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My Precious Butterfly

An apparition of you materializes in the shadows 
of my thoughts wearing sunlit whispers 
borrowed from our days of mud pies, 
fire flies, 
and little white lies 
of where we've been. 

Weren't you my twin? 
Sharing glances eye-to-eye, 

Laying on our backs and watching the sky 
twine around our toes 
and tickle the horizon. 

You fill my grasp with dandelions 
while hands suddenly no longer petite, nervous, 
and gray from the day 
become broad, rugged, yet soft in their own way. 

You reach for me with arms once of autumn twigs 
transformed to weathered, sunset licorice that 
made clandestine promises to never let me go. 

What, you didn't know? 
Spread apart are the lips that exposed myriad sparse afternoon smiles 
now curled into thick ribbons of molasses 
that teach me their taste as the time passes. 

Into your eyes 
I peer expecting a likewise 
alteration, but to my surprise 
and joy, there was none. 

The playful love and vivid twinkle where 
just where they had always been. 

No longer are you my twin, 
but my King, 
and to you I'm not just a queen; I am your queen. 

With us there's no infatuation, frustration, 
aggravation, speculation; 

This is no mythical admiration 
or even love 

Because love, people fall in and out of, 
but between us there is no doubt of 

Forever. 

Whether 
the tides cease to flow out and in 
and bumble bees stop their gossipin', 
if the moon 
tires of walking across the sky 
and days are forever noon, 
or when snow flakes feel comfortable in June, 

Strumming euphoria on my heart strings is where you'll always be, 
And when I close my eyes at night, this vision of you is all I shall
see.

Trend (VeraCity) Truesdale (c) ttruesd@clemson.edu

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Blue

You've got my heart in prison garb
arrested by words that swirl from your 
lips and contort my mind like clouds on 
March evenings.

Instead of promising me dances on treetops and 
oceans of stars at my feet,
you've given me musings under those stars, 
nestled in your iron velvet touch,

eavesdropping on the crickets' conversations
watching the morning glory's debut, 
You, wearing moonlight molded to fit your body
like a divine, incandescent aura

painted by a brush dipped in the blue haze
of the distant wood.  Could you ever be more than
mon ami,

or am I forever doomed to peer into your eyes and
pretend not to crave
the flavor of what lies them?

Trend (VeraCity) Truesdale (c) ttruesd@clemson.edu

========================================================

The Hands

I shouldn't have been there in the first place:

laughing, winking, whispering, smiling, 
swinging with the music that blurred over the voices,
sipping the fruity, potent spirit that idly 
diminished in my cup.

"COME WITH ME HAIL MARY!  RUN QUICK SEE"

I had been there before,
and this time was no different than the others:
The same voices, the same music, the same dim light 
thickened by the haze of Newports and Ganja.

There I was, leaning,
my body and mind getting heavier, 
an actress playing my usual role of not being interested 
in that guy across the room when I
vanished-
		A cold hand 
		wrapped around my
		wrist and pulled me
		Into the room, I
		tumbled, followed by 
		two silhouettes into an abyss of black,
		Friends of mine,
		colored with the depraved orange	
		of a single cigarette.
		The slamming of the door.
		The prior tranquillity
		replaced.
		All at once, playful hugs were
		exchanged for corrupt jerks	
		and the frozen will to 
		displace myself; my 
		tears pushed back into
		my throat. Those hands
		gripping, smearing me
		with animosity and malice,
		the click of my buttons pelting the 
		floor across the room.
		Four hands,
		three men,	
		two demented smiles	
		one wavering voice whispering,
		"Let her go, man,"	
		but ignored

and I was left there.
Mangled,
a young gazelle after a lion's wrath, 
conquered  by frenzy, fury, resentment, 
Solitary.
left to marinate in someone else's flambéed ecstatic rage

"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE NOW?"

Trend (VeraCity) Truesdale (c) ttruesd@clemson.edu

========================================================

WHATEVER!...(with attitude)

"I love you..."

(pause)

So is that what you think
Or is it just what you want me to believe?
Making contortionists of my thoughts,
Yet now your wear your heart on your sleeve.

The words stumble from your lips
so naturally, so erratically
like a sneeze
so emphatically
whispered like a Georgia breeze
in mid-July.

I do try
to understand, but I can't figure it out.
Those are 3 words you must contemplate about,
Know it in your heart beyond the realm of all doubt.
They're too heavy to toss around, kid,
You'll throw your back out!

In my few years of life, this is what I've learned:
Don't say it if you don't mean it,
or else you risk burns.

Slow down, Speedy!  Take your time
Because as far as I'm concerned,
You'll have to give me a rain check
Because the "I love you" can't be returned.

(eyes rolling, arms crossed)

Trend (VeraCity) Truesdale (c) ttruesd@clemson.edu

========================================================

WHY I LIKE CHICKEN STRIPS

Sitting on my back porch, 
I see the feathered ones--
strutting, bobbing, nibbling,
clucking amongst oinks and barks.

Stealing the corn I've placed for 
them, the felonious birds trail their 
footprints and sense-stabbing by-products 
across my sweat groomed blades of lime perfection.

Every morning I wake with the whip of their wretched
voices before school only to start again as a serf in their
fenced-in kingdom where they reign absolutely,
dominating, fighting, annoying, pecking

And then they become chicken strips.

Trend (VeraCity) Truesdale (c) ttruesd@clemson.edu