6:26 pm: Commence live-blogging of my night with plastic cups, wine, and maybe a Xanax because my neck still hurts and I can't seem to release its tension. I just purchased $63 of wine. No, I will not drink it all by myself in one night. See how I did that? Added that qualifier__ in one night. Amazing!
So here's what's going on. I'm dating myself. I've done this before; it's a great way to prepare myself for something/one. Not that I'm actively doing that. Slyly. Because the sky's cloudy. It's peppered with flecks of sunlight but I see lightning, too. Do I ever not speak in metaphors? I mean, seriously.a
For the record, I'm drinking out of a yellow plastic cup from Mama Kwan's in Kill Devil Hills, NC. Mama Kwan's is in Kill Devil Hills, that is. Not me. I'm in fucking blustery Northeast wherever.
Last night, I went to see Girlyman. Probably one of the most amazing Girly shows I've seen- and I've seen them, easily, 12 times. This is the fourth time I've seen them where I saw them last night, and I love it there because it's so incredibly small & therefore intimate. Love love love.
When I left, I realized I didn't want to talk to anyone. I was suppose to meet my friends, out. I didn't. I do that a lot. I went home instead and couldn't care less.
6:32 pm: My plastic cup is empty. I don't really wish I could say that my heart is empty. Because it's not. It's alive.
6:34 pm: Glass half-full; just killed the Blue Fish ... Riesling, I think. It was mostly killed from that night last week. The hot one. I don't think I drank any of it, then.
When I went to refill my glass NO MY CUP MY PLASTIC CUP, I found my black & white cat on top of the refrigerator. Convinced she was trying to steal my food. Asshole.
6:43 pm: I'm fine all day, I think of you at night. I. Love. Girlyman. When they played "Hey Rose" last night, which I totally quoted after aforementioned hotness of nights, Ty said: "This is my don't-knock-it-till-you-try- it song." KNEW IT. So appropo.
6:50 pm: Okay, let's talk about Vermont for a minute. "Everything's Easy" sometimes makes my heart jump a little, nothing major anymore. But I always think of Great Lakes when I hear this song. Obviously. I think it's really fucking great that I don't miss her. I also think it's really fucking great that I learned a lot from that relationship-- things that I will carry with me for a very long time.
What I find "not great" is the fact that my heart is so goddamn brittle. I don't particularly want to love anyone but that's almost a lie but anyway. Trust is a huge, huge thing for me now. I don't know how to trust anyone with my body, with my heart, with my anything. So I build these awesomely towering walls and push people off whenever they get too close to the top. I've done that a lot since, um, April. I don't really want to let anyone in. Okay, so that's a lie, too, but the truth: I don't want to let just anyone in.
What I also find "not great" is how I still want to punch that cunt directly in her lying psychotic face. Let it go, woman. Let it the fuck go.
6:58 pm: My plastic cup hath emptied itself. Again. I hope the next victim is cold enough for consumption.
7:10 pm: I finished the last bit of the Blue Fish-- which was actually a Pinot Grigio. Just opened the Yellow Tail Riesling. I think I preferred the Pinot.
Here's something I have some feelings about- this song: "Sleeping to Dream." It was played recently, after a night that I would like to call the Missed Opportunity of 2009 that Later Turned Into the Great Night of Holy Shit You Kiss Like You Mean It of a Few Days Later 2009. SO about that.
I have a lot of feelings about this, obvs, because I'm not suppose to have feelings about it, so of course I have feelings about it. That's how I roll, friends. That "not suppose to have feelings" part comes from a conversation that one or both parties may have muddied in the week that has passed due to wine and rationalization, however, it was said: No Feelings. Well guess what.
