My Soul Mate

My friend said that I ought to comprise a list of sorts about my soul mate. Visualize. Articulate. Write. Okay. At first I thought, sheesh, what? That sounds a bit tedious. Then I got this sudden flash and went crazy, started writing in a frenzy. Turns out, he is indeed living in me already, though I'm not sure if I know this guy yet. Here he is, the man I have dreamt of always and want to be with forever. I may or may not know this guy. This is all just dreaming....

he's much taller than me, around 6'3" or 6'4"

never does his hair

sometimes has facial hair

sometimes not depending on the day

he always looks slightly disheveled

because he has other things on his mind

he's always reading something

dark hair dark eyes

big feet big hands

long frame, medium build

maybe glasses

maybe not

he loves animals intensely more than humans

simple man but very layered

good-natured

intuitive and therefore a little feminine

but still clearly masculine in most of his ways

emotional depth beyond most, beyond over 99% of others

has a lot to say but doesn't tell everyone

artist, whether music, writing, or other

responsible

self-containted

VERY compassionate

PASSIONATE

never racist or prejudice

loves children

wants a family

extremely monogamous naturally

LOYAL

possessive and jealous

but gentle and considerate (though firm)

in his expression of these feelings

never violent with people he loves

there's a fire, an intense passion in him,

well-crafted

genius

appreciates music

a little rough around the edges (even grungy)

never too perfect

open-minded

can admit sometimes when he's wrong

can make sentences starting with, "I feel...."

NEVER lies to me

RAW as the earth

deeply spiritual but not religious

shrewd

good sense of smell

psychic

can pull off a suit

extremely articulate mind and way of communicating

somewhat prominent eyebrows

dorky

funny

fun

loves nature and the smell of coffee

he's dark in some corners--very dark and a little vampish

he thinks I'm a goddess even when I'm a total mess and not looking hot at all

he also knows I'm just human, nothing divine or holy

he's a feminist to the core because a woman is his best friend, partner in crime, and I'm his favorite

he cannot be tamed or conformed by ANYONE--

he's wild, real, vahsi!

he could be Turkish, French, Greek, Italian, German,

anywhere Mediterranean

I learn from him because he knows stuff I don't

he can't friggen get enough of me

and I don't even have to work at his desire

it's like he was born for me and the man can't get me off of his mind

he might have a female cat or even dog perhaps

his house is full of books, newspapers, looks like an abandoned library (or he wants it to)

he can clean but then gets distracted--a little of both then

nice strong jawline and nose

moves like water

he's Pisces or Scorpio

he once shaved his head, maybe more than once,

but at least once

he finishes my sentences

he doesn't overwhelm me with attention

but gives me LOTS cause we're joined at the hip

he's usually pretty stable but has his moments

(a touch of madness)

trustworthy

dependable

he's there when he says he'll be there....and he says he'll be there

a bit hairy

dominant but not controlling or arrogant

humble

he can pull off a pink t-shit

only has eyes for me and that was HIS idea, just happens naturally for him, cause I'm enough

he doesn't need any more and so doesn't look

but he REALLY wants a piece of me

to all other women, he's like a eunuch

but with me he's a fire show or nuclear bomb set off in my arms

other times he's cool, calm, serene and careful with me as though I'm breakable or he is

charismatic and magnetic

his eyes just PULL ME IN

he has goals, dreams (lots of dreams), ambitions, projects

he's a realist and an idealist

has a very wholesome view of women

takes them all the way in--even a bit of a hippie view of a woman--sees her as mother nature, flawless in her most base form

he's not "super hot" but has something about him that pulls me in

he can be good-looking, but that's not very important

it's more important that something about him draws me to him emotionally, spiritually, and chemically

he's dragging me down into the

insufferable depths

by the ankles; my surface

was bright and white and

waiting

with everything I am the blue

cuts new lonely

black rips in the fragile frame

supposed to be okay with

drowning

okay, it's fine with me if we

have to die in here

the idea of life too hot and warm

and cool and real, too awake

I liked him in his dark hat

and the way he finally

said his own name

like a long sleeping thunder

broken through the clouds

yeah, baby, it doesn't bother

me if you mean drowning

is just another day, if you mean

love is a waste of time and I

Dead on My Doorstep

You will see me rise up from the darkness

between your two earthly eyes

causing the blindness of shadows

where you've coded desperation into reason.

You will cut down that tree as my condescension

spans the full length of your lines

whether drawn, written, presented, or engraved

along the forefront of your heart.

