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Terra Tarango Poem
It’s no wonder you like secrets.
It’s not that your thoughts are secretive in nature.
It’s more that they are themselves a secret, penned on pages locked from view.
Hidden thoughts intrigue me because my journeys are inked in plain view.
Open roads and endless possibilities, I share them freely.
I welcome visitors, even those that would hurt me
With sharp pins to permanently mark their place on my heart.
You left your mark, too, but it was no pinprick. You inked a new road, a secret road.
As we traveled, I admired your depth and substance. I saw it in the width of your spine.
I fell in love with the light inside you. I saw it in the crisp white of your pages,
Though I only saw the edges.
I tried to pry the light out from the shadows cast by your cover, but it was locked. I never found the key.
I touched every inch of your leather exterior, but I never caressed the threads of those inner pages.
I never saw your handwriting.
I’ll never understand how you can keep something so illuminating as your very thoughts and ideas
Hidden in such a dark place.
Aren’t they lonely? Don’t they long to jump out of those pages and join someone on a journey?
I wanted to take them with me, speed along the interstates, meander along my curvy side roads.
I imagined you falling in love with my wandering spirit,
With my thousands of words, my secretive symbols, even my aging creases.
Even now as I reflect on our secret road,
I am aligning it in my mind to the current location of my “YOU ARE HERE” sticker,
Evaluating, “Does it fit here,” “Does it fit now?”
But who am I kidding? You don’t belong on the open road. You belong on a side table in a quiet room.
You exist to reflect, I exist to explore.
If we extend this road any longer, it will override other journeys I am meant to discover.
If we extend this road any longer, it will expose your secrets.
We will continue to inspire curiosity in our own ways,
But I will no longer desire what’s locked in your protected pages.
I will no longer daydream of folding myself up and snuggling into your binding,
Finding comfort as a bookmark that shares each entry with you, page by page by page.
But don’t worry; you’ll still know where I am. My path is imprinted on the very fiber of my being.
I won’t let pinpricks or impenetrable locks sway me from my transparent ways.
I’ll simply journey on. It’s what I do.
Copyright © Terra Tarango | Year Posted 2015
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Terra Tarango Poem
Your spirit is veiled, wrapped in a cloak of facade
Confident, carefree, rules don't apply.
You fashion your world out of paper dolls
Crafted to your specifications,
But void of depth.
No character, emotion, or truth can penetrate
Though many have tried.
For their efforts, you assign each doll a pocket,
Inside the cloak
Accessible only to you.
You reach in as you need
The dolls--helplessly affixed to the fabric of your facade.
Eyes open, I now see every stitch,
Feel each prick of your needle,
Binding me to all that is thin and false.
This doll is not made of paper.
You will not strip me of my optimism, my dreams, my resolve.
For as carefully as you tend each pocket,
It only takes
One snip,
One pull,
To unravel from you forever.
Snip. Pull.
Free.
Copyright © Terra Tarango | Year Posted 2015
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Terra Tarango Poem
I know what I want.
A man with words that warm me and a touch that gives me chills.
A man who challenges me intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, physically, and in ways there aren’t even words for. But who isn’t threatened to learn a thing or two from me.
A man who sees beauty in my ugliest parts.
Who knows when to throw me down in passion and when to lift me up in care.
I know what I want.
A man that relishes independence for himself and me, but aspires to the heights we can only reach together.
A man who finds me desirable enough to chase, intently. Yet who’s willing to be caught, naked and exposed.
A man who’ll surprise me, but who’s devotion is unshakably predictable.
A man who moves inside me til I tremble. And yet when he puts his arms around me, I melt.
I know what I want.
I want to care enough to fight. And be cared for enough to make up.
I want to crave a common space called “home” as much as I crave faraway and distant lands.
I want to love and be loved deeply, to depths I've not yet known. Yet enjoy life's shallow waters where fun and levity thrive.
I want a love that is loud and boisterous when it just can’t be contained, but also quiet and stirring when it needs to recharge.
I know what I want.
I want it childishly, like a toddler whose favorite toy is lost in the crack.
I want it desperately, like a drowning man wants a breath.
I want it earnestly, like a mother just wants her child to be happy.
But childish desperation, even earnestly projected does not make it so.
Still, I know what I want.
Simply knowing is a satisfaction to savor.
Copyright © Terra Tarango | Year Posted 2015
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