Wait, I have feelings about suppose. Is it supposed or suppose? I feel confused. Let's talk. I mean it. Not in that "we need to talk" doomsday way, but: let's talk. Let's lay it on the table with our hands (do you remember reaching for my hand?) and our words (we have plenty of those but mine tangle away whenever you're around but you talk a lot, especially after some wine, and I think that fucking rules I am sooo ordering a pizza in like 10 minutes). OH JESUS CHRIST GUESS WHAT JUST CAME ON MY iTUNES. I don't know why it's so hard to consider this
But back to my feelings about SLEEPING TO DREAM. I really liked waking up next to you. I liked waking up in those 2ish hours of sleep from near-daybreak to dawn when our arms were smashed together, sticking together actually, and I didn't want to peel away and you know what I don't think you did, either. Because you didn't.
7:17 pm: RT @TheDailyLove: If you want to move forward, forgive yourself, forgive them, accept that it happened, and learn from it & move. No moping.
Also: love Catie Curtis' "Strange."
7:31 pm: I want you. Yes, you. You know exactly who you are.
It's 7:44 pm and I'm drunk. DAMMIT! So. Want. Her. In. My. Bed. Right. Now. And may be drunk enough (hah not really) to text that.
8:02 pm: BBM from me to K --> Godfuckingdammit I **** **r
K responds: I know
I just ordered a pizza
HI DEEJ!!!!
8:14 pm: Eagles/Cowboys on the teevee behind me. Gino just Fbook im'd me re: my crush.
Let's talk about My Crush. She is beautiful. Singularly beautiful. She is such a ridiculously cool woman. We have a lot in common. We're compatible. I think she's wicked hot. I don't exactly know how she feels about me. I try super-hard to have zero expectations, and I do mostly okay with that, but listen, about those feelings: I cannot lie, here. I have feelings.
8:59 pm: Okay, everyone. I have consumed some pizza and decided that DEEJ and I are getting married, so I hope no one is offended by that. If you are, you better fucking speak up.
But, okay, truth: I cannot marry Deej when I so obviously want someone else. Deej, I adore you. And if things cease to exist between me & the Obscure Object, you know, we will fucking run away and be amazing together. :-)
I should stop drinking wine now because my stomach hurts already. WOW amateur.
But anyway, about those Feelings That I Said I Don't Have. I lied.
I was just told that if I didn't have feelings, I'd be a cold-hearted bitch. Which is for sure the truth, but the person that told me that doesn't know what I'm talking about, so...
Dear You:
I find you to be completely fucking amazing. I know you don't like hearing that- you seem to not know how to take compliments- but you are beautiful. Every inch of you: beautiful.
The parts of you that you don't like: beautiful.
I could, and will, luxuriate there all day/night/ever.
I wish you were here now.
Listen, seriously, I know I said I don't want feelings involved but I think you know I already have them. And I don't feel like hiding them. But I do because I'm doing this thing where I sit back and be "cool" while you process or do whateverthefuck it is but hang on my bff is here and she is kidnapping me so I have to go.
Showing posts with label the music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the music. Show all posts
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
making you out of everything
I think I'm ready to write our story now-- the story that exists between the thick lines of my mind, the one that rattles me awake in the sleep of night and the break of day. Write it as we are and everything we could be.
I saw you today, first time in too long I think, and those eyes, that little smile, your hands your everything. I lose it every time. And I mumbled because I was afraid to open my mouth too wide, and then you just stood there and talked to me and we rapid fired yes no back and forth like it was water slipping through river rocks and if we'd been alone, I can't promise you that I wouldn't have touched you. (But actually, I could promise that I wouldn't have touched you because I still haven't seen the blink of the green light, and without that- I sit still.) What always, always gets me with you is the way you won't look away when you're talking to me. Eye to eye, word to word, hidden meaning to supressed wonder.
One solitary finger to finger brush in the passing of a tiny tome of sound. Accidental and beautiful. Miniscule, too. But your smile, your eyes, your fucking everything. I flush into dust the moment you appear. I'm not yet sure if this is good or bad. I'm not yet sure if you've started to realize anything.
Yes, this is floating in my head, chord and rhyme tangled in what ifs. Yes, I am making you a response.
If you were for me, I would never let you go.
