17 and 39
[the following is a poem about an affair i had with a married man at the age of 17. he had stalked me - at a distance for months prior to actually pursuing me -- meeting me. he lied about his age -- shaved 5 years off his true age -- still it made him old enough to be my father. a father. i guess that's what i looked to this man for -- fathering. its a shameful thing. yet, another ugly blemish on my past. but --- its all behind me. and angst, sorrow -- these create the best artistic works. and so ... here it is.]
"hello, my pet," he called from the far room.
her heart jumped to her throat.
he always surprised her like this.
she never knew when
he would show up at her door.
in his absence -- the long periods of time
he would just drop out of her existence --
days. weeks. months at a time ...
she grew languid. limp.
lifeless and cut-off. passive.
a tormented, hungry soul ...
aching ... aching.
and -- paralyzed of will
to extract herself nonetheless.
and so it went.
undulating -- passion, sorrow, shame.
oppressive: her longing for him.
it caught her --
the energy of their union.
forbidden union.
it caught her and ravaged her ...
the same way a leg hole trap
ravages a wolf's unsuspecting leg.
her young, tender soul
could not escape its grip.
at times, she felt as though
a faerie for his amusement --
he: a middle-aged, worn man,
suspending her in front of his gaze,
holding her daintily by the wings,
watching her writh, struggle
and then surrender sweetly - wilting
under the weight of his
desperate, empty lust ...
he loved to slowly crush her spirit ...
feel it disintegrate into his own.
she -- an enchanting, beguiling creature
a young, virginal female spirit
perched on a cusp that sits
like a delicate, stilettoed spire
between girlhood and womanhood
shame. and unrelenting sorrow
lurked there, like slivers, embedded
into the deepest corners of her heart
her shame - secret and dark -
melted into the soothing warmth
of his voice, and
the gentle strength
she felt in his fingertips
she-an innocent, unripened green shoot
with angular boyish curves
and a child's flat and meager bosom -
she loved him ...
loved him to the point
of pain
reality -- it showered her heart
like acid poured onto living flesh --
a reality that she and he
would have NO future
still ... her heart loved his
with a florid devotion
naive ... sublime ... divine
17 and 39
"hello, my pet," he called from the far room.
her heart jumped to her throat.
he always surprised her like this.
she never knew when
he would show up at her door.
in his absence -- the long periods of time
he would just drop out of her existence --
days. weeks. months at a time ...
she grew languid. limp.
lifeless and cut-off. passive.
a tormented, hungry soul ...
aching ... aching.
and -- paralyzed of will
to extract herself nonetheless.
and so it went.
undulating -- passion, sorrow, shame.
oppressive: her longing for him.
it caught her --
the energy of their union.
forbidden union.
it caught her and ravaged her ...
the same way a leg hole trap
ravages a wolf's unsuspecting leg.
her young, tender soul
could not escape its grip.
at times, she felt as though
a faerie for his amusement --
he: a middle-aged, worn man,
suspending her in front of his gaze,
holding her daintily by the wings,
watching her writh, struggle
and then surrender sweetly - wilting
under the weight of his
desperate, empty lust ...
he loved to slowly crush her spirit ...
feel it disintegrate into his own.
she -- an enchanting, beguiling creature
a young, virginal female spirit
perched on a cusp that sits
like a delicate, stilettoed spire
between girlhood and womanhood
shame. and unrelenting sorrow
lurked there, like slivers, embedded
into the deepest corners of her heart
her shame - secret and dark -
melted into the soothing warmth
of his voice, and
the gentle strength
she felt in his fingertips
she-an innocent, unripened green shoot
with angular boyish curves
and a child's flat and meager bosom -
she loved him ...
loved him to the point
of pain
reality -- it showered her heart
like acid poured onto living flesh --
a reality that she and he
would have NO future
still ... her heart loved his
with a florid devotion
naive ... sublime ... divine
17 and 39
oh' velvet!...what can I say??!!!...becuse...yours is always so replete with what is real in life....it's not just what you write...but the intensity...the presentation...like entering a different world...your world of sublime passion with a depth that delves down...down...down....where everything is of a different world...
reading this was like you swimming down into the abyss willing me to follow...and i did...you transported me to a different plane...which is yours alone....I became you in reading this...i became that 17 year old...I felt the fiery passion...I was that passion...so sublimely deep...I felt that...truly...
and this...this will always be a part of you...in the same way that what i have experienced when I was 17 will be a part of me.....
hauntingly beautiful....
Posted by
Anonymous |
10/8/06 23:16
Velvet. I'll share this much with you.
This poem was really not.
I tried helping my ex for almost 10 years to let go of her bitter-sweet past. Was was written here was an excerpt of the years before me. I know exactly the pain that it caused her because she inflicted it on me for all those years. That is it Velvet. I made it out of there and found light at the end of her tunnel.
Posted by
Anonymous |
11/8/06 10:53
sister,
this piece is so honest. you must have to reach deep into yourself to draw out these words.
Posted by
Anonymous |
12/8/06 23:20
/bark bark bark
you know already that much of what you write, though beautiful, insprires a feeling of rottie revenge in me. i want to travel back in time and thrash 39 like a rag. freya says to take him at the throat and hold him down til the squirming subsides and the pulse of warm flow slows to nothing.
/grrrrrrrrrr
Posted by
Anonymous |
13/8/06 09:45
Mine was 17 and 30...not old enough to really be a father, but wayyyy old enough to know better.
Do you know that even now- 20 years later...he still calls me on my birthday? Our relationship was not quite as intimate as yours- but very close. I don't think I really understood what happened to me until I read this poem.
Ughhh-
Posted by
Mayden' s Voyage |
16/8/06 21:25
I hope your comments get emailed to ya because I am going to spend my freetime catching up with you.
This one here is a doozy.
I think it could have been better had he been a better man?
I'll be back dear.
even if you DID have the plague.
which OF COURSE you don't.
intelligence intimidates some, that's all.... and others, are just plain too trite to notice your brilliance.
gotta run to class not tho.
love,
Infini
Posted by
Anonymous |
6/9/06 13:39
lux ... thanx ... you are one of a kind, my dear.
k9 - the thrashing sounds good. i think you would have to race lupin for him tho. but you know something? in the end, 39 lost it all. me - his wife. even his job. and now i guess he's an old and lonely man. and it serves him right.
mr q - its amazing how some of us walk the same path without even knowing it.
saeed - yes ... thanx for recognizing this. it took many years to write this.
infini - i learned a lot from him. there were some silver linings. but now i look back and i see a creep.
ardlair asked me a while back how this left me feeling. this 17 and 39 relationship. well, i think i can provide a better answer now. its actually one that lupin figured out for me. its in the poem, which appears in the side bar of this blog, bell jar dreams.
the poem, i really wrote it about that austrian girl. but, lupin thinks i could relate so well in the writing because i felt like her in a figurative sense. what a novel concept.
at this moment ... luv you all. :D
Posted by
velvet acid tongue |
6/9/06 14:37