my girlfriend wants me to write in black and white
stray the obtuse to another universe
and i don't know if i can, but
i told her i'd try.
you see
the thing is
the problem exists
or the conflict permeates
i don't like to see you in permanent colors
i much prefer the shades
the maybes
the whatevers and the
i don't really know if that happened,
the
i don't know if you really exist.
in my world, here/now
you fall from gravity
disperse into foreign, untouchable lands.
i prefer it that way
after spending years entrenched in your solitude
your whims and disastrous mess
of a world:
a world i still think isn't concrete, isn't
real.
i said goodbye to you
when i told you "enough"
when i realized your lies and exclusions
far outweighed any semblance of truth you could muster.
because i guess that's the catch
your reality isn't real
which defeats the purpose of real-ity anyway.
if you want my truth, i can deliver it:
yes, i loved you.
yes, i believed in us.
yes, i tried to fix you.
yes, i realize, now, how fucking stupid i was.
ownership.
you were never mine.
you could never untangle yourself from the demons,
from the temptations, from the want
of others.
you taught me to self-exist
to not depend
to look at you through eyes clouded with regret.
you taught me
to leave.
what we had was disaster
imprinted with tiny stamps of affection
blistering fragments of love
or something like it.
i don't believe in perfect
and hadn't before you
so this mess you left me with
didn't make me believe
less or more
or at all.
sure, you loved me
in the way that only you could love.
not with your hands or mouth,
not even with your heart,
but with some fractured piece of your mind
that was bloodied and bent.
you wanted to love me.
i get that.
clearly.
and i loved you with most of my heart
except for that piece that was reserved for another.
it was love, okay. i accept.
but that is love
i wouldn't wish on anyone.
i tried to save you
in saving us.
i wanted to breathe life back into you
or make you see the world
the way i wanted to see it.
i wanted you
to be whole
and you couldn't do it.
that's fine -- i accept.
but, just for the record:
you didn't have to drag me through that with you.
i would have been fine,
better,
without it.
without you.
i wish i could write, now,
in this haze of blue moon,
what i loved about you but all i can think of
is your smile.
and how rare it was, so of course
when i actually saw it, in its realness,
i loved it.
i don't hate you, just so you know
but you don't
and i don't care much either way.
you broke these fantasy bones
tempered my optimism
and you made me weak.
but you and i
in our last goodbye
were finite
and i was free.
chris pureka would say
you were a lesson in losing
and lesson in letting go.
i wish i had known that
in june of 2006
or august of 2006 (i was blind then).
the decembers, always the decembers.
you see:
i don't know what was true.
your lies
and exclusions
exemptions
counteract any act of kindness
or love.
with you,
i don't know what was real
so it's easiest to simply say:
nothing
was real.
and yet you rest in me
this dark, troubled muse.
we bounce together
struggle against our mouths
you want to say no
and i keep saying
yes, yes, yes.
yes, breathe,
yes, release.
there is no space for you inside, here.
yes, let go.
yes.
Showing posts with label leave it all behind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leave it all behind. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
putting the damage on
Sometimes I read things that I wrote and think
how naive can you be, really?
Incredibly, apparently.
Wow, past, how you slid right in beneath my radar and corrupted me into scenes of love, leaving me, ultimately, with sienna-tinged memories that belie the truth I could never--
then--
see with my eyes open, closed, squinted, or blinded.
Love, & its shades, its forms & malformations: each time, yes, it was love.
But each time was different. I think
the body, the mind/heart
train us to forget the straight-edge fine-line details
and live instead in a smear that shows
feelings existed
but little detail to frame a reference.
This is better than the last
or that was nothing compared to this
I think lies I told myself once upon a handful of years ago.
But:
This (here/now/Her) is incredible love.
Its excitement rivals any other because
there is no doubt, no fear,
no shades of grey.
how naive can you be, really?
Incredibly, apparently.
Wow, past, how you slid right in beneath my radar and corrupted me into scenes of love, leaving me, ultimately, with sienna-tinged memories that belie the truth I could never--
then--
see with my eyes open, closed, squinted, or blinded.
Love, & its shades, its forms & malformations: each time, yes, it was love.
But each time was different. I think
the body, the mind/heart
train us to forget the straight-edge fine-line details
and live instead in a smear that shows
feelings existed
but little detail to frame a reference.
This is better than the last
or that was nothing compared to this
I think lies I told myself once upon a handful of years ago.
But:
This (here/now/Her) is incredible love.
Its excitement rivals any other because
there is no doubt, no fear,
no shades of grey.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I want to be the fire you need
Epiphany last night: I haven't been the "aggressor" in a very long time. It's no wonder, then, why my assertive nature has been lying dormant, tucked down in order to save itself from rejection. Etc.
I round it off and say that I've had four serious, long term, "monogamous*" relationships with women. I qualify serious with the in-love factor; there are two other women that I consider ex-girlfriends, but I was never in love with either of them. And there have been dalliances, but again, regardless of the nature of those blips on my radar, they never became serious.
So! My first girlfriend- we got together when I was growing into my own gay skin. I was 20. She was six years older than me, and obviously far more experienced than I was. But that never stopped me with her. Hands down, that was the relationship in which I was most assertive, even aggressive, and I felt so unbelievably confident-- despite the fact that I, at first, really had no idea what I was doing. She provided a lot of firsts for me- I don't know that I did any of the same for her. But the bones of this: I was fearless, with her.
Why? BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE ANY LESBIAN BAGGAGE WEIGHING ME DOWN!
Enter my next girlfriend: El sotano. She is the most sexually aggressive woman I have ever been with; I have serious doubts that I could ever find anyone quite like that ever again. (I suppose that's why we've continued to fuck here and there over the years since we- so justly- parted.) I never had to do a damn thing, initiation-wise. I became very, very accustom to her assertiveness and watched my own start to fade into the background. Of course, there's an explosion of other pieces that go along with this sexual union, and that helps to explain my lack of assertion- she had another girlfriend for a good part of our time together. Ah, yes. I didn't know how to handle that at the age of 22, 23.
After that came a string of not-much-at-all (those 2 semi-serious relationships fall into this time frame), and then came A. I don't have a nickname for her; I rarely mention her. But we spent about 9 months in a relationship that progressed so sweetly, so non-aggressively. I remember initiating here and there, being perhaps a little assertive, but we were so not a match when it came to the bedroom. I oh so fondly recall her saying to me: "You don't have to fuck me like a jackhammer." Awesome! Yeah, so not a match. But again... my assertion was sleeping.
This leads us through another bout of random, semi-sexual encounters. Then comes Great Lakes. She dominated my life for the better part of three years- and I've been completely free of her for nine months. What remains is this fucking block I have with my assertive nature. Great Lakes mutilated that. Totally fucking destroyed it. I was told that I could not initiate sex- and then, many months later, when I voiced my annoyance with the fact that we were not having any sex to speak of, she blamed me. For not taking charge. This is just a shiny little glimpse into the utter bullshit that circled around our every waking moment together. I was never on steady ground with her- mentally, vocally, and certainly not sexually. When there was sex, it was pretty good, but that's what crazy people are good at: fucking. It was a major control issue with her. And within her issues, I totally lost my ability to be A) forthcoming (sexually), and B) assertive (in any way you can imagine).
Now, the healing. I did a lot of that over the summer. I dated quite effectively and did my thing, whatever. I was entirely conscious of everything I did. I dated C for a while and knew it wasn't going anywhere. Sexually- so not a match. I was relying on her to be assertive, and apparently she's not. I wanted to be taken care of, I think. I wanted someone to provide for me all the things that were so severely lacking in my previous relationship. I didn't want to be in control.
It's been a few months since I stopped seeing C. It's given me a chance to continue to claw back to the roots of who I am- and last night, it finally hit me. I was so much fucking happier when I had a heavy hand with control and when I was more assertive. So what the FUCK am I waiting for?
What's going on now is... well, it's interesting. It's a very -be here now / stay in the moment- kind of thing. & it's fun. & sexy. & it makes me smirk, a lot, because it's under most people's radar.
Part of it is almost demanding me to be assertive. I've been doing a fair job with that, I think, and it's helping me to reclaim that part of me I so miss. I've had to realize that there's very little threat of rejection, now. And that commands me to let go of that nagging fear and just go with it... which, again, I've been doing. It's hard, though! Being the non-assertive piece of a (oh fuck, what can I call this... hmm...) fuck-pair (hah!) is SO much easier than being the assertive piece. But if I'm not assertive, I'm sure as shit not going to get what I want, and I was an incredibly patient, hint-dropping factor in this equation for quite some time. There's no reason for my patience now. My caution, yes, and consideration. But patience? Uhm, no. I see no room for it.
What needs to increase is my level of assertion/aggression. Not anger-aggression. More like sexy-hot-fuck aggression. That want has been voiced. I'm still working my thoughts- certainly not my feelings- around this. It's hard to instantly turn that dormant part of myself back on, full volume. So I'm slinking in. She's doing her part, too, which surprised me at first but I so obviously fuckin' love it. It's been a long time since a single sentence has made desire so thoroughly flood through my body. And that very much helps with ye olde nagging fear of Rejection. The little bits- words, notions, suggestions- are helping me steel up, stand taller, drop the past and focus on here & now. It's working.
We're learning~
*monogamous in theory, of course. Not always in practice. ALL ARE TO BLAME!
I round it off and say that I've had four serious, long term, "monogamous*" relationships with women. I qualify serious with the in-love factor; there are two other women that I consider ex-girlfriends, but I was never in love with either of them. And there have been dalliances, but again, regardless of the nature of those blips on my radar, they never became serious.
So! My first girlfriend- we got together when I was growing into my own gay skin. I was 20. She was six years older than me, and obviously far more experienced than I was. But that never stopped me with her. Hands down, that was the relationship in which I was most assertive, even aggressive, and I felt so unbelievably confident-- despite the fact that I, at first, really had no idea what I was doing. She provided a lot of firsts for me- I don't know that I did any of the same for her. But the bones of this: I was fearless, with her.
Why? BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE ANY LESBIAN BAGGAGE WEIGHING ME DOWN!
Enter my next girlfriend: El sotano. She is the most sexually aggressive woman I have ever been with; I have serious doubts that I could ever find anyone quite like that ever again. (I suppose that's why we've continued to fuck here and there over the years since we- so justly- parted.) I never had to do a damn thing, initiation-wise. I became very, very accustom to her assertiveness and watched my own start to fade into the background. Of course, there's an explosion of other pieces that go along with this sexual union, and that helps to explain my lack of assertion- she had another girlfriend for a good part of our time together. Ah, yes. I didn't know how to handle that at the age of 22, 23.
After that came a string of not-much-at-all (those 2 semi-serious relationships fall into this time frame), and then came A. I don't have a nickname for her; I rarely mention her. But we spent about 9 months in a relationship that progressed so sweetly, so non-aggressively. I remember initiating here and there, being perhaps a little assertive, but we were so not a match when it came to the bedroom. I oh so fondly recall her saying to me: "You don't have to fuck me like a jackhammer." Awesome! Yeah, so not a match. But again... my assertion was sleeping.