I saw you today, first time in too long I think, and those eyes, that little smile, your hands your everything. I lose it every time. And I mumbled because I was afraid to open my mouth too wide, and then you just stood there and talked to me and we rapid fired yes no back and forth like it was water slipping through river rocks and if we'd been alone, I can't promise you that I wouldn't have touched you. (But actually, I could promise that I wouldn't have touched you because I still haven't seen the blink of the green light, and without that- I sit still.) What always, always gets me with you is the way you won't look away when you're talking to me. Eye to eye, word to word, hidden meaning to supressed wonder.
One solitary finger to finger brush in the passing of a tiny tome of sound. Accidental and beautiful. Miniscule, too. But your smile, your eyes, your fucking everything. I flush into dust the moment you appear. I'm not yet sure if this is good or bad. I'm not yet sure if you've started to realize anything.
Yes, this is floating in my head, chord and rhyme tangled in what ifs. Yes, I am making you a response.
If you were for me, I would never let you go.
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.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
farewell... to the old me
but there's a catch-- i can't bring myself to see
who i am, and i sense that's because
i'm not entirely sure who i am
these days, especially compared to who i've been
for the last almost three years. and i've come into my own
more than ever, but i've been thwarted and suffocated
beneath layers of lust-fed love (lust that was
flotsam on her stripped floorboards: the first to go
overboard when there was no room left to breathe).
i've been misled and tangled. and she said she lost herself
but she never had herself. i did.
and i haven't relocated the lost fragments yet.
but this is all part of the process and there is space to fall
to realign and trip and repose. i am with no one but myself.
no one's rules but my own. no mind to challenge but my own,
no muscles to flex but the ones i've lately neglected. and the thing is:
i don't want anyone else's anything in my everything. i just want
me.
so the search begins for the roots
of who i am. and strength supercedes the will to look back,
a sinewed stretch forward instead. this is what
i have: mind, body, soul.
education: completed and continuing.
career: a job, multiple certificates, summers off, opportunities elsewhere.
family: solid. supportive. inspiring. fucking funny.
friends: waxy but tangible. some closer, some better,
some here just for distraction and entertainment.
car & home. solitude. space to live.
words to craft, words to refine.
my health.
my will and tenacity. my inherant stubborn nature.
my easy smile and (over)active mind.
and i have my own possibility: endless, unmapped, uncharted, infinite.
i basked in beautiful noise last night. i'd marry the former in a
heartbeat... the curved beauty, incredible voice, obvious and endearing
slightly self-deprecating humor. and she carries a slightly surreal
resemblance to the woman who has blindly carried the pulse of my heart
for close to three years.
there are moments, too few for my liking, where i realize that
i am exactly where i am supposed to be. unattached. healing.
deeply introspective (perhaps too much at times).
rolling in intensity. fumbling to rediscover myself.
aware. awake. shaken, stirred, overflowing.
real. selfish. spiked with shards of happiness
mixed with stripes of anger/disbelief/sadness/hurt.
recovering. breathing. inhale, exhale, close your eyes.
unravelling neatly and retying with each step and signal.
i'll get where i need to be. it may not be where i think i should go
but it will be where i'm supposed to be, and when i'm supposed
to be there.
that's all i know.
who i am, and i sense that's because
i'm not entirely sure who i am
these days, especially compared to who i've been
for the last almost three years. and i've come into my own
more than ever, but i've been thwarted and suffocated
beneath layers of lust-fed love (lust that was
flotsam on her stripped floorboards: the first to go
overboard when there was no room left to breathe).
i've been misled and tangled. and she said she lost herself
but she never had herself. i did.
and i haven't relocated the lost fragments yet.
but this is all part of the process and there is space to fall
to realign and trip and repose. i am with no one but myself.
no one's rules but my own. no mind to challenge but my own,
no muscles to flex but the ones i've lately neglected. and the thing is:
i don't want anyone else's anything in my everything. i just want
me.
so the search begins for the roots
of who i am. and strength supercedes the will to look back,
a sinewed stretch forward instead. this is what
i have: mind, body, soul.
education: completed and continuing.