You will hear the voice of a woman crying

in the back room into the walls

where no name has known recognition

but your own and all the glory therein.

You will ask yourself why the mirror seems

an illusion, a shield, a distortion of me

as the truth cuts away your alibi, your justification,

your logical side pinning of love.

You will want to walk away, and will you?

Would I even mind? Are you a mirage?

I will turn on myself and distract the heart ache

with art, paint you into the remains.

POSSESSION

I am on this never ending teeter-totter with the jealousy and possessive instinct. On the one hand, I never want to hold a person down, especially if I love them. But where is that fine line between giving someone freedom and being emotionally detached, between allowing a person to spread their wings and nonchalant indifference?

The problem is that I can never decide if I am allowing the right emotions to influence my decisions. In psychology I learned just how important emotions really are. There is a thing called emotional intelligence, and without these feelings, we'd all be a bunch of sociopaths with no remorse to stop us from doing horrible, stupid, outlandish, or idiotic things.

So, which emotion? Possessiveness? Free love? Argh.

With my cat Luc, I'd never let him go unless I thought this was something good for him. He is my cat. Mine. But I don't mean this in a hurtful way. We have an emotional commitment to each other, and we each contribute to our union for the betterment of us both.

Right, he has no idea what's going on, hehe. Just following his instincts. I think loves me, and don't try to tell me otherwise. I always leave the door open so he can poke his head out if he wants when I get home. He peeks out the doorway, then comes back inside. Out of fear? NO because he loves MOMMY!!!

And why do I feel like I'm talking to space Martians and no one will have any flippen idea what I'm even talking about? Am I a total space alien? Does anyone want to fry some marsh mellows on the hot hot surface of Mars? Wait, is Mars the hot one? Oh, sheesh, see now I've clearly forgotten what I learned in 6th grade and I even recall that lesson, the teacher, the room, the photos of the planets, her hair. But I cannot remember which planet was the hot one. Uranus?

The whole tide is upheaved
airborne
flung around
rethrown
at the wall

and then it explodes
on you

next sets in the panic
as I turn my clock
far past twelve
open you with my dagger
from the left boot

I'll kill this man for what?

this odd wave
would sooner turn on itself
perhaps the worst case yet

the worst case ever
because I am floored
and regrown
and owned
and in struggle against
myself for what I want but don't want to want but want anyways!

then just like that
little stream flows in
his face seems unfamiliar
did I love him once?

whole ocean upheaved
redirected
turned to you
all eyes on you
and will you take this tsunami
when it crashes
in your arms?

while you play with alchemy
in your hands
always claiming the accident
when you somehow
get your way...

while you say this is chance
and whoops and maybe could be
not intentional or metaphorical
or justifiable

but instead accidental, incidental
possibly just rational circumstance
and synapses ready to explode at the thought

that you had PLANNED THIS all along

you SUMMONED the ocean

YOU STAND THERE LIKE FREAKING MOSES

BAM the waves part
BAM the ocean changes course
BAM you're in the way
BAM all roads lead to you

they always always did
you fool...

let go

for the whole time
I was always yours

Sappho: He is more than a hero

He is more than a hero

He is a god in my eyes--
the man who is allowed
to sit beside you--he

who listens intimately
to the sweet murmur of
your voice, the enticing

laughter that makes my own
heart beat fast. If I meet
you suddenly, I can't

speak--my tongue is broken;
a thin flame runs under
my skin; seeing nothing,

hearing only my own ears
drumming, I drip with sweat;
trembling shakes my body

and I turn paler than
dry grass. At such times
death isn't far from me

I'm a little sorry, but mostly

it's your turn now.

I was flat on the hot stones

to allow you safe passage.

Do you feel the true burn now?

My feet are aching in ways

you never had to feel,

That was my life, that suffering.

I wanted to spare you always

though you'd never spare me,

not even the slightest inconvenience.

You said you loved me

(yes, another lame love poem)

And I made the gravest mistake

in believing you.

Now I'm letting you hang in

that space you created.

Welcome, because this is our void,

the one I died in

all those years.

Goodbye, my love.

Tomorrow, the lights go back to red

the clock goes forward again,

trains move ahead, keep goin' babe.

Tonight, you're mine.

Tomorrow the prayers will fade,

air you'll breathe clearer,

the world will feel like a newborn child.

Because tonight you're mine.

And I'll give you back, return you

as I found you, only more beautiful.

But right now, you're mine.

