My Version of Love

If one more person...

…tells me that I’m doing it wrong: Love. 

Je t’aime.

Te amo.

Mahal kita.

Táim in nGrá leát.

Those all mean the same thing, “I love you.” But you know what the difference is? The language. That’s right *ding* And wouldn’t ya know, we don’t all speak the same one. If I recited the most beautiful poem in the world, chances are you may be able to hear the love oozing out of my words, but unless you speak the same language, you have no idea what I’ve actually said. I could be crooning about my long lost, but beloved, nail polish for all you would know. 

All that to say, I’m doing it MY way. I’m doing it the way my heart speaks. And you know what? I speak two love languages. His and mine. They are not the same, but I’m learning to translate well. And not only translate so that I may understand, but to speak so that I may communicate. Just because you, you, you or anyone else for that matter, do not understand the intricacies within our love, does NOT mean that it is wrong. It means that it is different and that you have yet to understand. Things that are different are not wrong simply because you do not understand. They are different. And you know what? Different WORKS for me.

Copyright © 2011 Natasha Guy

Take

Take my words how I say them. 

Take my words for what they say.

I’m a writer and a reader.

I know the value of the words.

So take from them what you may.

But just try momentarily

To take them with a grain of

Of what I actually say.

Copyright © 2011 Natasha Guy

The Review Is In!

Cendrine Marrouat, a wonderful writer and friend, decided to review my first book, Beautiful Fixation. It’s hard to get some folks to open up to a poetry book, especially one about the formation of a female serial killer named Beauty! Click, read and share! Thanks for everyone’s support!!!


Read it here!

Copyright © 2011 Natasha Guy

Some more random haiku

I.

The water colors

die when rainbows stop crying

and birds cease to fly.

II.

Rain brings purity

to otherwise filthy souls,

restoring balance.

III.

Puddles tend to dry

when the clouds forget to cry

All the eyes are dry.

IV.

Vultures calls come from

desert plains and the undead

prey beneath quiver.

Copyright © 2011 Natasha Guy

Gutted

Left with a hallow shell.

Features like carved windows

Which lack drapes

Expose the unfulfilled.

Internal space scooped out,

Evacuated for your amusement.

Only illuminated when you

Choose to light the wick.

My expression does not exist

Until you decide what you

Wish to see written there,

Etched by your hand.

All I feel is voluminous void

You’ve given me no tears to cry.

So I sit with a frozen crooked grin,

Like a suicidal jack o lantern.

Copyright © 2011 Natasha Guy