career: a job, multiple certificates, summers off, opportunities elsewhere.
family: solid. supportive. inspiring. fucking funny.
friends: waxy but tangible. some closer, some better,
some here just for distraction and entertainment.
car & home. solitude. space to live.
words to craft, words to refine.
my health.
my will and tenacity. my inherant stubborn nature.
my easy smile and (over)active mind.
and i have my own possibility: endless, unmapped, uncharted, infinite.
i basked in beautiful noise last night. i'd marry the former in a
heartbeat... the curved beauty, incredible voice, obvious and endearing
slightly self-deprecating humor. and she carries a slightly surreal
resemblance to the woman who has blindly carried the pulse of my heart
for close to three years.
there are moments, too few for my liking, where i realize that
i am exactly where i am supposed to be. unattached. healing.
deeply introspective (perhaps too much at times).
rolling in intensity. fumbling to rediscover myself.
aware. awake. shaken, stirred, overflowing.
real. selfish. spiked with shards of happiness
mixed with stripes of anger/disbelief/sadness/hurt.
recovering. breathing. inhale, exhale, close your eyes.
unravelling neatly and retying with each step and signal.
i'll get where i need to be. it may not be where i think i should go
but it will be where i'm supposed to be, and when i'm supposed
to be there.
that's all i know.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
sound mechanics
So much of who I am and what I've experienced is built around music.
Last week, she said she'd look them up, I said that's ridiculous how about I make you a cd of their music, she said absolutely and i'll find something for you. So I did. And she is.
Tonight, I'm caught up in not wanting to go to sleep. I'm stuck in the fluctuation of semi-flirtation and the collapsing of my still aching heart. I've been sifting thru my iTunes, pulling together a cd for A.M. and tossing songs into a playlist called 1_. I have a feeling I'll be making Her another cd, since this last one was business. & "business" has changed... which at first I was so not happy about, but now, I almost fully believe it's better this way.
I talked to my ex tonight. First time in, oh, a week. As much as I've been trying to avoid/cut off communication with her, she keeps worming in for various reasons. Wait, I lied. I talked to her earlier this week, and it was not pleasant. Tonight was only better in the sense that we weren't yelling at each other. Tonight made me cry. It was a closing of a door, her doing, despite her saying that she loves me very much and she's sorry for everything that's happened, and that she'll never love anyone like she loved me, and there's no one else, and she doesn't want to give her heart to anyone else. I'm not stupid; I know what happens when people move on. She caught me off guard with all of this, and she's Leaving, she said. For an indefinite period of time, to an indefinite place. If we were still together, she said, This Wouldn't Be Happening. This was a rift in our relationship; I never understood this part of her life. I still don't, but I don't have to try anymore. I cried tonight, though, because it was a bigger goodbye than we've ever had previously. And I'm going back and forth between believing her, and wondering if she did this/said this to get me to move on because she's moving on. I suspect the former, actually. It hurt. The whole thing hurt. And even if it is the latter, I really don't want to know, just as she said that she wouldn't write to me because she doesn't want to hear about me moving on.
I don't know what to make of that. Now I really can't wait to leave tomorrow. I have a weekend chock full of people who love me and who can set my head back where it's supposed to be.
All this, and She still swarms over me. Things have only intensified, in a sense, over the past month. She keeps me on my toes in a healthy way, which is a nice change. I'd swear she's flirting with me, but there is the gray area between "straight" women and gay women: sometimes the hets think flirting is safe. I don't necessarily think that She has absolutely no idea that I'm totally into her, but I doubt she comprehends the extent (and length) of my ... into-ness. She doesn't need to know as far as I'm concerned. I'm cool with this friends thing. The flirting, though? I'm not the only person who sees it. And that makes me wonder.
The songs I've thrown into 1_ are some of my favorites, songs I always try to pass onto whomever comes into my life. I've noticed myself being careful, though, because as much as I would love to stack this compilation with subliminal messages, I know better [looking at circumstances, mainly hers, as mine are open aside from my healing heart] than to test my limits like that. Cool & calm. Constant reminder.
