Dismissive Behaviors

June 6, 2013

How can a person be so cold? Immediately upon entering the bar, tension arose. It was as though the two sides of the bar had become polarized, and they were both entirely too aware of the other. This game of cat-and-mouse had been going on for quite some time now, but never with such a cold, intense tension. Her friends began to be uncomfortable and the word “awkward” was mentioned. For her part, she did her damnedest to put up a brave front. She was not going to show how this affected her. She was not going to be run out of her bar, and she was not going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing her wounded. She is woman, hear her roar.

Many lovers before had accused her of being a frigid bitch, with a penchant for being emotionally distant. This was the first time she had ever seen the effects on a man who could also be cold and distant. She didn’t like it. It seemed like it was too late to do much about it now, but hope? As the saying goes, hope springs eternal. She peeled back the layers of her own life in an attempt to study her own heart of black ice. She never believed her heart was made of black ice, but she had been told this on many occasions. “Perhaps,” she thought, “perhaps it is true. And if it is true, how do you melt your own heart?” The fact that she even vaguely desired to melt her own heart in order to show this man the love she had for him was shocking. No one would have believed it. She made the last man she loved wait, for almost ten years, to hear those three little words. Perhaps this ice queen was melting.

Carefully she considered the things her current lover had said to her. Weighing each statement, desire, fantasy, and question, she began to process what this man needed to feel loved. She began to examine her behaviors around him, and like a triage for the heart, checked her behaviors against a checklist she had come up with, on how to love him. She was woefully short. This man could have no idea of what he meant to her. If this had have been an emergency room, they would have declared her to be dying. Oddly fitting when you thought about it though, as this relationship was killing her. She could not continue the way things were. Change needed to happen, or a compromise of sorts. There was no sign of that on the horizon, and so she began to create her own.

Within forty-eight hours, she had a plan. She knew that this couldn’t be a power struggle, or it was doomed to fail. Instead, she would have to make him see and feel the love she had for him. It may be too late, you never could tell with these things, but she had to try. As she began to hatch out her plan, he walked in and all fell away.

Her main rules were 1) Don’t lie and 2) I don’t share. Yet, there she was, another woman. Her head began to swim and she didn’t feel so good. She would not show this, that was weakness and she would be strong. Over and over like a cyclical bit of warfare, her mind went over every little detail. Again and again, she was left without sleep as she repeated the scenario from earlier that night, and the pit in her stomach gnawed at her insides, making her feel sick. “Grandma!” she called out, “I really need you now! I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, or where to go. Grandma! Help me!” But there was no answer, just silence as the tears fell down her face. The spirit of her grandmother was quiet, and she was left alone with her questions and hurt.

Love hurts. Plain and simple. Something inside that had been buried under the avalanche of pain and wounded ego, slowly began to uncover itself and make itself heard. It may have been a tiny voice, but it was there, and in the stillest, quietest moment was heard:

“Love him.”

She knew in that moment that she would continue to love him. She may not stay, her pride and self-respect would not allow her to, if he was truly seeing other women. However, she would love him, even if it was from afar. She was able to still her tears, and in what might be the only moment of clarity for the day, looked into the future with a quiet certainty.

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Rebuild

February 14, 2013

Secrets trail behind us
Silently overtaking our walls
Until all is crumbling down
And we are all that’s left

Standing in the ruins now
There’s no looking back, just forward
We are inevitable
And I am waiting for you

I am a caged bird
You clip my wings so gently
I will consume your hurt
If you promise to love me

These chains cannot hold us back
We will push through
Conquering all that is before us
We will rule the world

Softly I speak your name
Slowly you turn my way
It was unlikely we’d meet here
Rising above the rot and decay

I have always loved you
Look at me and say the same
Cuz together we’re better
And the falling ash screams our names.

 

-DeAnne Evans
Written February 13, 2013.

