Garden Of Solitude

I was driven here
in a chariot of disappointment and illusions shattered
there was little chance for this much passion to simply be shared
equally with another human
I was always choosing between a relationship and my cherished
and essential alonement
my connection to Self
denied for dozens of years
choosing validation by whomever wanted to fuck me
the phone calls and accoutrements of sex and what I thought was love
but wasn’t
some need to not feed myself
better to feed someone else’s ego
giving another orgasm while unsatisfied again
dumped off the chariot onto a barren dirt pile
I grew a garden of solitude
I tend to my garden every day
my fingers are earthworms tilling the soil
I water the pages with my tears
I’m so glad I found myself
watching withery winter bulbs
reach out to me in Spring bits of green
mouths singing
in a warming song beyond hope
it’s success
reaching down in that dark dirt to touch
my authentic self
a sustained orgasm vibrating every cell
a soul with roots and branches and leaves
a blooming maze with no exit
no heaven to go to
I’m here

Photo Credit: -Jeffrey- Flickr via Compfight cc

Marie Scampini

Marie Scampini is a published poet, playwright, short story writer, currently working on a poetry collection and project - 1775 Poems in 1775 Days, to save her life every day, on a page, and in this world; fighting for justice, safety, and equality for all, one person at a time.

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