This leads us through another bout of random, semi-sexual encounters. Then comes Great Lakes. She dominated my life for the better part of three years- and I've been completely free of her for nine months. What remains is this fucking block I have with my assertive nature. Great Lakes mutilated that. Totally fucking destroyed it. I was told that I could not initiate sex- and then, many months later, when I voiced my annoyance with the fact that we were not having any sex to speak of, she blamed me. For not taking charge. This is just a shiny little glimpse into the utter bullshit that circled around our every waking moment together. I was never on steady ground with her- mentally, vocally, and certainly not sexually. When there was sex, it was pretty good, but that's what crazy people are good at: fucking. It was a major control issue with her. And within her issues, I totally lost my ability to be A) forthcoming (sexually), and B) assertive (in any way you can imagine).
Now, the healing. I did a lot of that over the summer. I dated quite effectively and did my thing, whatever. I was entirely conscious of everything I did. I dated C for a while and knew it wasn't going anywhere. Sexually- so not a match. I was relying on her to be assertive, and apparently she's not. I wanted to be taken care of, I think. I wanted someone to provide for me all the things that were so severely lacking in my previous relationship. I didn't want to be in control.
It's been a few months since I stopped seeing C. It's given me a chance to continue to claw back to the roots of who I am- and last night, it finally hit me. I was so much fucking happier when I had a heavy hand with control and when I was more assertive. So what the FUCK am I waiting for?
What's going on now is... well, it's interesting. It's a very -be here now / stay in the moment- kind of thing. & it's fun. & sexy. & it makes me smirk, a lot, because it's under most people's radar.
Part of it is almost demanding me to be assertive. I've been doing a fair job with that, I think, and it's helping me to reclaim that part of me I so miss. I've had to realize that there's very little threat of rejection, now. And that commands me to let go of that nagging fear and just go with it... which, again, I've been doing. It's hard, though! Being the non-assertive piece of a (oh fuck, what can I call this... hmm...) fuck-pair (hah!) is SO much easier than being the assertive piece. But if I'm not assertive, I'm sure as shit not going to get what I want, and I was an incredibly patient, hint-dropping factor in this equation for quite some time. There's no reason for my patience now. My caution, yes, and consideration. But patience? Uhm, no. I see no room for it.
What needs to increase is my level of assertion/aggression. Not anger-aggression. More like sexy-hot-fuck aggression. That want has been voiced. I'm still working my thoughts- certainly not my feelings- around this. It's hard to instantly turn that dormant part of myself back on, full volume. So I'm slinking in. She's doing her part, too, which surprised me at first but I so obviously fuckin' love it. It's been a long time since a single sentence has made desire so thoroughly flood through my body. And that very much helps with ye olde nagging fear of Rejection. The little bits- words, notions, suggestions- are helping me steel up, stand taller, drop the past and focus on here & now. It's working.
We're learning~
*monogamous in theory, of course. Not always in practice. ALL ARE TO BLAME!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Dear 2009:
I am leaving you with a lot of feelings.
Some resolved, some freshly scratched open. Some aired out and blown into the fall and swirl of any day's breeze. Some tucked beneath my ribs, pushing against my heart, growing... sleeping... wandering. Pacing. Aglow. Some: still, untended, brittle at the core. & some have rushed up and out to hang in the air like a haze you don't exactly want to see through.
I already know two things. 1) This could be wickedly long, and 2) parts will be unceremoniously vague while others are clear to the point.
FEELINGS: Despondent. Heartbroken. Confused. Gradients of Sadness & Anger. [All resolved]
Perhaps the biggest chunk of 2009 was The Great Letting Go. Consider the break in November 2008- ripe and explosive before a string of holidays. Perfect! Tack on six months of back and forth, do we don't we, we really fucking should not, but maybe we almost could... until, finally, my backbone recalled itself and said: Fucking no, goodbye. Cue a week's worth of downward spiral including one extreme hallucination and terribly restless nights that led to sleeping on my desk at work. Most definitively not my finest hours, that week. Or, really, the first six months of 2009 = some of the roughest blurs of my 2009-life.
(That is what happens when you give three years of your life to someone who perhaps means well but truly cannot give you any shape of what you need because she is too consumed with her own demons.)
FEELINGS: Bright Spot. Intrigue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
In the middle of The Great Letting Go of 2009, there was February. Mixed messages. Music. The kind of held eye contact that makes your palms sweat. Suggestion. Intoxicated flirting. Growing awareness of the simplest connections. Plain & simple curiosity. I knew I wanted her and didn't have the words or actions to show it outside of a wine-induced comment that fluttered then shot from my ribs, out my mouth, into the air, into her ears.
FEELINGS: Achievement. Forward-motion. Validation. Total Awesomeness. [FINALLY]
March took me to Tampa. Tampa took me to USF. Kate Bornstein. Gender/Sex skews. FC, SW, LP. A very healthy & happy few days of relaxation with B&L. On a whim, my submission "for fun" turned into presentation & future publication. It also catapulted me into reassessing my future in the education world, and where I want to go. I still don't know where I want to go, or how I want to get there, but without this experience, I don't know that I'd have the motivation to change course.
FEELINGS: China blue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
Minutes. Literally, minutes. Less than five. It was the quickest reminder of "Oh, right... want." Thank you, end of May. Circles, and circles, circles again. Circles, and circles, got to stop spinning
FEELINGS: Possibility. Curiosity. Want? Hope. [Here & gone]
Enter several women. My ins & outs of March-September. I thought I wanted each of them more than I actually did. Call it healing, call it fooling myself, call it Time. If I had been ready, for any of them, I imagine it would have happened. I count 5. If we tack on the currently-unresponded-to-email I received today, make it 6. As I type, 2 more linger in the backdrop. I have learned to push like a professional... pusher. There are times when I want to beat myself up over this, but I have learned that it's not happening with these women because I don't want it to. Not a one of them is who I want to be with on any level outside of friendship. I tried. I did. I was entirely aware of what I was doing and how I was feeling. I've been honest and cognizant. But you can't create a spark when your match won't ignite.
FEELINGS: Freedom. The Wander. Love, Life, Living. [Continuing ad infinitum~]
The Summer of 2009 was one of the best summers I have ever had. Point blank; there's no fancy way to phrase that. I was spontaneous, happy, unbridled, and hungry for life. Rehoboth (recall the bruise on my spine from the railing on the deck). Dewey Beach. San Diego. Pine Island. Richmond. Outerbanks. I lived my life. I got an incredible tan, did not work out as much as I should, read books, whittled time away by staring at nature. It was perfection, and I absolutely did not want it to end.
FEELINGS: Rapture. [Tucked]
It had been months, and at first glance, every muscle tightened and I dared myself to look away. But I couldn't. A few weeks later, time was on my side, and while the fire glowed and the marshmallows and sticks burned, I reveled in the simplicity of good friends. My want stayed safely inside. It was the best place for it.
FEELINGS: Absence. Second-guessing. The Final Push in Letting Go. [Resolved]
Fall has never been much on my side. 2009 was no different. Fall beats me up, chews around, spits me out in pieces that I'm left to string together in a semblance of The Real Me. I survive fall. This fall, I pushed so many people away. I just wanted to be alone. Quite honestly, much of October and November are a blur of going through the motions (however, I did run my first 5k somewhere in there) and a few too many Friday-after-school beers. I entered this strange period of self-loathing and didn't want much to do with anything or anyone. There were Bright Spots tangled amid other bouts of confusion, but overall, fall failed me. Or I failed it.
I'm glad it's winter.
FEELINGS: Spinal. Guttural. Rushes to the head. [Loved & Over but Present]
I have a dirty habit of not getting mad, of not feeling or directing my anger. This was pointed out to me somewhere in 2009, probably in its early stages. I got mad about the fact that I don't get mad. How meta. Despite my overabundance of them, I love feelings. To realize that I was not capitalizing on the most powerful of feelings was a good kick in the ass. In November or December, I got really fucking mad. And I unleashed. I do not like it when people do not listen to me, but only hear me. You need to fucking listen to my words. Someone didn't, and someone heard all about it. The surge of anger was tipping my nerves into sunshine, and I felt so goddamn alive. There was no holding back; every last bit came out.
It was the first time I'd yelled in probably years. Perhaps some of the anger was misdirected [Great Lakes never got yelled at, and if anyone should bear the fire of my ire, it would be her but that is a lost cause of imperceptible proportions] but most of it was justified. Weeks later, the same person pissed me off, and my spine straightened. It was fucking amazing, and I am never bending again.
FEELINGS: Gratitude. Safety. Love. Stomach-aching Laughter. [Endless~]
One thing that has been made perfectly clear to me throughout 2009 is that I have amazing people in my life. My family is entirely supportive & loving of all my pitfalls and strengths, and my friends are saints for putting up with my over-thinking bullshit. Having been untangled from a controlling relationship, my freedom to do whatever with whomever (and not have to lie about it in order to avoid a fight) has taken over. My internal hermithood may never evaporate, but I don't think I've ever been this social in my life. And the truth is... I enjoy it. Granted, it makes the lay-low-at-home days that much more meaningful. I do not ever again want to lose sight of the goodness that exists in my life. It can be enhanced, absolutely, but I have no reason to not be happy with what I have. That feeling, that recognition-- irreplaceable.
FEELINGS: Peace. Appreciation. Clarity? Hope. [Here... hopefully to stay]
Continuing from the Gratitude, I think it's important to express the feeling of peace I am at with my life. I've not felt peaceful in years. Part of that is due to my constant interaction with women. Dating, relationships, dalliances, whatever. By the beginning of December 2009, I was wholly unattached and very much at peace with it. Am I willing to explore something with someone? Absolutely. Just don't disturb my peace~
FEELINGS: Want. Surprise. Comfort. Warmth. Curiosity. Release. Hot. [...processing]
Truth: I did not expect to end 2009 in this way. My patience had taken over the best of me.
When you are with me, I tend to lose focus. My tongue takes its own trek with words, and my mind flows over and above the conversation dribbling between us. But I was on par that night. The previous two? Not so much. But that night, yes, I was exactly where I wanted to be. It appears that you were, too. Thank you, winter.
It's a want that has tightened my nerve-endings for quite some time. Fulfilling that want... I don't know that I have the words, but perhaps this will do for now: the strongest memory is my mouth, your mouth, moving together, your head lifting ever so from the pillow. One of my hands in your hair. The other hand meeting your hand, your fingers lacing through mine. That is the image cemented in my mind. There are many other sweeps of recall from that night, and you already know I remember everything (though I admit: parts of conversation are hazy), and I could go on with descriptions and images but I don't want to. I want this tucked beneath my ribs with the surges & sparks that follow the memories. I want to keep it safe. Honestly: I don't know how to write it. I do know that you are fucking beautiful, and my want continues.
FEELINGS: Closure. [AMAZING!]
2009 was, kindly, a learning experience. To emerge from the year without new battle wounds is a huge achievement. I've healed, processed, moved forward. I know myself, now, better than I have in a very long time. And I'm comfortable with who I am. I don't put up with bullshit or crazy. I take care of me on a daily basis. I breathe deeply and completely. While I may never stop over thinking, I at least have learned to better compartmentalize my wayward thought processes. I don't feel the need for anything, but I continue to want. My priorities are (relatively) clear. I have had these incredible bursts of awareness & happiness amid the general peace of my life. I am well.
