The Keeper of Time

I swear to God, I am not proud of it,
this wishing and unwishing,
and the wishing and unwishing of more,
as if that could make these things be something
or nothing, or take them all away,
or even add a maybe to them all.
This wishing and unwishing are killing me.

If I could go back and take it all back,
or change it all I would,
God help me, I would.
There are so many things I would change
and so many things I couldn’t,
and wouldn’t, and would never want to,
but if I started to change one thing,
I would never stop.

I would wish to be the keeper of time
to whisper my secrets to you,
and we would sit beyond time and I would tell you

You can change this. I have kept your time.
I have kept your seconds.
I have kept your wishes and your memories
and your love here, in this notebook,
and I give it back to you now
with an eraser and a pencil.
And I would look there, on your notebook,
on its dog-eared edges and its faded cover,
and I would wish for brighter colours and
I would say to you,

Here is the notebook of your life,
the notebook of your time,
and I am giving it back to you.
I am giving you this one pass,
as the keeper of your time
and the keeper of your sins,
I give them back to you.

I give you back your dreams,
rewrite them.

Write it all, and don’t write it
as if you were afraid

of what people would think.

Don’t write it as if
you haven’t been given a second chance
upon a first chance,

because you haven’t.
But still, write it.


I, as the keeper of your time,

and the chronicler of your memories,
give you this page and this pencil,
and I ask you to write without fear,
without consequence,
without hope or sorrow,
I ask you to write, so write.

I can not reset time,
I can not make things right
as you see them be,
because your right is wrong
in everyone else’s eyes,
in cosmic eyes that stare down at us all.

Don’t read the rewrite,
and I will keep you secretly,
and give you this page and this pencil to write
all of the things you wanted to write,
all of the things you wanted to keep,
all of the things you wanted to change,
all of the things that are time and are not,
and will not or never be,
and I ask you to write it solidly,
without despair, without guilt, without question.

Write your rewrite that I can never grant you,
and sign your name to the bottom of it, proudly.
For there is nothing wrong with a rewrite,
in this life or in others, there is nothing wrong
with wanting a rewrite, even if we love
our stories and the way they began
with a once upon a time and ended
with a happily ever after,
because you are many stories.
You are a great book of love, and loss, and light,
and the wisdom of your pages, between your pages
could never be rewritten into the stories that are.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Bring Your Wishes

It is empty in here.
This place that once
felt the fire of falling stars
is now cold in his fading light.
So I shall invite you in
and ask you to bring your wishes,
and perhaps the both of us
will burst like suns again.

 

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Under Your Bed

I have loved as I have never been loved,
and in loving as I have never been,
I have held the hands of gods
and laid weeping before the closed fists
of disappointment dripping with my own blood
and barely skimming forgiveness.
Perhaps it will come to me,
this love, a love, beneath your bed,
behind the curtains or under you mother
and her Sunday night dinner,
the one I was invited to
before the devil tickled my back
and your angels scorched my belly.
I wear these marks well,
my kisses from heaven
and my brushes with hell,
yet here I am on my knees again,
looking for the love you dropped under your bed.
I know it’s here somewhere,
amongst the monsters and the memories,
making friends with the lonely socks
missing their mates, and reaching
inside the crumpled wrappers,
the pink ones that burst the stars
upon your tongue before he broke the door down
and taught you all the ways you should never love.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

I Just Wanted To Be Loved – Peter Olsen

“I want God to come/And take me home
‘Cause I’m all alone/ In this crowd
Who are you to me/Who am I supposed to be
Not exactly sure anymore./Where’s this going to
Can I follow through/Or just follow you
For a while/Does anyone ever get this right?”

– ‘The Vampires of Time and Memory’, Queens of the Stone Age

And now I’m all alone.
In the dark I’m home.
My mind is gone.
As I wait for you to finally say goodbye.

I just wanted to be loved.
By anyone.
I just wanted someone to love
Me.

I would do anything
To kill this pain
That infects my brain
For what you did to me.

But I stuck around
Even when you felt down.
I gave my heart and soul
When you were low.
I tried to do anything
To help to wash away your pain
Just because I cared
I was always there
I made myself vulnerable and open for a fall.

You took advantage of me.
My sincerity.
You wiped your feet
On my bleeding heart
As I allowed you to laugh me
And totally use me.
Fucking abused me in your sick, twisted little game.

I would have done anything for you.

For you to just love me.
For just one fucking second,
For just one fucking day,
For just a moment in time for you to accept me for being this pathetic little bitch you think I am.

I just want to be loved
By anyone.
I really don’t fucking care
How bad you hurt me.

Just talk to me
Acknowledge me
Do something or just let me be.
Say something
Say anything
Fucking lie to me one more time
And tell me again you love me.