I was going somewhere else with this, but I'm tired and lost it.
Last week, she said she'd look them up, I said that's ridiculous how about I make you a cd of their music, she said absolutely and i'll find something for you. So I did. And she is.
Tonight, I'm caught up in not wanting to go to sleep. I'm stuck in the fluctuation of semi-flirtation and the collapsing of my still aching heart. I've been sifting thru my iTunes, pulling together a cd for A.M. and tossing songs into a playlist called 1_. I have a feeling I'll be making Her another cd, since this last one was business. & "business" has changed... which at first I was so not happy about, but now, I almost fully believe it's better this way.
I talked to my ex tonight. First time in, oh, a week. As much as I've been trying to avoid/cut off communication with her, she keeps worming in for various reasons. Wait, I lied. I talked to her earlier this week, and it was not pleasant. Tonight was only better in the sense that we weren't yelling at each other. Tonight made me cry. It was a closing of a door, her doing, despite her saying that she loves me very much and she's sorry for everything that's happened, and that she'll never love anyone like she loved me, and there's no one else, and she doesn't want to give her heart to anyone else. I'm not stupid; I know what happens when people move on. She caught me off guard with all of this, and she's Leaving, she said. For an indefinite period of time, to an indefinite place. If we were still together, she said, This Wouldn't Be Happening. This was a rift in our relationship; I never understood this part of her life. I still don't, but I don't have to try anymore. I cried tonight, though, because it was a bigger goodbye than we've ever had previously. And I'm going back and forth between believing her, and wondering if she did this/said this to get me to move on because she's moving on. I suspect the former, actually. It hurt. The whole thing hurt. And even if it is the latter, I really don't want to know, just as she said that she wouldn't write to me because she doesn't want to hear about me moving on.
I don't know what to make of that. Now I really can't wait to leave tomorrow. I have a weekend chock full of people who love me and who can set my head back where it's supposed to be.
All this, and She still swarms over me. Things have only intensified, in a sense, over the past month. She keeps me on my toes in a healthy way, which is a nice change. I'd swear she's flirting with me, but there is the gray area between "straight" women and gay women: sometimes the hets think flirting is safe. I don't necessarily think that She has absolutely no idea that I'm totally into her, but I doubt she comprehends the extent (and length) of my ... into-ness. She doesn't need to know as far as I'm concerned. I'm cool with this friends thing. The flirting, though? I'm not the only person who sees it. And that makes me wonder.
The songs I've thrown into 1_ are some of my favorites, songs I always try to pass onto whomever comes into my life. I've noticed myself being careful, though, because as much as I would love to stack this compilation with subliminal messages, I know better [looking at circumstances, mainly hers, as mine are open aside from my healing heart] than to test my limits like that. Cool & calm. Constant reminder.
I was going somewhere else with this, but I'm tired and lost it.
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
Monday, October 06, 2008
and i was brave / but you didn't know
weeks ago, i went to see melissa ferrick.
and i feel in love with her opening act. it was easy
because she was self-deprecating and had a beautiful voice, lyrics
that flittered past skin-deep, penetrating pieces of fragments of my shattered
everything where nothing
could make sense but sense itself.
tonight is a night, for me, full of riesling and xanax
because i cannot clear my mind but more importantly
my jaw is throbbing and there is no escape
because every time i stop myself from clenching my teeth
i think of you
and then i clench again
and the pattern continues, unlocking all my memories
and all the could-bes and maybe might still becomes.
but i know you don't want me as i want you
and even if you do
the way you hide it could shake me for years (as i guess it
already has), decimate my every caustic sense, the things that
work and the ideas that float. and my skin
floats, my hands are full of helium and i have misplaced
my legs. i don't care past the image of you and me,
the rattled, makeshift escalated chorus of coulds and woulds.
and this is my right now.
this perpetual itching ache, the daggers deflecting my heart,
and the unsteady waiver of my hands, hours later.