So, thanks 2009, for all the feelings. You've given me a lot to work with. & as I write this, 2010 looms less than 12 hours away. I'm ready for it; I know it will be good to me as long as I am good to it.
Some resolved, some freshly scratched open. Some aired out and blown into the fall and swirl of any day's breeze. Some tucked beneath my ribs, pushing against my heart, growing... sleeping... wandering. Pacing. Aglow. Some: still, untended, brittle at the core. & some have rushed up and out to hang in the air like a haze you don't exactly want to see through.
I already know two things. 1) This could be wickedly long, and 2) parts will be unceremoniously vague while others are clear to the point.
FEELINGS: Despondent. Heartbroken. Confused. Gradients of Sadness & Anger. [All resolved]
Perhaps the biggest chunk of 2009 was The Great Letting Go. Consider the break in November 2008- ripe and explosive before a string of holidays. Perfect! Tack on six months of back and forth, do we don't we, we really fucking should not, but maybe we almost could... until, finally, my backbone recalled itself and said: Fucking no, goodbye. Cue a week's worth of downward spiral including one extreme hallucination and terribly restless nights that led to sleeping on my desk at work. Most definitively not my finest hours, that week. Or, really, the first six months of 2009 = some of the roughest blurs of my 2009-life.
(That is what happens when you give three years of your life to someone who perhaps means well but truly cannot give you any shape of what you need because she is too consumed with her own demons.)
FEELINGS: Bright Spot. Intrigue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
In the middle of The Great Letting Go of 2009, there was February. Mixed messages. Music. The kind of held eye contact that makes your palms sweat. Suggestion. Intoxicated flirting. Growing awareness of the simplest connections. Plain & simple curiosity. I knew I wanted her and didn't have the words or actions to show it outside of a wine-induced comment that fluttered then shot from my ribs, out my mouth, into the air, into her ears.
FEELINGS: Achievement. Forward-motion. Validation. Total Awesomeness. [FINALLY]
March took me to Tampa. Tampa took me to USF. Kate Bornstein. Gender/Sex skews. FC, SW, LP. A very healthy & happy few days of relaxation with B&L. On a whim, my submission "for fun" turned into presentation & future publication. It also catapulted me into reassessing my future in the education world, and where I want to go. I still don't know where I want to go, or how I want to get there, but without this experience, I don't know that I'd have the motivation to change course.
FEELINGS: China blue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
Minutes. Literally, minutes. Less than five. It was the quickest reminder of "Oh, right... want." Thank you, end of May. Circles, and circles, circles again. Circles, and circles, got to stop spinning
FEELINGS: Possibility. Curiosity. Want? Hope. [Here & gone]
Enter several women. My ins & outs of March-September. I thought I wanted each of them more than I actually did. Call it healing, call it fooling myself, call it Time. If I had been ready, for any of them, I imagine it would have happened. I count 5. If we tack on the currently-unresponded-to-email I received today, make it 6. As I type, 2 more linger in the backdrop. I have learned to push like a professional... pusher. There are times when I want to beat myself up over this, but I have learned that it's not happening with these women because I don't want it to. Not a one of them is who I want to be with on any level outside of friendship. I tried. I did. I was entirely aware of what I was doing and how I was feeling. I've been honest and cognizant. But you can't create a spark when your match won't ignite.
FEELINGS: Freedom. The Wander. Love, Life, Living. [Continuing ad infinitum~]
The Summer of 2009 was one of the best summers I have ever had. Point blank; there's no fancy way to phrase that. I was spontaneous, happy, unbridled, and hungry for life. Rehoboth (recall the bruise on my spine from the railing on the deck). Dewey Beach. San Diego. Pine Island. Richmond. Outerbanks. I lived my life. I got an incredible tan, did not work out as much as I should, read books, whittled time away by staring at nature. It was perfection, and I absolutely did not want it to end.
FEELINGS: Rapture. [Tucked]
It had been months, and at first glance, every muscle tightened and I dared myself to look away. But I couldn't. A few weeks later, time was on my side, and while the fire glowed and the marshmallows and sticks burned, I reveled in the simplicity of good friends. My want stayed safely inside. It was the best place for it.
FEELINGS: Absence. Second-guessing. The Final Push in Letting Go. [Resolved]
Fall has never been much on my side. 2009 was no different. Fall beats me up, chews around, spits me out in pieces that I'm left to string together in a semblance of The Real Me. I survive fall. This fall, I pushed so many people away. I just wanted to be alone. Quite honestly, much of October and November are a blur of going through the motions (however, I did run my first 5k somewhere in there) and a few too many Friday-after-school beers. I entered this strange period of self-loathing and didn't want much to do with anything or anyone. There were Bright Spots tangled amid other bouts of confusion, but overall, fall failed me. Or I failed it.
I'm glad it's winter.
FEELINGS: Spinal. Guttural. Rushes to the head. [Loved & Over but Present]
I have a dirty habit of not getting mad, of not feeling or directing my anger. This was pointed out to me somewhere in 2009, probably in its early stages. I got mad about the fact that I don't get mad. How meta. Despite my overabundance of them, I love feelings. To realize that I was not capitalizing on the most powerful of feelings was a good kick in the ass. In November or December, I got really fucking mad. And I unleashed. I do not like it when people do not listen to me, but only hear me. You need to fucking listen to my words. Someone didn't, and someone heard all about it. The surge of anger was tipping my nerves into sunshine, and I felt so goddamn alive. There was no holding back; every last bit came out.
It was the first time I'd yelled in probably years. Perhaps some of the anger was misdirected [Great Lakes never got yelled at, and if anyone should bear the fire of my ire, it would be her but that is a lost cause of imperceptible proportions] but most of it was justified. Weeks later, the same person pissed me off, and my spine straightened. It was fucking amazing, and I am never bending again.
FEELINGS: Gratitude. Safety. Love. Stomach-aching Laughter. [Endless~]
One thing that has been made perfectly clear to me throughout 2009 is that I have amazing people in my life. My family is entirely supportive & loving of all my pitfalls and strengths, and my friends are saints for putting up with my over-thinking bullshit. Having been untangled from a controlling relationship, my freedom to do whatever with whomever (and not have to lie about it in order to avoid a fight) has taken over. My internal hermithood may never evaporate, but I don't think I've ever been this social in my life. And the truth is... I enjoy it. Granted, it makes the lay-low-at-home days that much more meaningful. I do not ever again want to lose sight of the goodness that exists in my life. It can be enhanced, absolutely, but I have no reason to not be happy with what I have. That feeling, that recognition-- irreplaceable.
FEELINGS: Peace. Appreciation. Clarity? Hope. [Here... hopefully to stay]
Continuing from the Gratitude, I think it's important to express the feeling of peace I am at with my life. I've not felt peaceful in years. Part of that is due to my constant interaction with women. Dating, relationships, dalliances, whatever. By the beginning of December 2009, I was wholly unattached and very much at peace with it. Am I willing to explore something with someone? Absolutely. Just don't disturb my peace~
FEELINGS: Want. Surprise. Comfort. Warmth. Curiosity. Release. Hot. [...processing]
Truth: I did not expect to end 2009 in this way. My patience had taken over the best of me.
When you are with me, I tend to lose focus. My tongue takes its own trek with words, and my mind flows over and above the conversation dribbling between us. But I was on par that night. The previous two? Not so much. But that night, yes, I was exactly where I wanted to be. It appears that you were, too. Thank you, winter.
It's a want that has tightened my nerve-endings for quite some time. Fulfilling that want... I don't know that I have the words, but perhaps this will do for now: the strongest memory is my mouth, your mouth, moving together, your head lifting ever so from the pillow. One of my hands in your hair. The other hand meeting your hand, your fingers lacing through mine. That is the image cemented in my mind. There are many other sweeps of recall from that night, and you already know I remember everything (though I admit: parts of conversation are hazy), and I could go on with descriptions and images but I don't want to. I want this tucked beneath my ribs with the surges & sparks that follow the memories. I want to keep it safe. Honestly: I don't know how to write it. I do know that you are fucking beautiful, and my want continues.
FEELINGS: Closure. [AMAZING!]
2009 was, kindly, a learning experience. To emerge from the year without new battle wounds is a huge achievement. I've healed, processed, moved forward. I know myself, now, better than I have in a very long time. And I'm comfortable with who I am. I don't put up with bullshit or crazy. I take care of me on a daily basis. I breathe deeply and completely. While I may never stop over thinking, I at least have learned to better compartmentalize my wayward thought processes. I don't feel the need for anything, but I continue to want. My priorities are (relatively) clear. I have had these incredible bursts of awareness & happiness amid the general peace of my life. I am well.
So, thanks 2009, for all the feelings. You've given me a lot to work with. & as I write this, 2010 looms less than 12 hours away. I'm ready for it; I know it will be good to me as long as I am good to it.
Friday, September 11, 2009
this may be interesting only to me
I just hit a new level of letting go: I realized that I don't want her- in any capacity.
I don't even yearn for one last demon-dusted sexual encounter. And I always, always craved sex with her. I can understand, now, that one of the reasons I craved it so much with her was because it was so infrequent. I was absolutely, 100%, wildly attracted to her (and this was a feature in my problem in letting go of her, post break-up). Would I still be, if she were to cross my path now or in the future? I imagine so. Sexual attraction goes a long way for me. Whether or not I want to act on it is a different story.
Truthfully, I haven't "wanted" her for months. That stopped somewhere at the end of spring, and I was filled with a sense of relief in no longer wanting her back as my girlfriend. Once I began to allow myself to see all that had actually gone on in our relationship- once I recognized and labeled my hurt- once I allowed myself to realize that she is surely not the only woman that will ever want me in any capacity- it got easier. There was a shift that ebbed within me throughout the summer: and this summer, it was made entirely of healing, experience, and forward movement. I wouldn't trade a moment of it.
She is gone from my life, and has been been since May. While she still merges into my dreams on occasion, my waking thoughts are focused on other things, other people, other curiosities. I no longer care what she's doing, or who she's doing it with (and I haven't cared about those things for a while). I'm healthier, so much happier, and confident.
The letting go: it has always been difficult for me. I just went through it over the last two weeks with C. It was hard to walk away from that for the simple fact that I knew she wanted me. It's an undeniably good feeling to know that someone likes you. But I wasn't there- and that wasn't fair to either one of us.
With Great Lakes, I never felt safe. I only ever felt wanted in her stretches of needy-mania (typically the pre-self-destructive stages, not the stages of solitude and every other breed of mania that threaded through her) and in the rare sexual encounter. We never had solid ground, and we never found ourselves on the same page. I think, in some ways, the unsteady ride is what kept me hanging on- I wanted to believe it could, and would, get better, and I wanted to be there to see it happen. I always saw so much potential for us.
But potential-- that isn't anything to build a life off of. The here & now is infinitely more important. This isn't to say I don't believe that things can't get better in relationships, whether romantic or otherwise. The measure of betterness comes with the terrain that these "things" are built upon. No one should ever spend so much time being unhappy, uncertain, full of love but with nowhere to direct it.