These pathetic little voices
In my fucked up mind
Are choking me like that blade
Wanting to be my friend
Laying on your perverted bed of lies
Waiting for me to end this pain
I deserve from opening up by bleeding heart to you.

You said I was cute.
You still said I was special.
You said you wanted
And needed me.
You said I was your everything between your thighs.

But it was all a lie
A fucking lie.
All of it
And you really didn’t care
About me

I just wanted to be loved.
By anyone.
I just wanted someone to love
Me.

And now I’m all alone
In the dark I’m home.
My mind is gone
As I wait for you to finally say goodbye.

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After graduating from Washington State University with a B.A. in Humanities, Peter M. Olsen found his true passion and became a blogger. He has written for Feminine Collective, Rachel Thompson, and Hasty Dawn Words.
Peter is also a mental health advocate dedicated to helping people with mental illness.

In his free time, Peter is in search for the greatest taco trucks in the Pacific Northwest. Peter is a raver and PLUR warrior, video game junkie, coffee addict, and an all-around pretty cool guy. Trance, house, and techno music keeps Peter a very happy guy.

Peter lives in the greatest city on Planet Earth. The Emerald City…Seattle, Washington

Among The Stars

It was colder than usual that morning,
the way the wind was blowing just so,
I heard the sun weeping her love,
into the moon and its fading glow.

And I watched the stars as they flickered
to the beat of my broken heart,
as if someone was dancing across them
turning goodbye into a work of art.

I have heard there was a man
who walked among the stars.
Legend says he was a teller of tales,
how he could write his soul into ours.

I have heard this very man
also walked among the weak.
Legend says he whistled the truth
and encouraged those voices to speak.

I have heard  this very man
also walked among the strong.
Legend says he carried a tune
with the weight of all, they had done wrong.

I have heard this very man
also walked among the missed.
Legend says he whispered his love
and sealed it with a kiss.

I have heard this very man
also walked among the dead.
Legend says he penned lullabies
to sing those souls to bed.

And so the story goes
about this man and his many stars,
and how he no longer walks among us
but he hasn’t gone very far.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

In Memory of Gord Downie

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Her Belt

I wonder if she thought of me
when she cinched her belt,
and if she had to punch
extra holes in the leather
before she did it,
and if it was real leather
or as fake as we were.
I wonder these things,
and quickly follow up
my wondering with more,
like why I am this way,
and if I was the one
who handed her that belt
when I walked into her life
and took it from her.
Living feels hard
when death comes calling,
whispering names
that sound like yours,
but dying seems easy
when life comes calling,
shouting names
that should have been hers.
And maybe that is why
I wonder about that fucking belt
more than anything else.
That belt would have served me better,
holding up the weight of this life
she would have lived
fuller than I have.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

I Would Run

I feel what you feel,
and I know
what you know,
and in another time
or another place,
on every other plane
of existence, I would run
anywhere with you.

Help Stephanie Bennett-Henry Recover

Our beautiful friend and writer Stephanie Bennett Henry desperately needs our help. She and her husband had just finished a full renovation of her childhood home and were preparing to move into it over the next coming weeks when Hurricane Harvey hit Texas. She was in the flood zone. Her house consumed by water. The clean up will be long and heartbreaking and without flood insurance or help from FEMA the financial burden to redo all they’d worked so hard on is a mountainous amount.

A fund has been set up by a group of her friends and fellow writers to help her family as best we can. We ask you to please donate what you can. Every little bit helps.

Stephanie’s words have helped heal thousands, now she needs healing. The campaign was started this morning. The link is here, please offer what you can and please share this post to help spread the word. Thank you all.

And here is the link to Stephanie’s FB page where you can offer some words of support as well.

Much love and light to each and every one of you.

For the month of September, I will be donating my royalties from every Amazon purchase of Hush to the relief efforts and the rebuild of Stephanie’s home.

You can purchase your copy of Hush, here.

 

 

 

Hard Love

It is a difficult thing,
the knowing and the not,
and the weight of carrying it all.
That we are not of this world
and never have been, but perhaps
we have been placed here
as punishment for living too full
and loving too hard against the softness
of whatever we are made up of.
Maybe it was that hard love
that we made so easy
that brought us here,
to learn to love like them,
with strings attached and angry ultimatums.
But here we are now,
still loving like we did then,
and feeling the fall of it all.
Perhaps we were wrong in the ways
they are right because we were eternal once,
and now these blessed hearts
have been broken and filled and broken again,
and I am afraid that this heart,
that your heart has loved too hard
to ever make it back home again.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

No Trespassing

He pitched himself onto me,
inside of me; somehow
his smooth laugh
and the electric blue
of his necktie cut a path
through the underbrush
beneath my skirt,
and I liked the way
his jacket caught the breeze
when he hung it
on your no trespassing sign,
and how he sighed so deeply
when the blues in his pocket
gave way to his shadow,
and wiped me clean again.

© Nicole Lyons 2017