because they shook for forty-three minutes after i told you
that we were writing poems in class, and it would be quiet. you were hiding (my
face to yours, our palms barely reaching- we are
so terrifyingly alike that it breaks me apart and rips me into shape-shifting
glued shards of you[me] who this is and who we want to be) and your presence
was visceral, tangible, a veritable shake
to the core, i cannot stop drinking this wine even though
my heart
has returned to my chest's cavity, to its rightful place,
limping back from its sometime residence near my toes.
i cannot tell if my heart:
does it soar or does it fall,
dilating and storming through my body at the mere shock
of seeing you before me.
i do not yet understand
what exactly it is about you-
if it IS something or if this is a magical prelude
i have designed in my psyche, an occupation away
from the dismantling servitude of reality. maybe i write
best when i am drunk on riesling and high on xanax, and maybe i write
just as terribly well when i am trembling in syntax
of maybe-love and could-be more than lust.
i have the right idea
but i cannot whisper its fragments into your ear
because we cannot get close enough to see
what all there is we harbor.
my boat is sanctioned in the deepest of lakes;
your yacht sings solo softly in the saturated sea.
we could meet in the middle, not your ground nor
mine. we could spin, there, ribbons of fairytale
and dip our toes into the dazzling wisps of water.
i could swim in you for days.
you startle my senses.
i have broken pens and letters over this deaf infatuation.
i was told to exorcise you from me. exorcise the demons, you wicked
angel. i laughed today.
and my god, your body. your rounding, warming, malleable form.
i cannot recall my first name because this person at the keyboard
is not who i think i ever am.
i said today that i would make you a powerpoint:
"reasons why you should love me." but love is deceit.
love you, i would. adore you, i would.
the powerpoint would have pictures, and i would write you
a poem.
because the obvious amount of poems that i have already crafted
for you is not obvious, because you don't know of them.
which, i guess, is why i told you today:
"come down. it's quiet. we write."
you didn't come down, and i knew you wouldn't, but it's for the best
because forty-three minutes later:
my hands still shook and my breath still evaded me
as my heart thumped into my ankles
and i wish i could tell you.
and i feel in love with her opening act. it was easy
because she was self-deprecating and had a beautiful voice, lyrics
that flittered past skin-deep, penetrating pieces of fragments of my shattered
everything where nothing
could make sense but sense itself.
tonight is a night, for me, full of riesling and xanax
because i cannot clear my mind but more importantly
my jaw is throbbing and there is no escape
because every time i stop myself from clenching my teeth
i think of you
and then i clench again
and the pattern continues, unlocking all my memories
and all the could-bes and maybe might still becomes.
but i know you don't want me as i want you
and even if you do
the way you hide it could shake me for years (as i guess it
already has), decimate my every caustic sense, the things that
work and the ideas that float. and my skin
floats, my hands are full of helium and i have misplaced
my legs. i don't care past the image of you and me,
the rattled, makeshift escalated chorus of coulds and woulds.
and this is my right now.
this perpetual itching ache, the daggers deflecting my heart,
and the unsteady waiver of my hands, hours later.
because they shook for forty-three minutes after i told you
that we were writing poems in class, and it would be quiet. you were hiding (my
face to yours, our palms barely reaching- we are
so terrifyingly alike that it breaks me apart and rips me into shape-shifting
glued shards of you[me] who this is and who we want to be) and your presence
was visceral, tangible, a veritable shake
to the core, i cannot stop drinking this wine even though
my heart
has returned to my chest's cavity, to its rightful place,
limping back from its sometime residence near my toes.
i cannot tell if my heart:
does it soar or does it fall,
dilating and storming through my body at the mere shock
of seeing you before me.
i do not yet understand
what exactly it is about you-
if it IS something or if this is a magical prelude
i have designed in my psyche, an occupation away
from the dismantling servitude of reality. maybe i write
best when i am drunk on riesling and high on xanax, and maybe i write
just as terribly well when i am trembling in syntax
of maybe-love and could-be more than lust.
i have the right idea
but i cannot whisper its fragments into your ear
because we cannot get close enough to see
what all there is we harbor.