And the truth is, I cannot fathom driving myself open-eyed into another long-distance relationship. So much of the time that made up my last 3-years-long relationship was spent apart from one another. Had we been closer together, I imagine we would have self-combusted much earlier than we did. Or maybe things would have been different (I doubt that). But I know now that when I enter my next relationship, I want a stronger sense of normalcy, and a much shorter commute to see one another.
Other than that, I don't know what I want. I think that's become fairly obvious over the last month or so. I know what I don't want, and in my case, I think that's more important than its counterpart. Do I want someone who gives as much as I do? Absolutely. Do I want mutually unbridled attraction and adoration? For sure. I want a safe body to lean upon, to rouse from sleep, to nudge into the morning. I want a brain as fueled as, if not more than, mine. I want compassion and respect and laughter and understanding and release and reprieve and excitement and learning and the desire/action to move forward-- together. I want more.
And do I want my Obscure Object? Yes, without a single doubt, I do.
I don't even yearn for one last demon-dusted sexual encounter. And I always, always craved sex with her. I can understand, now, that one of the reasons I craved it so much with her was because it was so infrequent. I was absolutely, 100%, wildly attracted to her (and this was a feature in my problem in letting go of her, post break-up). Would I still be, if she were to cross my path now or in the future? I imagine so. Sexual attraction goes a long way for me. Whether or not I want to act on it is a different story.
Truthfully, I haven't "wanted" her for months. That stopped somewhere at the end of spring, and I was filled with a sense of relief in no longer wanting her back as my girlfriend. Once I began to allow myself to see all that had actually gone on in our relationship- once I recognized and labeled my hurt- once I allowed myself to realize that she is surely not the only woman that will ever want me in any capacity- it got easier. There was a shift that ebbed within me throughout the summer: and this summer, it was made entirely of healing, experience, and forward movement. I wouldn't trade a moment of it.
She is gone from my life, and has been been since May. While she still merges into my dreams on occasion, my waking thoughts are focused on other things, other people, other curiosities. I no longer care what she's doing, or who she's doing it with (and I haven't cared about those things for a while). I'm healthier, so much happier, and confident.
The letting go: it has always been difficult for me. I just went through it over the last two weeks with C. It was hard to walk away from that for the simple fact that I knew she wanted me. It's an undeniably good feeling to know that someone likes you. But I wasn't there- and that wasn't fair to either one of us.
With Great Lakes, I never felt safe. I only ever felt wanted in her stretches of needy-mania (typically the pre-self-destructive stages, not the stages of solitude and every other breed of mania that threaded through her) and in the rare sexual encounter. We never had solid ground, and we never found ourselves on the same page. I think, in some ways, the unsteady ride is what kept me hanging on- I wanted to believe it could, and would, get better, and I wanted to be there to see it happen. I always saw so much potential for us.
But potential-- that isn't anything to build a life off of. The here & now is infinitely more important. This isn't to say I don't believe that things can't get better in relationships, whether romantic or otherwise. The measure of betterness comes with the terrain that these "things" are built upon. No one should ever spend so much time being unhappy, uncertain, full of love but with nowhere to direct it.
And the truth is, I cannot fathom driving myself open-eyed into another long-distance relationship. So much of the time that made up my last 3-years-long relationship was spent apart from one another. Had we been closer together, I imagine we would have self-combusted much earlier than we did. Or maybe things would have been different (I doubt that). But I know now that when I enter my next relationship, I want a stronger sense of normalcy, and a much shorter commute to see one another.
Other than that, I don't know what I want. I think that's become fairly obvious over the last month or so. I know what I don't want, and in my case, I think that's more important than its counterpart. Do I want someone who gives as much as I do? Absolutely. Do I want mutually unbridled attraction and adoration? For sure. I want a safe body to lean upon, to rouse from sleep, to nudge into the morning. I want a brain as fueled as, if not more than, mine. I want compassion and respect and laughter and understanding and release and reprieve and excitement and learning and the desire/action to move forward-- together. I want more.
And do I want my Obscure Object? Yes, without a single doubt, I do.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
To The Ends
You may not understand this, the way my verbs
stick to nouns and decapitate adjectives
as they hurtle themselves up from my throat.
This glitch in communication-
the part where I couldn’t force
ripples of truth from my depths of discontent. Because
I never told you this, and it seems I never will, I can say it
now. Love doesn’t cover those years
but I don’t know what does. I wanted
your body. I wanted you to be
whole.
I wanted to grasp your demons and shatter them,
rip them limb from limb with the nakedness
of my fingers,
the same fingers that warmed the lengths
of your body, the ones that coursed you between
crashes of orgasms, the very fingers
that enclosed your hands
into my palms. And I never managed
to hold you tightly enough. Strapped to me like a bungee cord
and my heart suffered the lurch and drag
of your eclipsed mind from my waning strength, your charred
sense of truth from my hopes
for (our) balance. The stillness of destruction
would not let me breathe.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Process(ing)
Yesterday, my Voice of Reason told me that I'm living my life (finally?), and it's clear that the chains that tied me to her (great lakes) have been broken. Busted. Shot apart.
On one hand, I completely agree. I am being spontaneous (ie: trip to San Diego this weekend), social (spending a lot of time with my friends, especially Quack, and even going out), and the truth is, I do feel happy. Happier? Happy. I can't tell the difference, but I know I feel different.
On the other hand, I completely fucking disagree- but only on the chains being broken part. I dream about her (GL) far too often. About twice a week. And in every dream I have about her, we are getting back together. There is always kissing, and usually a segue into sex, if not flat-out nudity and sex. Her mom is almost always there (not during the sex, thankfully), and she makes a point to tell me how happy she is that I'm giving her daughter another chance. One dream, last week, her mom told me that she knows her daughter is doing better, but she's still not great, and she is simply grateful that I'm trying again.
I'm not trying again. There's been no contact since I told her to stop contacting me, and that was at the beginning of May. My birthday went by- no word. Her birthday eclipsed without me giving in. For a while, the fact that she didn't contact me hurt like hell. Some days, it still does. Most of the time, I'm grateful for the clear break.
But to say that the chains are broken... I wish with all my heart that I could agree. 98% of my heart, anyway. There is that lingering piece that still loves her and cares about her, even after all the hurt and bullshit she contributed to. That part, I really can't figure out except that she played such a big part in the past 3 years of my life, and to completely cut off my emotions is quite difficult for me. Don't get me wrong... if I could do it, I would. I know there's no sense in that 2%. It's not a desire to have her back in my life, or a want to pursue her again. It's just feelings that haven't let go.
So maybe the chain has lost its steely bind. Perhaps it's been replaced by fishing wire. Invisible, but it cuts. Those mornings, like today, when I wake up from a dream of reunion? (Last night's took place in my bedroom, but bigger with a sofa, and both of her sisters, and her mom [again, happy], and these weird poster-sized fragmented drawings from presumably the girl that she is with [whether just in the dream, or reality, too]. I ripped up one of the drawings. She then threw both of them away; they were scrawled with childlike writing [ironic] of how much this person loves and misses my ex. After she threw them away, she was struggling to take her shirt off, and she had quite the belly, and I said, "Wow, my love has gained some weight!" And I didn't care, I just wanted her, and we were together. Again.) The mornings don't hurt- they simply weigh heavy on my heart.
But I am moving on. I will see C today, continue to get to know her. I've pretty much dismissed S because of her weird little "I'm not psycho like that" thing, after seeing something that she assumed was something it wasn't. Sounds oh just a bit too similar to Great Lakes.
As for the Obscure Object? I'm at a loss there. My mouth and heart are itching to spill it- especially after what I was told last night, about her spending the least amount of time possible at home. But my brain resists, maybe knowing my heart better than I'd ever thought.
I just hate how I was feeling great over the last week, and today I've got this plague hanging over my head. All because of the tricks my mind plays on me while I'm sleeping.
On one hand, I completely agree. I am being spontaneous (ie: trip to San Diego this weekend), social (spending a lot of time with my friends, especially Quack, and even going out), and the truth is, I do feel happy. Happier? Happy. I can't tell the difference, but I know I feel different.
On the other hand, I completely fucking disagree- but only on the chains being broken part. I dream about her (GL) far too often. About twice a week. And in every dream I have about her, we are getting back together. There is always kissing, and usually a segue into sex, if not flat-out nudity and sex. Her mom is almost always there (not during the sex, thankfully), and she makes a point to tell me how happy she is that I'm giving her daughter another chance. One dream, last week, her mom told me that she knows her daughter is doing better, but she's still not great, and she is simply grateful that I'm trying again.
I'm not trying again. There's been no contact since I told her to stop contacting me, and that was at the beginning of May. My birthday went by- no word. Her birthday eclipsed without me giving in. For a while, the fact that she didn't contact me hurt like hell. Some days, it still does. Most of the time, I'm grateful for the clear break.
But to say that the chains are broken... I wish with all my heart that I could agree. 98% of my heart, anyway. There is that lingering piece that still loves her and cares about her, even after all the hurt and bullshit she contributed to. That part, I really can't figure out except that she played such a big part in the past 3 years of my life, and to completely cut off my emotions is quite difficult for me. Don't get me wrong... if I could do it, I would. I know there's no sense in that 2%. It's not a desire to have her back in my life, or a want to pursue her again. It's just feelings that haven't let go.
So maybe the chain has lost its steely bind. Perhaps it's been replaced by fishing wire. Invisible, but it cuts. Those mornings, like today, when I wake up from a dream of reunion? (Last night's took place in my bedroom, but bigger with a sofa, and both of her sisters, and her mom [again, happy], and these weird poster-sized fragmented drawings from presumably the girl that she is with [whether just in the dream, or reality, too]. I ripped up one of the drawings. She then threw both of them away; they were scrawled with childlike writing [ironic] of how much this person loves and misses my ex. After she threw them away, she was struggling to take her shirt off, and she had quite the belly, and I said, "Wow, my love has gained some weight!" And I didn't care, I just wanted her, and we were together. Again.) The mornings don't hurt- they simply weigh heavy on my heart.
But I am moving on. I will see C today, continue to get to know her. I've pretty much dismissed S because of her weird little "I'm not psycho like that" thing, after seeing something that she assumed was something it wasn't. Sounds oh just a bit too similar to Great Lakes.
As for the Obscure Object? I'm at a loss there. My mouth and heart are itching to spill it- especially after what I was told last night, about her spending the least amount of time possible at home. But my brain resists, maybe knowing my heart better than I'd ever thought.