After You

December 31, 2012

After you left me
I couldn’t find me
After you left me
I was lost

So many faces
All around me
I don’t recognize
Any of them

After you said it
After it came out
There was no reason
For you to stay

But after you left me
After I cried
I found a reason
To carry on

And since you’ve gone away, baby, I am stronger
I don’t cry into my bottle anymore
And since you’ve left me, I am invincible
I don’t let nobody in to hurt me
After you left me
After you left me

After you left me
I grew wiser
After you left me
I grew up

Nobody tells me
How to live my life
Nobody tells me
What I should do

And since you’ve been gone
I don’t feel wrong
No, I don’t question
The way I did before

Baby, since you left me
My world is larger
I can do anything
That comes my way

And since you’ve gone away, baby, I am stronger
I don’t cry into my bottle anymore
And since you’ve left me, I am invincible
I don’t let nobody in to hurt me
After you left me

 

-Barbara DeAnne Evans

Waiting for the End

December 30, 2012

Softly nibbling at the frayed edges of my mind
I feel your presence slipping
Slipping away somewhere I can’t follow
Take me somewhere far, let’s go road tripping

And I can’t bear to hear your name
Your words are like a steel knife
Haunting me, haunting you
When does the pain end?

Memories call out to me, and I answer them
I’m swaying with your ghost again
Your hands on my hips make my body move
Rocking with you, is my only wish, my sin

And I can’t bear to hear your name
Your words are like a steel knife
Haunting me, haunting you
When does the pain end?

And I can’t bear to hear your name
Your words are like a steel knife
Haunting me, haunting you
When does the pain end?

When does the pain end?

-Barbara DeAnne Evans

Collisions

June 27, 2012

Blue fire raging through my veins,

It fuels this seemingly

Spinning

Chaos

Bloom.

 

With eyes wide open I see

Streams of red criss-crossing blue

Melting

Seamless

True.

 

Kind eyes searching from his face,

Cool, collected marble tastes

Breaking

Heartfelt

Love.

 

Racing through the outward spheres

Time slows down to tick tock tick-

Halting

Easy

Pain.

 

Arms sweeping wildly down shore

Collecting pieces of hearts

Healing

Secure

True.

 

There are no judgments found here,

Just understanding and ease

Molding

Careful

Trust.

 

Together, breathing as one,

We find ourselves moved to here

Warming

Laughter

Joy.

 

Accidents move so swiftly,

As to bind our confusions-

Calming

Solid

One.

 

-DeAnne Evans

Riptide

July 20, 2011

The taste of salt was in the air. Blue skies met blue seas far in the distance. I watch the waves crash on the rocks from the window. Unable to understand how the day could be so pretty, while my stomach was tied in knots, I willed the weather to change- to reflect my inner state of emotion. Nothing. Not even a cloud.
“Breathe.”
Silence was the only sound, accentuating the growing pit of anxiety. It had been one hundred and eighty days since I had seen him. One hundred and eighty one nights since the last time I felt his arms around me, or tasted the salt on his lips. One hundred eighty days, and five hours since I last heard him say my name. Countless seconds had passed, and in each second a minor eternity had been crucified. Minutes crept by, and hours dragged themselves through despondency. Days limped through the cycles of weeks that insisted on taking…

their….

time.
Months crawled by.
In other words, it had been too long.
He should be returning any day now. Excitement should be building, and I should be caught up in anticipation of his return, but I’m not. Instead this sense of uneasiness is building, and I am caught up in the anxiety of not knowing. I feel as if there is a lead weight in my intestines, and a cuff is around my heart. It’s squeezing tighter and tighter until I feel as if I would burst. I take a breath.

B
r
e
a
t
h
e
.
It’s a constant battle, between a full panic and a barely contained anxiety. I have to fight. I have to fight. I have to fight. I have to fight. I have to fight. I have to-

…………….

………………….

………………

……………….

……………..

…………

…………………………

……………..

…….

.