Right now, I unwrap you, turn the

cold into warmth, remind you of those

old songs you used to sing,

Listen

I'm breathing.

I hear them coming. It's time

to collect you like some broken dream,

the ashes of your fire now black smudge,

I drag my fingers along this stain,

before wiping it clean, close the shutters.

I'm going home now.

But you were mine.

You're wrong about poetry.

It's blood formed in words,

fragments of emotion

seeking agency--and failing.

There is something beautiful

about that.

I sent a hare out blazing

through the snow, whippet fast,

blur of grey frantically passing

under your nose, a torrent of prey.

The alpha stands on his hill,

watching from above....

Will he attack?

Depends on the hunger.

How did I miss this...

overlook...

there you were all along.

Now I just need some time to

collect my wounds,

wrap the canyons,

stop the surge of water

flowing in the wrong direction.

Sit and wait.

Calm.

I had this dream in which

you moved my hair so slowly

to the side of my face, for a

better look.

I'd always thought you the

bravado one with greasy hands,

I mean those made for work and

forceful intuition.

But you seemed steeped in

honesty as you approached me

as though walking towards eternity

and all your dreams.

And I was arrested in silence,

profound respect pulsing me

not to move, not to disrupt

not to push or play or laugh

but just welcome you.

Then like a shoe that finds

the other shoe in the big

huge dark closet, we smiled

and began walking.

Steel-Toed Boots

I found this short and sweet poem buried in one of my notebooks. I'm guessing I wrote it when I was 17 or 18 based on the notebook it was in.

I'm just a doe

a doe

In steel-toed

steel-toed boots

So sweet.

Here's to princesses in warrior boots. Here's to wild women in love with calm men. Here's to blazing fire that always comes back to the tepid shore for peace.

I find that my energy has always gravitated towards men who sit like a placid ocean in the corners of rooms, often the shy guy pouring over a book, silently trying to be invisible. Usually (not always) this guy blushes bright red when I come blazing over like an anxious puppy dog into his lap, dancing my wild dance, exerting the extroversion he'd never dare. We balance each other. The wild men shoot towards me with equal levels of explosive energy, but my only home, my dearest love, is the calm waters where my temptuous storms can find a bay from the harsh winds of my soul.

Why is that? Oh, come on. Cause I'm just a doe...a doe...in steel-toed....steel-toed boots :)

Yaşamak değil,
Beni bu telaş öldürecek.

(Not life, but this flurry will kill me)

When I lost him,

I wanted to say, "New depth to black,"

but found myself entranced

in the new width to space

opened within me

this time

The festers bleed over

in little volcanos and

I've posted newspaper clippings

all over my wall now--

I don't even know why

I think these eruptions are

like earthquakes,

as the crust beneath

rises for cooling

and a breath from the

smoldering of my asunder

liquid fire, molten desire

So I put up torn pages

from Kant right in the middle

of the newspaper clippings

and Kundera's Life is Elsewhere

though I hate the philosophy

of the protagonist,

he reminds me constantly

that I am one big opinion

changing with eyes

that are on me and never

my own.

There is nothing to worry then.

It all ends again, changes,

and someone will love me.

Someone will love me just like

Kundera, though I hate him,

so many felt otherwise.

Getting over someone you truly loved....how on earth is it done?

One day, I'm thinking no problem I've got this covered.

Next day, I'm thinking what if I had said something different?

Next day, I'm thinking surely I can love again.

Next day, I'm positive I will die alone, unable to ever give my heart to another man.

Next day, I cannot even look at men, because he is a man, and therefore they remind me of what I lost. Why do they exist? Get out of my view!

Next day, I destroy the treadmill. No one has run that hard, for that long, on the damn thing since 1999.

Next day, all I need is a cup of coffee and I'm happy.

Next day, I realize.....I still love him as much as ever.

How is it done people? How do you get over true love?

Advice?

Shopping? Tried that. Spa? Tried that. Move? Well, I live in Turkey. Clearly tried that. Hug my cat? Tried that. Be patient? Yeah, I know. I'm working on it....

My Practice Children

At work, I kinda see my students as a Mommy In-Training exercise program. I've got over 150 of them, so I have the opportunity to see many different personalities I could end up with as a mother. Some of them I'm indifferent to, some I dislike, and some I adore beyond words. There are only a few that I'd actually adopt.