I just hate how I was feeling great over the last week, and today I've got this plague hanging over my head. All because of the tricks my mind plays on me while I'm sleeping.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
prelude to disaster
if that was love, you can count me out. equations
don't mean shit to me anyway-- i nearly failed fifth grade math
and i'm incapable to adding up the number of times
you were good to me
and subtracting that quantity from the number of times
you so severely fucked me over that i couldn't find my legs
couldn't recognize strength to walk out
leave, or
disappear. & you told me: "this is who i am;
i will never change." which i must have thought was endearing
or cute or something that made my heart beat twice its limit
because i must have believed, then, that you were honest.
like the time you said: "i'll never do that to you, i'll never treat you
that way" and i fell for it- because that was thing to do, when you're falling
in love, you fall for everything- but the thing is- can you see this?-
what you did was incomparable to those tedious flits of fuck-ups.
you may not have fucked the other girl
but you let her in, and out, and in and out.
do you even remember how many times
you tried to kill yourself
in the midst of our love-struck wanderings?
do you remember august, in gramercy. the fight
with your mom- how you were "happy" but she pushed you
over the edge and it scared you how everything was good
and you still wanted to die.
or late january, in essex. your dad
wrestling a gun out of your hands. and how you'd begged me that very day
to come up early. and i couldn't. i should have known, or-
that big fight, april?, when you fell away
just to enjamb yourself back ever so slightly to let me know
that yes, you'd had to go to the hospital. because you wanted
to hurt yourself. but you didn't want to talk about it.
for days.
again. and then that summer.
it was always as if i was one step behind you,
never seeing what should have been so obvious.
when you tried to end us in june- because you didn't know how to be happy-
what a fucking cop-out (even though it's true). and the shitstorm of georgia:
the yelling, the mania, the constant fights, the ruin of two summer weeks.
enter october, 2007. someday i'll ship you a prize
awarding you the esteemed award for contributing heavily
to the worst month of my life.
i guess you can't understand (or care) that every time i open my closet
i see you there, cross-legged on the floor, your eyes wide and stark
blood and bruises caking your arms, epi-pen angled toward your veins,
scratches and pin-pricks spotlighting where you'd already stabbed,
empty pill bottles next to your feet. how i held you that night,
my arms a vice grip around your trembling form. we couldn't stop
the shaking: not then, not ever. and then-
no, it wasn't over-
how weeks later you tugged me into your grasp; we were standing
in a door frame, essex again, you said how sorry
you were, and how embarassed
you were. how that wouldn't happen again. and truly, it wasn't until months later-
april again, 2008, when you called me and ranted, bitched,
threw a fucking fit and ended us. then checked yourself into the psych ward
not two hours after that hang up.
that's just it.
those weeks.
that's where
we are now.
not us, but
time. and it
shakes me
to my core.
april-may.
i won't give
you my tears
my heart
my lifeline.
not anymore.
you had
your chances.
don't mean shit to me anyway-- i nearly failed fifth grade math
and i'm incapable to adding up the number of times
you were good to me
and subtracting that quantity from the number of times
you so severely fucked me over that i couldn't find my legs
couldn't recognize strength to walk out
leave, or
disappear. & you told me: "this is who i am;
i will never change." which i must have thought was endearing
or cute or something that made my heart beat twice its limit
because i must have believed, then, that you were honest.
like the time you said: "i'll never do that to you, i'll never treat you
that way" and i fell for it- because that was thing to do, when you're falling
in love, you fall for everything- but the thing is- can you see this?-
what you did was incomparable to those tedious flits of fuck-ups.
you may not have fucked the other girl
but you let her in, and out, and in and out.
do you even remember how many times
you tried to kill yourself
in the midst of our love-struck wanderings?
do you remember august, in gramercy. the fight
with your mom- how you were "happy" but she pushed you
over the edge and it scared you how everything was good
and you still wanted to die.
or late january, in essex. your dad
wrestling a gun out of your hands. and how you'd begged me that very day
to come up early. and i couldn't. i should have known, or-
that big fight, april?, when you fell away
just to enjamb yourself back ever so slightly to let me know
that yes, you'd had to go to the hospital. because you wanted
to hurt yourself. but you didn't want to talk about it.
for days.
again. and then that summer.
it was always as if i was one step behind you,
never seeing what should have been so obvious.
when you tried to end us in june- because you didn't know how to be happy-
what a fucking cop-out (even though it's true). and the shitstorm of georgia:
the yelling, the mania, the constant fights, the ruin of two summer weeks.
enter october, 2007. someday i'll ship you a prize
awarding you the esteemed award for contributing heavily
to the worst month of my life.
i guess you can't understand (or care) that every time i open my closet
i see you there, cross-legged on the floor, your eyes wide and stark
blood and bruises caking your arms, epi-pen angled toward your veins,
scratches and pin-pricks spotlighting where you'd already stabbed,
empty pill bottles next to your feet. how i held you that night,
my arms a vice grip around your trembling form. we couldn't stop
the shaking: not then, not ever. and then-
no, it wasn't over-
how weeks later you tugged me into your grasp; we were standing
in a door frame, essex again, you said how sorry
you were, and how embarassed
you were. how that wouldn't happen again. and truly, it wasn't until months later-
april again, 2008, when you called me and ranted, bitched,
threw a fucking fit and ended us. then checked yourself into the psych ward
not two hours after that hang up.
that's just it.
those weeks.
that's where
we are now.
not us, but
time. and it
shakes me
to my core.
april-may.
i won't give
you my tears
my heart
my lifeline.
not anymore.
you had
your chances.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
all you really want is to be here with me
Love is foreign anymore. It used to come in sweeps complete with rushes of infallability and tiny rips of inadequacy but now, now it's wandering elsewhere. I don't want it to come home anytime soon, and if it does, I plan on being away and/or deaf to the persistent knocks against every tendon in my heart-swollen body.
I wish I could say with finality: I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE. But I'm afraid of lying because I hear it's a disease; I lied a lot when I was a kid, too young to understand the tangles of my own tongue. My mind lies to me, sometimes, but I can't envision reality because I swear it evades me. Kind of like lost stars on a blinking night sky: they move without wind or reason, and I can't touch them no matter how high I reach. My arms have never been long enough, my chest has never been big enough for my whims of infatuation.
Mostly I remember your skin overlapping my own, your mouth crushing mine, words firing between grasps and whispers of nightmares. You were most loving when you were half asleep. You couldn't think, then, with your brain stuffed with sleep. Words came easily, promises flowed without second thought. I love you, I want you, there is no one but you, I've never loved like this.
On the kitchen floor, with the serrations and seeds surrounding us, we aimed for the perfect photogenic kiss. We always disagreed on the best shot. All I ever wanted to do was broadcast our love.
And now, my dreams have bloomed into making out with Melissa Ferrick, which is completely weird but admittedly not a bad dream to have (two nights in a row, nonetheless). You don't need to trail me in my night visions. You are always there in the daylight, shimmers spread over my radar though I've tried again and again to turn off my signal, to shut down, unplug, abscond.
I've never been good at letting go. Never. When I fall, I fall without limits and boundaries. I don't know how to make myself stop. Maybe, I think, this could be a good thing, someday, when I'm ready and when my heart won't need to seal itself up months, years later to edge into the healing (again). And I know what the fear is. I don't know how to believe that there is someone(s) who will not force me to lock my heart and swallow the key. I don't know how to think that love may not always end up hurting me, and that someone(s) might be worthy of letting in.
So I stumble about with my hands taped to my shoulders, arms crossed, heart blocked. I can't breathe in this collapsing makeshift shelter; I wish I'd learned along the way how to run, how to fly.
I wish I could say with finality: I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE. But I'm afraid of lying because I hear it's a disease; I lied a lot when I was a kid, too young to understand the tangles of my own tongue. My mind lies to me, sometimes, but I can't envision reality because I swear it evades me. Kind of like lost stars on a blinking night sky: they move without wind or reason, and I can't touch them no matter how high I reach. My arms have never been long enough, my chest has never been big enough for my whims of infatuation.
Mostly I remember your skin overlapping my own, your mouth crushing mine, words firing between grasps and whispers of nightmares. You were most loving when you were half asleep. You couldn't think, then, with your brain stuffed with sleep. Words came easily, promises flowed without second thought. I love you, I want you, there is no one but you, I've never loved like this.
On the kitchen floor, with the serrations and seeds surrounding us, we aimed for the perfect photogenic kiss. We always disagreed on the best shot. All I ever wanted to do was broadcast our love.
And now, my dreams have bloomed into making out with Melissa Ferrick, which is completely weird but admittedly not a bad dream to have (two nights in a row, nonetheless). You don't need to trail me in my night visions. You are always there in the daylight, shimmers spread over my radar though I've tried again and again to turn off my signal, to shut down, unplug, abscond.
I've never been good at letting go. Never. When I fall, I fall without limits and boundaries. I don't know how to make myself stop. Maybe, I think, this could be a good thing, someday, when I'm ready and when my heart won't need to seal itself up months, years later to edge into the healing (again). And I know what the fear is. I don't know how to believe that there is someone(s) who will not force me to lock my heart and swallow the key. I don't know how to think that love may not always end up hurting me, and that someone(s) might be worthy of letting in.
So I stumble about with my hands taped to my shoulders, arms crossed, heart blocked. I can't breathe in this collapsing makeshift shelter; I wish I'd learned along the way how to run, how to fly.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
remember this
Three Christmases. Two victimized by the relationship, one tormented by its aftermath. Three Christmases burdended by unnecessary tears. Three should-be-happy seasons crushed under the blow of mania and push and pull, a plauging uncertainty and continued hope for the better: the better that showed its head every few weeks but never stayed for more than two consecutive days. It's not your fault, and it's not mine. It's just who you are. I simply wish you would have warned me earlier, or never saw my name, or that I could have been stronger and less tolerant, that I would have understand the weight of what you couldn't allow our love to be. And I wish I'd known earlier the art of walking away.
I bought a card for myself once, a Quotable, because I like reminders that keep me centered. You thought this was silly. But you didn't use that word. You probably said stupid, or laughed and rolled your eyes, but not in a "Oh, I love you and you're cute but weird" kind of way, but something far less endearing. Or maybe this was early in our relationship and you did think it was stupid but cute. I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
One of my friends bought me this for Christmas. It's the quote from the card that I bought for myself however long ago. And when she gave it to me, she didn't know I'd bought the card (and currently don't know where it is, when, of course, I absolutely need to remind myself of those quoted thoughts). But she knew it was something I needed to remember.
What I'm realizing now, in this once-strong, suddenly-and-obnoxiously-weakened state of the break-up, is that you couldn't get out of your head for long enough to really know me. I think you tried, but you failed. I admire your attempt, but I think you could have tried harder. I think you could have done a lot of things differently between you and me, and I'm slowly coming to accept the fact that you didn't, you wouldn't, you won't, and that's how it's supposed to be. I don't wish you any harm, but I don't yet wish you happiness because you crawled into my life with the allure of connection and desire, neither of which could sustain us, but once in, you shrieked apart my reason and my happiness. It was always about you. I get that, now. It was never about me. My needs were nonexistent. I bent into yet-discovered yoga poses to try to make us work, but I failed. I wasn't meant to succeed. Not with you.
So I'm tired of the hurt and the anger, tired of your unjustified reactions and skewed perceptions. I shouldn't expect anything different since that's how it always was: no steady ground. A rock one day, a roll the next, a plateau silver-lining into a brick wall the very next. I want you to understand this: you did this. You did it. I was not the perfect girlfriend, but I never pushed you away with the force and frequency that you did me. Remember that.
