh changes

again, I am journal

entries the writer burned

to erase the memories

once once worth

penning, a different

essence in each

room I enter, while

somehow remaining

unflinchingly

authentic

- C. Ivy

[misguided-ivy]

[misguided-ivy]

Or maybe I’m just Lazy...

plagued by

perpetual exhaustion

a bird who’s name

I can’t discern

but whose archaic

syllables faintly resemble

complete depletion

perches on my

doorframe cawing

it’s warnings as

I attempt to enter

the atmosphere

of all that exists outside

with my mask of

normalcy, pretending

it’s not slowly suffocating

my breaths, filling

my pores with the

condensation of warmth

from tired lungs

thickening all

the space between

my invisible ailments

and the worlds

perception of me as

a young and healthy

being, it maws

steadily a raven song

of impending

limitations, the tune calling

forth, on certain

occasions a deep

seeded rebellion

harbored ever

beneath my bows,

but on other days

its notes tip

my scales with the

weight of resignation

- C. Ivy