I have never felt the need for yoga
for some Namaste
some calculated, deep breathing
for some peace and quiet intermixed with
Spanish guitar or soulful reggae,
more than in this moment.
My mind cannot quiet, again.
My heart won’t slow, again.
My eyes flash, throwing mini daggers,
even the chatty ones avoid me
my firmly set mouth
my usually gentle, sparkling eyes
door slammed shut.
Learning new things about new people
how some do not understand the concept of give and take
or think that their own giving means that they have the pick of the goods.
Yes, this is incoherent,
yes, this has no logical flow, no pattern,
and neither does my breathing.
So! My original point?
“Namaste” only means that which you want it to,
a smile is only real if it flows to your eyes,
a truth is a truth if you focus on that bright white smile
and ignore the expressionless eyes.
Be still, my heart,
an overused expression – like how you raise your eyebrows
when you want me to believe you.
I no longer believe in make-believe – I create my own universe,
every bit as real as your own, and you don’t understand why I don’t laugh at your
empty, hollow jokes.
I sit in the parlor of my mind and have a conversation with myself.
You look well.
Thank you, I’ve been keeping myself busy.
How’s the book coming along?
We haven’t started our book yet.
Do you believe him? When he says he loves you?
*Laughter* You know the answer to that.
High, arching brows
penciled in to perfection.
Gold chains around my neck, my own shackles
sparkling, distracting from their original purpose
– to bind –
instead making my olive skin glow.
Would you believe him?
It still makes sense –
I don’t hear anything.
The thumps have quieted.
I don’t remember why I was so angry. I’m exhausted.