I bought a card for myself once, a Quotable, because I like reminders that keep me centered. You thought this was silly. But you didn't use that word. You probably said stupid, or laughed and rolled your eyes, but not in a "Oh, I love you and you're cute but weird" kind of way, but something far less endearing. Or maybe this was early in our relationship and you did think it was stupid but cute. I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
One of my friends bought me this for Christmas. It's the quote from the card that I bought for myself however long ago. And when she gave it to me, she didn't know I'd bought the card (and currently don't know where it is, when, of course, I absolutely need to remind myself of those quoted thoughts). But she knew it was something I needed to remember.
What I'm realizing now, in this once-strong, suddenly-and-obnoxiously-weakened state of the break-up, is that you couldn't get out of your head for long enough to really know me. I think you tried, but you failed. I admire your attempt, but I think you could have tried harder. I think you could have done a lot of things differently between you and me, and I'm slowly coming to accept the fact that you didn't, you wouldn't, you won't, and that's how it's supposed to be. I don't wish you any harm, but I don't yet wish you happiness because you crawled into my life with the allure of connection and desire, neither of which could sustain us, but once in, you shrieked apart my reason and my happiness. It was always about you. I get that, now. It was never about me. My needs were nonexistent. I bent into yet-discovered yoga poses to try to make us work, but I failed. I wasn't meant to succeed. Not with you.
So I'm tired of the hurt and the anger, tired of your unjustified reactions and skewed perceptions. I shouldn't expect anything different since that's how it always was: no steady ground. A rock one day, a roll the next, a plateau silver-lining into a brick wall the very next. I want you to understand this: you did this. You did it. I was not the perfect girlfriend, but I never pushed you away with the force and frequency that you did me. Remember that.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
the realm of confliction
In one corner: My Best Friend's Wedding
is sizzling across my inherited widescreen tv.
I can't help but to watch even having seen the film
more than twice, at least.
And from the other room: shuffle, from "Edge of Seventeen"
straight into "Real." Appropros, you see, because I've started realizing
I don't know what real is, and by real,
I mean love.
Nearly 3 years in an unstable, unhealthy, unrealistic relationship
does amazingly awful things to your psyche.
I've been told over and over again
to cease all communication, but I unblocked her
and I wrote a three sentence response to a video
she forwarded me earlier this week.
I haven't sacked up the guts
to unfriend on Facebook, but maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
I woke up this morning fresh from a dream about her/
us. In it, I'd driven to see her, a surprise, and she had a cake
on her bed, and we made love, no,
we almost fucked,
right on the cake. I took red icing on my finger
and smeared it onto her nipple, my mouth followed
mixing saliva with tenderness and confusion and
red icing. But we stopped, despite her being
spread before me, my mouth already dancing
between her weeping thighs. We stood up
and walked away. And then I found a poster,
a card, in the bottom of her closet, and I kept smacking
the backs of her bare knees, caught between fury
and despair. She told her dad we were back together,
but I was already finding a way to leave. He was happy.
She didn't seem it. I just wanted to go.
When I woke up, I didn't know what the fuck to make of that
except for the reality of it: wanting to go, not knowing how,
hanging on, the obvious connection that always managed to break
itself.
And I had two missed calls this morning, one voicemail
that I later realized was unintentional. Both times she called
she must have known I wouldn't answer, and the voicemail
was long and obviously not meant to be left, as it was choked
with white noise and a cough. I think I just listened
to her falling asleep.
A familiar sound, as I was always awake
when she wasn't.
I don't know why she called.
And there's a good possibility that I don't want to know why she called,
either.
What I do know is this: I keep trying to let go
and I haven't lost my footing yet, but the trail is steep.
In another room, there have been comments
and brief messages, texts and otherwise.
Hardcore nerd flirting, I've been told. I'm a little dense,
though, and I don't know if She realizes that she is,
in fact, and truly finally sort of I think,
flirting.
And how I want that door to creak open.
is sizzling across my inherited widescreen tv.
I can't help but to watch even having seen the film
more than twice, at least.
And from the other room: shuffle, from "Edge of Seventeen"
straight into "Real." Appropros, you see, because I've started realizing
I don't know what real is, and by real,
I mean love.
Nearly 3 years in an unstable, unhealthy, unrealistic relationship
does amazingly awful things to your psyche.
I've been told over and over again
to cease all communication, but I unblocked her
and I wrote a three sentence response to a video
she forwarded me earlier this week.
I haven't sacked up the guts
to unfriend on Facebook, but maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
I woke up this morning fresh from a dream about her/
us. In it, I'd driven to see her, a surprise, and she had a cake
on her bed, and we made love, no,
we almost fucked,
right on the cake. I took red icing on my finger
and smeared it onto her nipple, my mouth followed
mixing saliva with tenderness and confusion and
red icing. But we stopped, despite her being
spread before me, my mouth already dancing
between her weeping thighs. We stood up
and walked away. And then I found a poster,
a card, in the bottom of her closet, and I kept smacking
the backs of her bare knees, caught between fury
and despair. She told her dad we were back together,
but I was already finding a way to leave. He was happy.
She didn't seem it. I just wanted to go.
When I woke up, I didn't know what the fuck to make of that
except for the reality of it: wanting to go, not knowing how,
hanging on, the obvious connection that always managed to break
itself.
And I had two missed calls this morning, one voicemail
that I later realized was unintentional. Both times she called
she must have known I wouldn't answer, and the voicemail
was long and obviously not meant to be left, as it was choked
with white noise and a cough. I think I just listened
to her falling asleep.
A familiar sound, as I was always awake
when she wasn't.
I don't know why she called.
And there's a good possibility that I don't want to know why she called,
either.
What I do know is this: I keep trying to let go
and I haven't lost my footing yet, but the trail is steep.
In another room, there have been comments
and brief messages, texts and otherwise.
Hardcore nerd flirting, I've been told. I'm a little dense,
though, and I don't know if She realizes that she is,
in fact, and truly finally sort of I think,
flirting.
And how I want that door to creak open.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
out/around
I think the biggest struggle is this:
Because of the slight mania, the bipolar, the constant ups and downs,
I don't know what was real.
Were the words real? The promises? The pleas?
I don't think a smile could be fake- not that one,
not the way her eyes crinkled and danced all at once,
or the way her cheeks looked like the might split.
I don't remember how many times I saw that smile,
but obviously it wasn't enough.
Because of the slight mania, the bipolar, the constant ups and downs,
I don't know what was real.
Were the words real? The promises? The pleas?
I don't think a smile could be fake- not that one,
not the way her eyes crinkled and danced all at once,
or the way her cheeks looked like the might split.
I don't remember how many times I saw that smile,
but obviously it wasn't enough.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
from the ground up
A.
things that do not work eventually shake themselves to an end. premeditated, sudden, belabored, abrupt, conscious, un, consequential, and not. there are pieces to retrieve, breaks and contours to smooth and reform. decimation can be beautiful.
B.
two and a half years. maybe a shade less. remember the two-ish months spent "apart" but "apart" is relative because there were phone calls, text messages, letters and notes. promises. pleads. forgiveness and still a shimmer of animosity threading through my being. i know hurt when it drapes itself over me.
C.
and the miles follow me, still. up and down the east coast. where was home? not even my heart ever knew.
D.
the thing is: i always loved you. i fell hard and fast, and we dove into each other with such tremulous passion- you would have thought, anyone would, that there had never been a love so great. but what was great was sickened with a deteriorating disease. and i never knew because love is blind and i can't see for shit anyway.
E.
clearly.
F.
you told me (i remember this day clearly: bravo and usa, park slope, trouble) that you would never do what she had done to me. but you lied. what you did was worse. you knew you were falling apart and you were too selfish to let me go.
G.
and you told me the other night that i was weak for staying with you, weak for loving you through all of that mind-bending-landmine bipolar s&m, weak for hoping and persisting. somehow, i'd thought i was consistent and steady, stable. that's what you want, you know. the very things i am: that is what you want, and you sucked the fucking life out from every conceivable pore of my body but you don't understand-- you didn't kill me.
H.
i am still breathing.
I.
you told me you blamed me for us falling apart, and you just had to put your foot down because you were "losing [your] mind" because i didn't know where i wanted to be next year. this is the second time you've blamed me for losing your mind. remember that time, of course you do, that you called me and ripped me apart for everything you'd always said didn't bother you-- and then i told you i couldn't do this anymore (there was nothing left to give, nothing more to do), and weeks later, you told me you stopped taking your medication because it had wiped out your sex drive, and you didn't want me to complain about not having sex anymore. see that, how you did that? how you always manage to shift the blame onto me because you can't bear to acknowledge or accept your contribution to the colossal amounts of manipulative, hypocritical bullshit that toured us through over two years of what someone may have mistakenly called a relationship?
J.
two days after you blamed me, last week, you started text messaging me. because you know the longer you wait, the stronger i get, the less chance you have of worming back in. the last message you sent me, from thursday afternoon: you have my heart and i hope you know that.
K.
i could have said: "you made it quite clear you don't want to be with me, so why leave your heart with me? obviously i will mistreat it and you will blame me, more, for things that are not my fault." or: "you broke my heart and i hope you know that." or: "fuck off." or: "AND?" or: "take it the fuck back."
L.
i didn't respond.
M.
don't get me wrong: there was beauty between us. there was a connection that wouldn't be ignored, no matter the physical distance, or the emotional (most of the time; i've never mastered the art of dating a self-absorbed robot). there was love there. and i was happy when i knew i had nothing to worry about.
N.
maybe that wasn't often enough. there were other people (and you went back and forth with your understanding of this-- what you said the other night suggests that you're aware they played a part in the downfall of us, but somehow we still see this in completely different ways). there was the distance- which you said was one of the best parts of our relationship (i usually hated it), but suddenly you couldn't handle it. literally overnight: you couldn't handle the distance. there were technicalities, there were personal misfires, there was the simple reality of not having common ground.
O.
the thing is, i miss the fact that i don't have someone. you were never (hardly ever) here, and there was a low emptiness rotting in my stomach because i lived an entirely independent life but had a girlfriend. i understand long distance, but i don't understand being pushed away and shut out so you could, essentially, test the waters-- both of my willingness to stay (weakness, you'd now call it) and your ability or lack thereof to turn off the switch for loving me.
P.
i don't know how you feel now. and i don't know what you're doing. i wish i could stop caring.
Q.
the mania is running from my life, and it's startling to realize that i'm still here. without the chaos, i'm whole. complete. i didn't, and don't, need you. and if this is how you choose to live your life (no forward progress, stagnancy, far-fetched visions of reality, perhaps unknowingly comparing my commitment to shades of bizarro-land around you, on and off of medication, not knowing how to ask for help, wanting someone to be with you to take care of you): i am so not the girl you wanted me to be.
R.
years move on and i don’t deny / the choice i made or your reasons why / but this cluttered heart is the tie that binds / me to the broken new york skyline / we might have had the right idea / but it never got off the ground / we were so close, we were there almost / now I can barely hear the sound / the sun is high, we walk slow / you’ve gone ahead, i’m flying solo / what i crave I would never show / on your birthday one new york ago
things that do not work eventually shake themselves to an end. premeditated, sudden, belabored, abrupt, conscious, un, consequential, and not. there are pieces to retrieve, breaks and contours to smooth and reform. decimation can be beautiful.
