The Dalema

Finding The Woman I'm Meant To Be


Late Night Sessions

Poisoned Pain

It’s not a shadow
It’s not a dream
More like a monster –
That version of me

I sip the poison
It flows through my veins
Reminding my heart
How I crave you again

So the monster takes over
And I do these things
I hurt myself all over again
It’s embarrassing

And I don’t get embarrassed
I don’t have regrets
But then pain meets poison
They become best friends

So I dialed your number
Saying everything, but nothing at all
I apologize for being a monster
It wasn’t me – it was alcohol

  • The Dalema

Part II 

You were like a fine wine
I couldn’t afford
And every time I saw the bottle
It made me want it more

I could see you in my glass
The mood set by candlelight
Scared of what I knew was coming
I told myself ‘afford it tonight’

Tell the server to leave the cork
Then swirl, inhale – take a sip
Close my eyes and let them rest
Indulging in the lusciousness

Getting lost in the shades of grape
Tracing the rim with my fingertips
Before I knew it the bottle was empty –
Leaving purple stains on my lips

  • The Dalema. November 6, 2016

A Made Up Mind

I sat there
Staring at the screen
Reading every thing

Reading you walk away
There was nothing I could do
Nothing I could say

But I tried
Begging you, calling you
Convincing you
There was no convincing

You made up your mind
You closed off your heart
And I was –
Left behind

The rejection of it all
No matter what you say,
I wasn’t enough
Enough to make you stay

‘It has nothing to do with you
Everything to do with me’
That’s what you said
That’s what you’d say

When I’d beg and plead
Trying to convince you
And maybe even
Trying to convince me

  • The Dalema. November 6, 2016

Blank Canvas 

I think you saw their true colors but painted over them. I think you thought maybe, if you mixed your colors with theirs, the painting would be a real work of art. We do that when we love someone.

Unfortunately, I wasted a lot of time repainting. I wasted a lot of time in denial; always blaming the poor lighting or the colors I was mixing with. Then I realized something, all those times I thought I was choosing the wrong colors, but I didn’t even like my own colors. You can’t paint a beautiful picture if you hate the colors you’re working with.

So I changed my colors. I spent a lot of time staring at a lonely, blank canvas. And I threw away a lot of paintings.

I know my colors now. I know the colors that mix well with mine; anything less just won’t do. I don’t want to look down the road years from now and want to throw away the life I’ve worked so hard with my partner to paint.

Don’t be the only one painting. Love your colors. Make sure they love their own colors, too. If they don’t, if you don’t, the painting will never be more than a recycled canvas – an artless piece of trash – no matter how talented the painter is.

  • The Dalema. August, 2016


I’d like to end my story
without anyone ever reading it
but I keep sharing
and I can’t stop caring
so I keep on repeating it

  • The Dalema. October 20, 2016

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