Eyes containing contempt

•February 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Dearest Reader, once more a short story for you.

I suppose loneliness is something that creeps up on you and it’s not necessarily a negative thing. It’s an aspect of life that we all must deal with. For now, though. I will mourn the fact that happiness, wrapped in your arms, only lasted until the sun came up.

I could never be the one to ultimately put that smile on your face the way others have through their discourse and blatant disregard for feelings.

Sensitivity is new to me these days and I might quite possibly be returning to the humanity side of things.

Tears flow freely as if the stores behind my eyes are already full and can no longer hold sadness.

But, for the night I held you within me.

I felt safe. As if my problems sunk into the bed, dissolving only to return when your presence left.

Now, I am the past and yours has returned.

The shelf has been my home for numerous years, yet I have finally gained enough courage to leave.

A new confidence has surged through me and my dream no longer contains your presence.

“I haven’t felt this way I feel
Since many a years ago
But in those years and the lifetime’s past
I did not deal with the road” – Storms

The process,

•February 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Dearest Reader,  


This may be one of my darker posts, but I will try and be as “candid” as possible. Only because when I discuss how I feel with my peers, friends, and loved ones the response I generally receive is either silence, or a sad look.  


I have this hallway. It’s long, there is rooms on either side, and it’s rather long. Longer than any hallways I have experienced, anyways. (CLEARLY, I am emphasizing the significance of the stretch of tile from one point of my apartment to the other. I digress. ) Six months ago, at the end of my hallway was a wall filled with beautiful pictures of myself and my son. Every time I came home from a long day, on my way to my room it was there. This montage to everything in my life that was beautiful. From far away, my smile only became wider as I continued down the hallway to admire the precious moments captured through a still medium. Hoping to continuously relive those moments.  

When my son died, and time passed. I took them down, I couldn’t look at his smiling face anymore, or mine for that matter. How could I be? Sitting at the end of the hallway, staring at me. For a brief period, I felt as if that aspect of my life was not even real, due to the mere tragedy of it all.  The tragedy of holding onto your son, as I made the decision to let him go. Increasing his medication in order for his pain to finally be released. The wisps of life draining from his lips, turning them into a color only an artist could ever hope to bring to life.  

How could I come home and look at those pictures on the wall. Death being a celebration of life, only when that life has been lived. Not when that life has been cruelly stolen from someone who never deserved the pain that was bestowed upon him. How could I look at those pictures at the end of the hallway, when I felt as if the whole entire life he lead was a beautiful nightmare. One that I would wake up from.  

Previous to this catastrophe, I did a lot of hoping. That’s why I smiled, all the time. How could you ever discuss your son, or his illness? People would ask me about my son, and if he walked. Talked. Was bad, but if I told them no, and explained the situation..The smile plastered on my face made theirs instantly disappear. What possible response could there be to someone explaining why their only child is in hospice? Human responses, are just that human.   

Back to the collage of pictures. They now hang in a different room. I have yet to glance at them. It’s been a few months. By glance, I avoid looking at those pictures.  

I am not able to bear the happiness that exudes from them. Not when I am so intrinsically unsatisfied. How could I possibly ask the people around me to sympathize with what I am going through? Most of them are worried about where money is coming from, so they can purchase their habits. 

or too self absorbed to even comprehend that often times my smile, and laugh are so contrived that it quivers with each breath?  

Am I being selfish, by complaining about it? 

My anger becomes even more incensed when I just want to talk about missing my son. People look at me with these eyes that attempt to show sadness and empathy, when really they are just uncomfortable. See why it is easier to smile than allow the response to consume you?  

When you reach out to people, who just hand you some form of sympathy tied with theology and I am glad it’s not me.  

Who will be the one to hold me, as my son was held through his suffering. I held him for so long, as long as I could. Until it was time to let go. For this moment in time, just this moment. I would just like to say, that I have been heart broken for a very long time. Now, that I have kicked out all of the things that have suppressed that sadness, I just want for someone to hold me. Metaphorically. Affection, I am not used to that nor do I trust it. Life gets better, but for tonight I think I will allow myself to hurt. Just for a moment.  Because, reader, you only read. I don’t have to deal with the pressure of your response.  



You give, but you can’t take it.

•January 30, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Dearest Reader, 


Is there something you’re afraid of? 


Or, might it be a manifestation you’re scared to conjure for your fear that its repercussions would solidify an instinct looming dangerously within the depths of your dark soul. 


Will you not share why your smile illuminates a dreary night, or who placed it upon your handsome demeanor?


