It Never Was

bed

Is love given wasted?

A question only the once received will confirm

Extension of trust monotonous?

Seemingly only answered when broken

In time lessons pass to bring humble understanding

An appreciation of what genuine love was

Only then will the true sadness be felt

Knowing

It truly never was

~Alisa Hutton

Wonderland

aw

I I sometimes wonder if I read Alice in Wonderland too many times as a child. Perhaps too many rainy days spent outside as a 6 year old? In the quiet looking at the water rushing down the street creating great stories of wild, river adventures in my mind. While all the other kids were playing kick the can in the August heat there I was laying on my back in the grass forming animal shapes in the clouds. Watching neighborhood kids build tree forts while I sat on the cement contently drawing my pictures on scrap pieces of paper with my broken crayons.

Always observing, quietly watching. Not understanding it all but unbendingly curious. When life became noisy, felt unfair or hard I would make my own wonderland. Diving in to my vivid imagination full of color and magic. With a delayed blink I could transport myself to a wonderful place where the flowers grew better, the grass softer and greener, and the sky always bright blue with fluffy white clouds. Rainbows around every corner. Everyone smiled and was full of love in my wonderland. Hearts were so big and full you just had to stop and say hello to them.

With a delayed blink I can still transport myself there. I wonder, was it protective nature or early wisdom. Do we have imagination to make the world feel a little less lonely and harsh? Or maybe we have imagination because we are the people who are supposed to create a more magical world? Maybe we see it so others can believe a better world exist for them too?

Either way, I like my wonderland.

~Alisa Hutton

Young Love

teen love

The end of dramatic young love

Her, 17 with bunny boiler sharp focus on attainment

Him, an 18 year old boy dripping in good looks and an ever present bulge in his trousers

Surrounded by their pimpled peers he swept his manly locks to the side and bid her farewell

Hand up, he was done with her shit

As the gaggle of teen onlookers gasped in horror

The end of a long term relationship of ten and a half months

She threw her long arms in the air tossed with greivous screams and tears

“If I can’t be with you I want to die!”

She ran towards the ocean to drown herself in the end of her love

Fill her lungs with the salty water of his betrayal

She ran fast

She ran long

She ran far

It was low tide

She tripped and fell in 12 inches of water

Shallow love and shallow water

All it does is ruin your makeup

Romeo and Juilet eventually married other people, then divorced, then married again

Twenty five years later without fail every time I hear the word shallow water

I giggle at young love

~Alisa Hutton

She

woman

Watching the candle light flicker on her face

Shadows of illumination dancing in her eyes

Blinking only to create snap shots, moments of her perfection

Breathing her in deeply

Slowly absorbing her scent, drawn hypnotically up the nape of her neck for more

Never enough

Your relaxing lips softly mapping your way across her

Consciously aware of every breath, every beat

Her euphoric wash

The slow pouring of all your senses

Bodies entwined and curling in wrap

Limbs taking hold, ivy vines encapsulating souls

You cannot mistake her for momentary lust

She will feel different, special

As your world stands still

Time will drip with glorious slow precision

Her breathing regulates your heart

Never devour

Only savour

She comes with no beginning nor end

Her

Heaven on Earth

She

Is love

~Alisa Hutton

Stupid Normal

normal

What did I do wrong that I am not waking up at 3am to furiously write about flowers, bunnies and glittery magical things that make you want to run through the streets tossing confetti

Why am I unable to pour my first coffee and pound on my keys to talk about heinous faces dripping in tar and toxic hearts that make you question if I am angrily swinging an axe over my head as I write

My podium of love, rage, announcing, denouncing, politics and praise where have you gone?

Where are you saucy, spicy, sexy, rumbling, reconciling and rolling waves of words?

Have I mediated too much? Is it because I ate a vegetable? Maybe too much Math?

Perhaps it was the grocery shopping or vacuuming I did

I knew too much domesticity was not good for the soul

Why did I shower so much this week, I probably washed all my dysfunctional interest away

I knew being fresh and clean was bad idea

Oh my, what if my therapy is actually working

Please no, not normal

Have I fallen in love with a sane person?

Mature love, say it isn’t so

It is all so perfectly right it feels so perfectlky wrong

All of these seemingly typical thoughts, it is hard to breathe with overly open airways

What did I ever do to deserve this?

The thought of it all is just too much to handle

Writers’ depression I do surmise

Life is far too normal right now

I just can’t stand it

Stupid normal you are totally ruining me

Love, Alisa

Sincerely, The Florist

fleurs

Dear customer,

My orchid will need to be taken care of with the delicacy she deserves. You undoubtedly will see her unique beauty and glowing magnificence. If you do not, I ask that you please not take her home. Perhaps purchase yourself something of a more common variety that requires less care?

My orchid is very special, you should know. You may want to place her in a location according to your eyes desire. However, she does not do well this way. Not in the least. She needs the perfect amount warmth, light, moisture and always gentle handling. Only with this will she do well. My orchid will decide her home, she knows best where she grows.

If you touch her petals without care, indeed damage you will cause. Please refrain from careless handling. She is sensitive and precious. If you truly wish to cherish her remember this. She is delicate, believe her to be sacred and honor her so. She will thrive.

You need to also know how I run my shop. Flowers are not grown to be picked by the stem and put in water until they die. They are a beautiful gift that must be cared for, appreciated and naturally grown. So before you take on my precious orchid, give good thought as to your interest in something so beautiful that requires such care.

On second thought dear customer, my orchid is not for sale.

 

Sincerely,

The Florist