One of them is Arda, even though I'd have my work cut out for me. He's a blonde-haired jock who assumes his role in all social situations as the alpha--even with me. It took a lot of work before he finally stopped challenging every single thing I did. Every single class was war. He was never mean about it, but simply couldn't comprehend how anyone could even dare tell him what to do--simply impossible. He wanted to bounce off the walls and entertain the class, make them all roll onto the ground in laughter. Often, he made me laugh so hard that I couldn't punish him, and he knew that was my weakness. How do you yell at a kid who's doing a ridiculous dance and singing a funny song?

Well, we had a breakthrough today!!!! I'm so happy. He's had authority problems with everyone, and this extends to manipulation and lying. Today, Ogeday, a child who can be explained simply by the word "monkey," came bounding up to me in the halls, frantically panting and exclaiming with his arms flailing all over, "TEACHER!!! ARDA SAID KUFUR!!!!"

Kufur means curse in Turkish. I know Ogeday's feelings were hurt more than anything, after he told me which kufur. He's a sensitive Starbucks advertisement who never, ever, under any circumstances, stops moving. But he has a heart of gold and can get pretty sad if people are mean to him.

I called Arda over. "Did you say a bad word?" I said with obvious disapproval.

He twisted, looked up at me with terrified big blue eyes, squirmed, but didn't answer.

I pushed him and kept demanding an answer. "Arda, did you say a bad word? Did you?"

He kept squirming, trembling. The fact that he couldn't even answer me was the first sign that he at last feared me enough to know better than to play around with me anymore. This alone was an accomplishment, but I needed more from him.

"Well? Answer me," I said, squaring my eyes on the poor terrified creature before me.

"On accident," he finally muttered under his breath.

"What? Yes or no."

"On accident, " he said again, then looked down to the ground.

"So you did?" I made him confess.

"Yes, I did," he released, darting his eyes to the ground in panic.

Immediately, I changed my tone. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

He looked up at me in shock. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Thank you for telling me the truth Arda. Do not do that again."

His eyes were still huge and amazed--you mean you're not gonna kill me? was written all over his face.

"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Okay."

Ahhhhhh now isn't that just adorable? It's so hard to be the "punisher" but at that moment I just wanted to scoop him up in my arms for his honestly and hug him until he popped.

Yesterday.....

Wow.

Thanks for uploading these photos Shanna. I want more.

Sometimes, remembering where you came from can put things into perspective. Am I still that....that....that.....what is that???

Sass, sensitivity, and wit. Check.

Military boots and eyeliner. Check.

Unabashed AMP-ness. Check.

Dreams. Check.

Crazy face. Super Check.

Brains and uh (do I dare say it?) Balls. Check. ;))

Nature, sisters, and midget people on the side? Check.

Dreams...

Started a list of dreams. Why not? It's easier to make a daily plan when you know what it is all "for." Then something like making the bed seems to have an ultimate purpose, rather than being mundane. No, I am not one of those people who find the annoyance of an unmade bed compelling enough reason to make it. I hate unmade beds. I hate messes, all messes. I love cleanliness. But I have a hard time buckling down to a routine without a better reason than this alone.

Dreams. Not just making beds. Yes. So start big. Then make steps. Yes.

Dreams.

- Move to Europe. I just want to. I just do. Isn't that reason enough? I live in Turkey, yes. Kında Europe, but also kinda not Europe, so no.

- Write a book. Hello. That has been on the list for YEARS when will I EVER do it? Plan to be had. I think this one comes down to inspiration. How can one write when one isn't sufficiently inspired? And this also requires that I have something within myself to give. I have to make sure there is something refined enough to be worthy of a readership. And I always change my mind, so that's really hard. I feel like I would have to have a lesson in the book. That's just my style. It needs a philosophical undertone or I cannot write it, which makes me unsure if I have a right to think I'm an expert for any philosophy. At least inspiration would be nice.

- Decorate my home. It came with furniture. But it's not mine and I sure wouldn't chose this outcome. Ewe. I want poetry on the walls, white sheets draping the ugly couches so that it looks like a room waiting to be painted, an electric and exotic bed, and plant and flowers everywhere so that the place breathes as though it were alive with everything and words.

- Find true love. Sheesh. Someday love will find me in the rough.



- Let go.

- Lose weight. Spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

- Financial comfort. Not wealth, and this may not even mean and increase in income, but at least finding a peace with my current income. Maybe I'd be plenty happy even with much less money if I could find the place within myself for stability. Then money wouldn't really matter so much.

"Work like you don't need the money,
Dance like no one is watching,
Sing like no one is listening,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And live like it's heaven on earth."

-Mark Twain