A hazy image of divine masculine that holds a vision haunting me day and night.
To settle out on the easy path of that lonely soul and my longing quest has bypassed my rational thinking.
Onlookers say I am stubborn, picky and prideful but the confusion instead pleads a different case.
Why can’T i suck it up and make the best of a moderate affection when drama seems more inspiring?
Haunted by a place holder of a dream come true which makes it that much harder to placate this desire to have it all.
It doesn’t help that age makes him juicy and ripe when superficial dismissal becomes a game to keep my chasing at bay.
A cruel joke by the universe in matching my perfectly laid out list of wedding bell criteria.
What is the lesson I beg invisible ears trying not to be too ungrateful for the legit options before me.
I hold onto a greedy desire to turn the statue into my own notch in my mattress on the floor,
though rolling around is only half the picture.
Those word don’t ever leave when it’s music sings of a yearning the world needs to dance to.
Am I haunted more by my personal desire to own the man
or
the magnificence embedded in the messages which exposes all things I myself try to hide from all prospects?
Finding my dark side pulled into looking at my own hate and loving the catalyst who forced me to embrace all the ugly I possess.
Haunted by the mask falling off my own appearance of prize to a puddle of tears on the floor.
Bargaining with God to release me with no intention of him answering my prayer and dissolving my hopes.
I reckon it be a mirage too good to be true only to be looked at from the crowd.
An untouchable angel saying it plain in a way that others are too afraid to commit.
Maybe this apparition is meant to be gazed upon by many and never held by one.
A perception that allows me to skirt past my own inability to captivate his party;
rather than release it to another brilliant mind to make buildings of brain candy.
Haunted by needing to reconcile this human need to be raw and solid at the same time
but doing it badly
and caring less each day
as I push past the sense of it all to bask in the legacy of beauty in motion that stands not for one but for a higher plane.
One that must watch from a distance
Appreciating the small part I get to play in picking apart mine own party recognizing, after the fact.
deeper in an unconditional peace that allows the slippery excuse I use to reach to a better one,
manifested in the image of this complexity of unknown tantra
…….that I swept up into a bottle I keep with ashes on the windowsill
Was it all my fault?
Haunted
Maya Rose 