“ Is it not enough to love you, rather than be in love” 


Words from your timber voice, reverberating deep insecurities. 


May I only have a piece of you? When I may have offered more, or is that a facade too? 


The battle continues, for a battered soul. Who will be the victor? 



“Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop.”

H. L. Mencken


Friday Affections

•January 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Dearest Reader, 



TGIF is a place where some of us commune in order to let out our work aggressions. The clanking of beer classes getting steamed, ready for the next customer searching for their drink specials. 


For me, though, it’s a place where I learn. I sit in my usual chair, the music is muffled due to voices carrying on merrily. 


Although I generally have a lot to say, these trips consist of friends bestowing their relationship knowledge…or rather we can be candid here and say “bitching”. 


I’ve listened to a woman, complain about the man she wished would love her.


My ears have been exposed to the same complaints but vice versa. 


But, the most intriguing part is the male perspective. 


The same man cried on my shoulder once, and I wiped his tears away. 

He was in love, once. It always hurt me to see him upset about this woman, because I never understood what being in  love was like. I used to just glaze my eyes over, and day dream about my body being connected to my bed. My feet were always sore after work. 


Recently, he has new stories to tell. About the women that he sees on an after midnight basis. 

or used to see, rather. 


Of course, they fall for him. Someone they can’t have. Someone they’d like to change, but I sit there. On my bar stool, listening. Quietly learning.


He cares about them, clearly. Likes their character, a few critiques about their amorous exchanges. But, it never fails. 


I mean, who would really turn away a woman’s affection. No matter the situation. Maybe a small chance to see if it would work out, but realizing later that it doesn’t work. Continuing it on, only to hope that it gets better. The trap most marriages fall into. “Being stuck”, as they say. 

An exchange, if you will. 



After a couple of drinks, a distant look appears in his eyes. He eventually thinks back to the woman who holds his heart, and she lies with someone else. 


I asked him once, why he entertains someone that he doesn’t care for. 

He simply replied that he did, but he could never love her the way she loved him. 


And then, it hit me. One sided relationships exist in the adult world. Is there always one person holding onto the strings, pulling the other person. In my experience, it’s never really an even exchange. I don’t believe in it, really. Love, to me, is a silly theory made for those who allow emotions to rule their lives. Occasionally, strong ones succumb but then their resolve changes afterwards. I digress. 


Either way, the bustling of the evening shift became soothing. 

For some reason, problems dissolved in the salty spinach dip and the taste of cheap beer. 





•January 20, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I lay here
Alone in bed
No one has dared to ever warm it
For my heart was so cold, it was impossible.

This battle, I’ve lost
My wounds are open, waiting

For a savior, maybe
Or will salt be used to ease the pain
Far greater than any physical hurt

Foreign Communications

•January 9, 2014 • 1 Comment

Dearest reader,

Seduction is a fickle situation. One moment you are the hunter, your prey seems within your grasp. The next, you’ve been hunted and you’re pinned down looking into the eyes of someone or something you’ve wanted all along. Yet, how can one perceive this game? Is it a power struggle! Are you able to concede and allow the feelings from moments long before over come who you are, currently?

Why must it be this power struggle, though? Often others feel that love is similar to war, but who wins in the end? Do both parties, or in the hypothetical love does the party who has less feelings string the other along and keeps it to themselves. A small smirk constantly continuing in their soul while, on the other hand, the partner tries to prove their worth.

Maybe this mindset should be eradicated all together and two should unite with hands together trudging through the expanse of time , known as life. Helping one another along the way. With no room for insecurities, because love accepts unconditionally, right? Why be insecure when your lover has fallen in love with your imperfections.

Either way, I know that with myself this struggle is great. I hope to find my own answers, and maybe you will share yours.


Bistro Poetry

•January 6, 2014 • Leave a Comment

” Shelved gods”



Your smile no longer creates a storm in my soul. 


Your laugh no longer warms my heart. 


My eyes no longer gaze at yours, instead chestnut eyes realized how battered you really were. 


Frayed edges no longer acquires my soft touch to weave the strands back together. 


Your voice is no longer my song, a melody I may only understand. 


And your touch can no longer save me.


Our unrequited love never manifested itself.


You’re no longer my moon that used to shine so bright. 


The star I used to equivocate to you no longer glows against the vast cold sky. 


Now, rest in Valhalla.


The pedestal I mounted you on. 


For my love has withered and is long gone. 





                                                                                         Janelle Gormley 











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