I had to get out of that house. I had to walk, barefoot, through the ocean tide. Feel the sand under my feet. The breeze whips around me, and the humidity quietly curls my hair while the sun beats down on my skin. For a moment, I feel peace. For a moment, I am serenity. I am calm.
A silhouette is blocking my otherwise uninhibited view of the sea. It is familiar. As the ship approaches, hope begins to rise. The ship is what took him away, the ship is what brings him back. The closer it gets, the lighter I feel, and I begin to run. I have to meet him on the dock. If I could, I would swim to him. Instead I run, and let my feet fly.
My feet hit the dock as the ship sets anchor. I can feel the grin start to spread across my face. I take a moment to soak in the sunshine on my face before making my way to the ship. I’m greeted by the crew, but I haven’t heard the one voice I long to hear…
Where is he?
I finally notice that not a single man has a smile on his face. I refuse to believe the lies my heart begins to pound out. Desperation takes over, and I pore through every man’s face, earnestly seeking those features I know so well. Earnestly seeking the man I love so well.
I can’t breathe.
R
u
n
n
i
n
g
from the dock that was my nightmare, past the house that was my haven, and down the shore that once promised me happiness, I find myself blind. Tears have made their way down my face and all I see is blue. I am drowning in blue. Breathe.
In the sky, clouds have gathered, and the heavens begin to rumble. The sun hides itself in shame, and the winds whip themselves into a frenzy. Standing at the edge, I allow the rains to soak me. The world is in mourning, and the blue seas turn black as is befitting. The heavy feeling returns and I name it.
“Dread.”
The choice looms before me, and I know my fate is sealed. I take a breath-
And then a step.
Walls of water on every side of me, I have never known such peace. The turmoil of the skies continues far above me, and waves mercilessly throw themselves onto the rocks above. All is quiet below. All I see is blue as my body is ripped out to sea.

-DeAnne Evans

Unwanted Tragedy

May 22, 2011

Crystallized,
Memory eternal
Shining blacker than ever before;
Some days up-
Some days down,
But never settles for long.
Hope waivers,
Faith dies,
And the seesaw of emotion plays on.

-DeAnne Evans

Summer Parade

April 17, 2011

In and out.
In and out.
Oh, look at them go.
The parade of maggots inching their way through the fetid corpse, what a tremendous delight!
Gnawing, gnashing
Gnashing, gnawing
Sweet liquid putrefaction
Squirming through pools of decaying tissue, may this glorious day never end!
Heat rising
Heat rising
Higher and higher it goes.
Belly bloated, skin crawling, overwhelming all with the scent of ammonia,
Sticky crimson
Sticky crimson
Is left in pools under the shade.
Colder and colder, the blood stiffens up, and soon there will be only rust!
O bright sun,
O bright sun,
Come and bake me away,
Bake this body into a menacing skeleton, leaving a fool’s grinning skull.
On and on
On and on
Over the course of summer
May the parade of death, sickly sweet, march forward through all encumbrances!

-DeAnne Evans

Freedom Is Coming

December 23, 2010

FREEDOM IS COMING

 

Sometimes I thought that it would have been kinder to have let me die. That might be harsh, but the truth isn’t soft and squishy. I’m not exactly soft and squishy either. I’m hard, tough. That’s not to say I’m not breakable, it’s just that I refuse to show that. They want someone who is invincible? A superhero? Then that’s what they’ll get. Just don’t get too close. The closer you get to me, the more you’ll see I’m not invincible or a superhero. And wouldn’t that be crushing?

 

January 4, 2024. Unmemorable for most people, but that was the day I was born. Not literally born, I didn’t claw my way out of my mother’s womb on that day, but it was the day I was born intellectually. Spiritually, even. That was the day I was abandoned by all those I thought gave a shit about me. Bloodied and bruised, I crawled my way to my car and went to a gas station. The card reader wasn’t working, so I went inside to pay. The look on the attendant’s face had been priceless. It was a mixture of fear, pity, and nausea. He almost screamed. Instead he just asked, “Should I call the police for you?”