B.
two and a half years. maybe a shade less. remember the two-ish months spent "apart" but "apart" is relative because there were phone calls, text messages, letters and notes. promises. pleads. forgiveness and still a shimmer of animosity threading through my being. i know hurt when it drapes itself over me.
C.
and the miles follow me, still. up and down the east coast. where was home? not even my heart ever knew.
D.
the thing is: i always loved you. i fell hard and fast, and we dove into each other with such tremulous passion- you would have thought, anyone would, that there had never been a love so great. but what was great was sickened with a deteriorating disease. and i never knew because love is blind and i can't see for shit anyway.
E.
clearly.
F.
you told me (i remember this day clearly: bravo and usa, park slope, trouble) that you would never do what she had done to me. but you lied. what you did was worse. you knew you were falling apart and you were too selfish to let me go.
G.
and you told me the other night that i was weak for staying with you, weak for loving you through all of that mind-bending-landmine bipolar s&m, weak for hoping and persisting. somehow, i'd thought i was consistent and steady, stable. that's what you want, you know. the very things i am: that is what you want, and you sucked the fucking life out from every conceivable pore of my body but you don't understand-- you didn't kill me.
H.
i am still breathing.
I.
you told me you blamed me for us falling apart, and you just had to put your foot down because you were "losing [your] mind" because i didn't know where i wanted to be next year. this is the second time you've blamed me for losing your mind. remember that time, of course you do, that you called me and ripped me apart for everything you'd always said didn't bother you-- and then i told you i couldn't do this anymore (there was nothing left to give, nothing more to do), and weeks later, you told me you stopped taking your medication because it had wiped out your sex drive, and you didn't want me to complain about not having sex anymore. see that, how you did that? how you always manage to shift the blame onto me because you can't bear to acknowledge or accept your contribution to the colossal amounts of manipulative, hypocritical bullshit that toured us through over two years of what someone may have mistakenly called a relationship?
J.
two days after you blamed me, last week, you started text messaging me. because you know the longer you wait, the stronger i get, the less chance you have of worming back in. the last message you sent me, from thursday afternoon: you have my heart and i hope you know that.
K.
i could have said: "you made it quite clear you don't want to be with me, so why leave your heart with me? obviously i will mistreat it and you will blame me, more, for things that are not my fault." or: "you broke my heart and i hope you know that." or: "fuck off." or: "AND?" or: "take it the fuck back."
L.
i didn't respond.
M.
don't get me wrong: there was beauty between us. there was a connection that wouldn't be ignored, no matter the physical distance, or the emotional (most of the time; i've never mastered the art of dating a self-absorbed robot). there was love there. and i was happy when i knew i had nothing to worry about.
N.
maybe that wasn't often enough. there were other people (and you went back and forth with your understanding of this-- what you said the other night suggests that you're aware they played a part in the downfall of us, but somehow we still see this in completely different ways). there was the distance- which you said was one of the best parts of our relationship (i usually hated it), but suddenly you couldn't handle it. literally overnight: you couldn't handle the distance. there were technicalities, there were personal misfires, there was the simple reality of not having common ground.
O.
the thing is, i miss the fact that i don't have someone. you were never (hardly ever) here, and there was a low emptiness rotting in my stomach because i lived an entirely independent life but had a girlfriend. i understand long distance, but i don't understand being pushed away and shut out so you could, essentially, test the waters-- both of my willingness to stay (weakness, you'd now call it) and your ability or lack thereof to turn off the switch for loving me.
P.
i don't know how you feel now. and i don't know what you're doing. i wish i could stop caring.
Q.
the mania is running from my life, and it's startling to realize that i'm still here. without the chaos, i'm whole. complete. i didn't, and don't, need you. and if this is how you choose to live your life (no forward progress, stagnancy, far-fetched visions of reality, perhaps unknowingly comparing my commitment to shades of bizarro-land around you, on and off of medication, not knowing how to ask for help, wanting someone to be with you to take care of you): i am so not the girl you wanted me to be.
R.
years move on and i don’t deny / the choice i made or your reasons why / but this cluttered heart is the tie that binds / me to the broken new york skyline / we might have had the right idea / but it never got off the ground / we were so close, we were there almost / now I can barely hear the sound / the sun is high, we walk slow / you’ve gone ahead, i’m flying solo / what i crave I would never show / on your birthday one new york ago
Saturday, November 08, 2008
over, part II
i don't want to start this day in tears,
no need for a carryover from last night.
it's not that this isn't worth crying over
because the pain is palpable and the anxiety
is stretching my gut to explosive small beads
that bound from interior wall to blood stream,
an overtly familiar ache and swell
that brings zero comfort. but you have to understand
that i have cried entirely too many tears:
warranted and perhaps not (those shaken to creation
by the ping and crash of my mind)
and i know i shouldn't care
but i hope she is crying more.
she hasn't called
or anything, really. and i don't want to confess
that i am surprised/angry/mildly crushed
that she hasn't tried to lure me back. i am pretty certain
i would like to run away from myself.
but a fairy told me last night:
you are going to find someone so good for you. they
are getting ready now in their life too. and everything
happens for a reason.
--and i have no choice but to believe her
because i want to at least hope it's true.
i am simply having trouble understanding
how two weeks ago she talked about us getting married
and three days ago she told me she loved me
and wanted to see me this weekend
and then three nights ago
she told me she wants to start her life with someone
and after us working toward that for two and a half years
with a heart-wrenching 6 hr distance between us
she doesn't see us going anywhere and
it's over.
i knew it was coming.
i wish that meant it hurt less. and i wish that meant
i didn't care.
no need for a carryover from last night.
it's not that this isn't worth crying over
because the pain is palpable and the anxiety
is stretching my gut to explosive small beads
that bound from interior wall to blood stream,
an overtly familiar ache and swell
that brings zero comfort. but you have to understand
that i have cried entirely too many tears:
warranted and perhaps not (those shaken to creation
by the ping and crash of my mind)
and i know i shouldn't care
but i hope she is crying more.
she hasn't called
or anything, really. and i don't want to confess
that i am surprised/angry/mildly crushed
that she hasn't tried to lure me back. i am pretty certain
i would like to run away from myself.
but a fairy told me last night:
you are going to find someone so good for you. they
are getting ready now in their life too. and everything
happens for a reason.
--and i have no choice but to believe her
because i want to at least hope it's true.
i am simply having trouble understanding
how two weeks ago she talked about us getting married
and three days ago she told me she loved me
and wanted to see me this weekend
and then three nights ago
she told me she wants to start her life with someone
and after us working toward that for two and a half years
with a heart-wrenching 6 hr distance between us
she doesn't see us going anywhere and
it's over.
i knew it was coming.
i wish that meant it hurt less. and i wish that meant
i didn't care.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
measuring love+loss
the thing about me is that i don't know
when to stop.
case in point:
i am watching "titanic"
and my heart is swollen into my stomach,
this crushing ache of loss that i've never experienced,
loss and debilitating love
that i haven't yet touched.
and when it comes down to it, i will take the love
and leave the loss
because my heart is unsteady
and my brain works too fast
to keep up with my mouth
and everything i am is sometimes
equal to a mirror stuffed with disaster.
and i could turn the tv off
or just change the fucking channel
but, no. i'm sitting here
with tear-stained cheeks-- my own sense of loss
chafing the cinematic overture of disaster.
my soul, it needed to purge.
the boat split in half
and my heart salts its fissures.
she was so tired on the phone earlier- tired from life,
from the weekend, of me (i've no doubt).
she said she didn't want to "sit at home and stew"
but she couldn't tell me what she was stewing over.
and i think it is probably me/us
because we are sickened by the pull of gravity,
just like these black and white moon-beamed bodies
are falling to an ice-capped death--
and there is nothing to hold onto.
if her hand was here
i would take it into mine.
but it's nearly 400 miles away; my hands just finished
working on my grad work for the week,
and hers are resting at a concert.
resting/fidgeting because she cannot
be still.
jack doesn't survive but i
always do.
when to stop.
case in point:
i am watching "titanic"
and my heart is swollen into my stomach,
this crushing ache of loss that i've never experienced,
loss and debilitating love
that i haven't yet touched.
and when it comes down to it, i will take the love
and leave the loss
because my heart is unsteady
and my brain works too fast
to keep up with my mouth
and everything i am is sometimes
equal to a mirror stuffed with disaster.
and i could turn the tv off
or just change the fucking channel
but, no. i'm sitting here
with tear-stained cheeks-- my own sense of loss
chafing the cinematic overture of disaster.
my soul, it needed to purge.
the boat split in half
and my heart salts its fissures.
she was so tired on the phone earlier- tired from life,
from the weekend, of me (i've no doubt).
she said she didn't want to "sit at home and stew"
but she couldn't tell me what she was stewing over.
and i think it is probably me/us
because we are sickened by the pull of gravity,
just like these black and white moon-beamed bodies
are falling to an ice-capped death--
and there is nothing to hold onto.
if her hand was here
i would take it into mine.
but it's nearly 400 miles away; my hands just finished
working on my grad work for the week,
and hers are resting at a concert.
resting/fidgeting because she cannot
be still.
jack doesn't survive but i
always do.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
be still / anyone can see
I cannot see myself the way that
you see me. And I do not want to, because
I am unfamiliar with the taciturn reactions
and blood-whittled avoidances.
And sadness avoids me where frustration
causes over, tricking through wind eroded
shatters in my skin, shards of emptiness filtering
past photo album inconsistencies.
I can't give up on love
but love has run from me, its nightmare ribbons
trailing through abandoned hallways,
turning over blurred photocopies. If I relied on emotion,
I would cry over the phone, belabor my lingering
insecurities, and aim for sealing the cracks with dried
saliva. But I have lost my tears to something less palpable,
something less worth my time. Where you remain
is a vast horizon, one littered with trepidation
and senseless reprieve, one I cannot reach
nor see.
you see me. And I do not want to, because
I am unfamiliar with the taciturn reactions
and blood-whittled avoidances.
And sadness avoids me where frustration
causes over, tricking through wind eroded
shatters in my skin, shards of emptiness filtering
past photo album inconsistencies.
I can't give up on love
but love has run from me, its nightmare ribbons
trailing through abandoned hallways,
turning over blurred photocopies. If I relied on emotion,
I would cry over the phone, belabor my lingering
insecurities, and aim for sealing the cracks with dried
saliva. But I have lost my tears to something less palpable,
something less worth my time. Where you remain
is a vast horizon, one littered with trepidation
and senseless reprieve, one I cannot reach
nor see.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
everything is bigger than me, even stars, even dreams
Earlier this evening, I was sitting in my favorite courtyard downtown, and we have such a love/hate relationship, me and that courtyard. I love it most in the summer, when the sun is trickling down through the arching tree branches that act like a leaky roof- ineffective but beautiful nonetheless. But then I hate it most in the summer, specifically the first week of August, when it's overrun with locals and visitors and the stale sticky smell of spilled beer clashes with the terribly appetizing odor of all things fried food. & I hate it when these strangers, so foreign, trample through without recognizing an inch of the beauty in that courtyard, and yet I can't hold them responsible because you can barely see the history through the retina-burning colored tents, nor can you take your eyes off of the parade of sometimes horrifyingly clad people weaving over the bricks and around the trees and stray chairs.
