She won’t show her melancholy, it’s just
not something she can share or thinks he would
understand. Personal pain is just that
slice of her life she’d rather keep private.

Rather than her heart, she wears happiness
on her sleeve, a guise that fools everyone
and no one at the same time. Her laughter,
gloriously light, rings out loud and clear.
Her smile, crooked and bewitching, rests
just below her eyes – as a distraction.

To the casual observer, she’s found
life is an experience to be lived
in its fullest, passionate potential;
to eyes who know, her life’s less than perfect.



Practice Makes Perfect

She is practicing
being alone.
Wrapped in a robe this morning,

soft cream with pink and red hearts,

she wanders to the coffee pot,
pours a cup of strength

with a generous dollop of lace.

Pausing before the myriad pictures
scattered on the refrigerator door,
her fingers trail across familiar faces;
she whispers good morning, love, and
have a wonderful day
to each.

Their smiles remain in place,
reflect a sense of power;
a seed she planted years before
you can do and be anything.

Positive energy renewed, she moves
about the room, reminding herself

the dog needs his walk;
you need to eat breakfast;
laundry – grocery store – bank…

Tomorrow, she thinks, tomorrow
perhaps I’ll leave
loneliness behind, finally
and reach alone

practice makes perfect.

© Siobhan
May 17, 2009

Love As It Is

I sit, soak in sunshine, a way to cleanse
myself – burn away those pieces for which
I’ve no use, not caring about others –
what they might want – not today or ever.

Skin blisters and I feel no pain on the
surface or deep inside – just a freeing
of my spirit, a return to some place
long forgotten – a time of happiness.

Tears drip, scald this burnt facade, erasing
the tracks of misplaced passion, sealing off
the sorrow once felt as elation – now
gone – I have stripped myself of such folly.

Eventually, this red flesh will bronze,
relaxing into life – love as it is.