 

Really? “Should I call the police for you”? You couldn’t even ask me if I was okay? Offer me a band-aid or something? You fucking coward. It was whatever though, and as I was still processing what had just happened, I let it slide. You can thank me later. It saved your life. So, instead of slamming your face into the counter until the bridge of your nose was shoved back into your brain, killing you, I simply smiled said “Thanks, but no thanks”, paid for my gas, and asked where the bathroom was. You told me it was outside, and I smiled at you again and thanked you. I use the term “smile” loosely, of course. I walked outside and went into the bathroom. Looked into the mirror and saw a stranger, so I turned around. There was no one there. Looked again and started laughing hysterically. I’m surprised you didn’t come out to see what was going on, Mr. Gas Station Attendant. The laughter became sobbing. There was no stranger. The amazingly disfigured, and horrifying looking creature in the mirror was me. No wonder you grimaced when I smiled.

 

Something inside of me died that day. Then something else came to life. I’m not really sure what died, but I know what came to life isn’t pretty. Inside of all of us is good and evil, and whatever came to life seems to favor the evil side. Funny that you think of me as a hero. I doubt under different circumstances, you would even want to associate yourselves with me. Now though? Now it’s, “She’s amazing!”, “She’s a hero!”, “She’s everything we need!”. What you’re really saying is, “I don’t want the blood on my hands, so thank God she’s here to do the killing!” Indeed. Thank God I’m here to do the killing.

 

The first guy I killed was a nobody who lived out on the streets. He looked at me funny. Called me a whore. I started to walk by him, trying to ignore him, but then he started laughing at me. Something snapped. I took a pencil out of my bag and shoved it through his eye socket, severing his optic nerve before pushing upwards to penetrate the brain. His death might not have been the quickest, but at least he didn’t see much of it. That was the first time I had someone else’s blood on my hands. It was liberating. Freedom and death don’t seem to go together, but isn’t that what death ultimately is? Freedom? Life is full of pain and regret, death is a release from that. His death was freedom.

 

I realized I couldn’t keep killing people, just because they laughed at me, or looked at me funny. I needed a system if I was going to continue. So, three other random killings later, a system was born. One that allowed me to kill the murderers, rapists, and other people that only create misery, without having to suffer too much from the pangs of morality. Plus, no one cared too much when these people just disappeared, or were found savagely killed. It was a win-win for everyone. Except for the baddies. But who gives a shit what they think about the system anyway? I don’t.

 

You can’t imagine the visions of delightful violence that pass through my head at any given moment. The sight, smell, feel, and taste of blood is more divine than any ambrosia that falls from heaven. You can keep your chocolate. When I have a bad day, I’ll just kill someone. I meet someone and immediately imagine the many ways I can kill them with ordinary object around the room. Or with just my bare hands. I suppose that makes me not right. Not right in the head. But sanity is so overrated. All of you sane people trudge through your lives, working your boring jobs, and pretending your lives aren’t such huge wastes, such colossal failures. I smile through my life, gleefully slicing and dicing through my “jobs”, and make no pretensions about who or what I am. I am a murderer. Even better, I’m a murderer sanctioned by you, the sane people. Who’s the insane one now?

 

I suppose I should warn you. Being mentally imbalanced, I don’t always know where I am, who I am, or what I’m doing. Eventually, I’ll forget which one of you is a bad guy, and which one is good. Some day, I’m going to kill you. I’ll take pleasure in it too. So go on, worship me as your hero. One day, I’m going to be your enemy. Smile. Freedom is coming.

-DeAnne Evans, all copyrights reserved

 

A Dirty Nightmare

March 3, 2010

Feels like my heart is being wrenched out of me…

Blood spills
All on this dirty floor
Screams bounce
From wall to fucking wall
Visions
Creep out from every pore
Voices
In my head make me crawl

I’m tired, so damn tired
This darkness won’t leave me alone
Can’t fight how I’ve been wired
It takes away all that I own

Your face
Haunts my waking moments
Your voice
Calls to me in my dreams
Your heart
Beats within my presence
I am
Falling apart at my seams

I hear them calling me to come and play
“Kill her” is all they ever seem to say
“Death” is all I hear

Gun shots
Bouncing here and there
My heart
Lies shattered on the floor
Laughter
Ringing without a care
Shakes me
And scares me to my core

Death, elusive Death,
Where has all my Hope gone now?

-DeAnne Evans