I was sitting there, ignoring the pressing crowd around me, filtering through the rinse cycle in my brain. I was thinking about how I'd seen AC again today, how she'd smiled big and waved from across the street, looking dangerously cute as usual, but that's where it ended. & I was thinking about the lesbians, god they were out in droves today. Everywhere. But they weren't cute, and I was feeling disheartened as I always do when I see large groups of unattractive lesbians. It's so common, that train of thought-- "I'm going to be alone forever because the women that I find attractive are either A) horrible for me, or B) seemingly unattainable." So I started to feel pathetic for a hot minute, but then I remembered all of the options I have, like the nervous ability to transfer my skills to a different city, a different state, even a different country.
I have three friends that uprooted their lives, moved respectively to Wisconsin, Virginia/DC, and California. All three moved for professional reasons; two for jobs, one for working on her MBA. All three moved without attachments to any sort of attraction or romance. In fact, two of them moved from my area and both had dated me, at separate times (different years, actually), but neither was involved with me when she moved. The possibilities, for each of them, were limitless. They had no ties of the heart to contend with. They went, and they did. Not surprisingly, all three of them found love in the places that they moved to. They unearthed, uprooted, and discovered. My envy is tangible.
It's especially resonant now because one of those friends, the one who is currently living in California, is in town for a couple of weeks and we're planning on catching up this week. I can already hear what she's going to tell me- nothing I haven't already whispered to myself- about my job, my life, my romantic endeavors, and my unfailing like for the Obscure Object. Because we've had so many similar conversations in the past, even when she was trying to get in my pants, I can hear her tone of voice, hear the exact words she'll say. Comforting and scary. She's usually right. Sometimes I forget about how she asked me to drop everything and move to California with her. Sometimes I forget about how stubborn I can be.
The thoughts have waned now. It's one of my tragic downfalls. I write a novel in my head but can't get it out quick enough, and then it strings into pieces and disappears.
I'll see the Obscure Object tomorrow. I tried to force myself to write today, but I argued with myself. Again. Because I can't yet let go of what's in my head. Because I can't look her in the eye without feeling a porcupine scamper through my lungs. Because I don't even know what's real anymore.
I was sitting there, ignoring the pressing crowd around me, filtering through the rinse cycle in my brain. I was thinking about how I'd seen AC again today, how she'd smiled big and waved from across the street, looking dangerously cute as usual, but that's where it ended. & I was thinking about the lesbians, god they were out in droves today. Everywhere. But they weren't cute, and I was feeling disheartened as I always do when I see large groups of unattractive lesbians. It's so common, that train of thought-- "I'm going to be alone forever because the women that I find attractive are either A) horrible for me, or B) seemingly unattainable." So I started to feel pathetic for a hot minute, but then I remembered all of the options I have, like the nervous ability to transfer my skills to a different city, a different state, even a different country.
I have three friends that uprooted their lives, moved respectively to Wisconsin, Virginia/DC, and California. All three moved for professional reasons; two for jobs, one for working on her MBA. All three moved without attachments to any sort of attraction or romance. In fact, two of them moved from my area and both had dated me, at separate times (different years, actually), but neither was involved with me when she moved. The possibilities, for each of them, were limitless. They had no ties of the heart to contend with. They went, and they did. Not surprisingly, all three of them found love in the places that they moved to. They unearthed, uprooted, and discovered. My envy is tangible.
It's especially resonant now because one of those friends, the one who is currently living in California, is in town for a couple of weeks and we're planning on catching up this week. I can already hear what she's going to tell me- nothing I haven't already whispered to myself- about my job, my life, my romantic endeavors, and my unfailing like for the Obscure Object. Because we've had so many similar conversations in the past, even when she was trying to get in my pants, I can hear her tone of voice, hear the exact words she'll say. Comforting and scary. She's usually right. Sometimes I forget about how she asked me to drop everything and move to California with her. Sometimes I forget about how stubborn I can be.
The thoughts have waned now. It's one of my tragic downfalls. I write a novel in my head but can't get it out quick enough, and then it strings into pieces and disappears.
I'll see the Obscure Object tomorrow. I tried to force myself to write today, but I argued with myself. Again. Because I can't yet let go of what's in my head. Because I can't look her in the eye without feeling a porcupine scamper through my lungs. Because I don't even know what's real anymore.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
subtle imperfections / i think i know too much
http://newyork.craigslist.org/brk/abo/768961969.html
I'd like that. Like, now. I'd need a roommate though, and it'd have to be someone as modestly introverted as I am. And it'd have to not be someone currently in my life who also wants to make the shift to true city life (because this "city/town" that I live in now is pushing the limits of wanting to be bigger than it really is).
Slowly, I'm allowing myself to realize that my tendency of feeling boxed-in and claustrophobic, though bizarrely comforting at times, is unhealthy and can only be remedied by uprooting this life.
I came into this summer with high hopes of: remaining single, keeping my head above water, Figuring Things Out, getting lost in New England (mainly Maine), writing, organizing my life, bettering my soul. It hasn't really panned out to any of those accomplishments, and I didn't think those were lofty goals, really. Totally attainable. But I should have known myself better.
I allowed myself to be lured back into my formerly dismantled relationship; we broke apart for all of 2 months, maybe. I went back in with these outrageous expectations and not even a month later, I'm already disenchanted. Bitter, too, I think. And yet, because I am who I am (a part-time eternal optimist/total closet masochist), I've stayed/persevered and continue to try and make it work. Probably, I A) should not have allowed this to happen, B) should not tough it out, and C) am a slight moron in the heart area.
While I have completed significant beach time, I haven't ventured to Maine, which's completely sad because I haven't been there in ten years. Or eleven? Last time I was there, I had a boyfriend instead of a boifriend (and I've never said that out loud but one of my exes refers to herself as a "boi" so it's only fair that I lump her into that terminology; she'd like it if she wasn't busy sending me text messages about how she hopes I'm happy that I'm a liar, but I've no fucking clue what I'm lying about especially if I haven't spoken to her in three weeks), had long hair, and wore a lot of striped shirts from The Gap. Maine is beautiful and prime for escapism; the kind with brilliant mountains and ankle-numbing wisps of waves. Also, lots of rocks and lobster, but I'm not the seafood type.
I'm not sure what exactly I thought I would Figure Out over the summer (and I love how I keep writing as though the summer is over when it's not even August yet), but it probably had something to do with:
1. The Former Ex, Now Current Again
2. The 5 Years Ago Ex, recently resurrected Something, now thinks I'm a Liar and is a WTF Nothing
3. The Persistent Infatuation/Never Gonna Get It
4. Non-heart/libido things like my job, where else I want to get certified, where I can transfer to finish grad school
5. My Work with the Keyboard/Pen, which has been completely nonexistent since, actually, I shoved off #2 and gave #1 the means to enter stage left
About that #5... I don't know why it's so hard for me to write when I'm feeling mostly normal. And "normal," of course, is such a loose term for semi-okay-not-crushed-&-incapacitated-by-tedious-affairs-of-the-heart-&-libido. My dad is forever telling me that I'm dramatic/a good writer, but he seems incapable of putting together the equation. In order to be a good writer, I have to have a good imagination, which therefore lends an artistic and perhaps exaggerated perspective when dealing with/manipulating data in my everyday life. I'm not dramatic; I simply like to react (usually), embellish (sometimes), and have a wide variety of facial expressions that generally do not include casual/constant smiles. Why I struggle with taking the hideous normalcy of my life and turning it into something creative, I so don't know.
What I can do in these dwindling days of my summer freedom is attack with vengeance the possibilities that are accessible to me. Totally possible. And yet, kind of improbable. Which's lame.
I'd like that. Like, now. I'd need a roommate though, and it'd have to be someone as modestly introverted as I am. And it'd have to not be someone currently in my life who also wants to make the shift to true city life (because this "city/town" that I live in now is pushing the limits of wanting to be bigger than it really is).
Slowly, I'm allowing myself to realize that my tendency of feeling boxed-in and claustrophobic, though bizarrely comforting at times, is unhealthy and can only be remedied by uprooting this life.
I came into this summer with high hopes of: remaining single, keeping my head above water, Figuring Things Out, getting lost in New England (mainly Maine), writing, organizing my life, bettering my soul. It hasn't really panned out to any of those accomplishments, and I didn't think those were lofty goals, really. Totally attainable. But I should have known myself better.
I allowed myself to be lured back into my formerly dismantled relationship; we broke apart for all of 2 months, maybe. I went back in with these outrageous expectations and not even a month later, I'm already disenchanted. Bitter, too, I think. And yet, because I am who I am (a part-time eternal optimist/total closet masochist), I've stayed/persevered and continue to try and make it work. Probably, I A) should not have allowed this to happen, B) should not tough it out, and C) am a slight moron in the heart area.
While I have completed significant beach time, I haven't ventured to Maine, which's completely sad because I haven't been there in ten years. Or eleven? Last time I was there, I had a boyfriend instead of a boifriend (and I've never said that out loud but one of my exes refers to herself as a "boi" so it's only fair that I lump her into that terminology; she'd like it if she wasn't busy sending me text messages about how she hopes I'm happy that I'm a liar, but I've no fucking clue what I'm lying about especially if I haven't spoken to her in three weeks), had long hair, and wore a lot of striped shirts from The Gap. Maine is beautiful and prime for escapism; the kind with brilliant mountains and ankle-numbing wisps of waves. Also, lots of rocks and lobster, but I'm not the seafood type.
I'm not sure what exactly I thought I would Figure Out over the summer (and I love how I keep writing as though the summer is over when it's not even August yet), but it probably had something to do with:
1. The Former Ex, Now Current Again
2. The 5 Years Ago Ex, recently resurrected Something, now thinks I'm a Liar and is a WTF Nothing
3. The Persistent Infatuation/Never Gonna Get It
4. Non-heart/libido things like my job, where else I want to get certified, where I can transfer to finish grad school
5. My Work with the Keyboard/Pen, which has been completely nonexistent since, actually, I shoved off #2 and gave #1 the means to enter stage left
About that #5... I don't know why it's so hard for me to write when I'm feeling mostly normal. And "normal," of course, is such a loose term for semi-okay-not-crushed-&-incapacitated-by-tedious-affairs-of-the-heart-&-libido. My dad is forever telling me that I'm dramatic/a good writer, but he seems incapable of putting together the equation. In order to be a good writer, I have to have a good imagination, which therefore lends an artistic and perhaps exaggerated perspective when dealing with/manipulating data in my everyday life. I'm not dramatic; I simply like to react (usually), embellish (sometimes), and have a wide variety of facial expressions that generally do not include casual/constant smiles. Why I struggle with taking the hideous normalcy of my life and turning it into something creative, I so don't know.
What I can do in these dwindling days of my summer freedom is attack with vengeance the possibilities that are accessible to me. Totally possible. And yet, kind of improbable. Which's lame.
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