my boat is sanctioned in the deepest of lakes;
your yacht sings solo softly in the saturated sea.
we could meet in the middle, not your ground nor
mine. we could spin, there, ribbons of fairytale
and dip our toes into the dazzling wisps of water.
i could swim in you for days.
you startle my senses.
i have broken pens and letters over this deaf infatuation.
i was told to exorcise you from me. exorcise the demons, you wicked
angel. i laughed today.
and my god, your body. your rounding, warming, malleable form.
i cannot recall my first name because this person at the keyboard
is not who i think i ever am.
i said today that i would make you a powerpoint:
"reasons why you should love me." but love is deceit.
love you, i would. adore you, i would.
the powerpoint would have pictures, and i would write you
a poem.
because the obvious amount of poems that i have already crafted
for you is not obvious, because you don't know of them.
which, i guess, is why i told you today:
"come down. it's quiet. we write."
you didn't come down, and i knew you wouldn't, but it's for the best
because forty-three minutes later:
my hands still shook and my breath still evaded me
as my heart thumped into my ankles
and i wish i could tell you.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
You are my sweetest downfall
Sky blue, a new sparkle - (Danish blue; the color of your eyes in June). 21 months of never recognizing. A quick seven months of prolonged wanderlust, desirious deliberation. Fanatical curiosity. I've never asked because I still don't want to know.
Each rise of rose to your cheeks, each maddening flush of my face. Each cryptically ignored register of proximity. You pulled me in when I wasn't expecting to be acknowledged, my tongue smoothly obliging to the context of the conversation that preceeded my entrance. The recesses of my mind tangled over the elevator kiss, trepidation and I dare, but you strayed and brought the focus to a side of you I've never known.
I mistakenly thought you were a passing fantasy.
I don't understand how I've allowed you to become more than that.
Today, you held my stare for a split second longer than average. In a room full of people. We were too close but not close enough -- always, always. There is fire linked between us and you squash the flame.
Intrinsically, I can't tell you if it's going to be or will always be a what if. My head is a blurred mess of fantasy crossing into our greyed-out reality. Did you understand what you wore today? And did you mean to catch my eye so many times, ride out my gaze while talking to everyone else? Did your eyelashes catch on fire from the inferno shooting from my heart?
You are fucking killing me in the most alluring of ways~
Each rise of rose to your cheeks, each maddening flush of my face. Each cryptically ignored register of proximity. You pulled me in when I wasn't expecting to be acknowledged, my tongue smoothly obliging to the context of the conversation that preceeded my entrance. The recesses of my mind tangled over the elevator kiss, trepidation and I dare, but you strayed and brought the focus to a side of you I've never known.
I mistakenly thought you were a passing fantasy.
I don't understand how I've allowed you to become more than that.
Today, you held my stare for a split second longer than average. In a room full of people. We were too close but not close enough -- always, always. There is fire linked between us and you squash the flame.
Intrinsically, I can't tell you if it's going to be or will always be a what if. My head is a blurred mess of fantasy crossing into our greyed-out reality. Did you understand what you wore today? And did you mean to catch my eye so many times, ride out my gaze while talking to everyone else? Did your eyelashes catch on fire from the inferno shooting from my heart?
You are fucking killing me in the most alluring of ways~
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
It's not an accident / you meant to touch me
I'm trying to get past this, you know. I'm trying to let go and forget and not meet your eyes (which is something I've never been good at- not even when it's the mystery of just us and four imposingly warm walls and a gloss of chatter running over, under, all through the mess of unspoken theories and hypothetical feelings). I gave word that I was tired of having these feelings. Sick of the absurd unrequited nature of the propelled-by-lack heart/swell I'd grown of you. And I am sick of it, I'm just not sick of you. I gave word. My word. And the very next day, you drew me back in with such a simple gesture, a natural movement that shouldn't have turned my insides to pulsing warm marbles. The original grip, the surprise gentle slide of a caress reserved for my picture perfect romance (the one where I keep putting you in the role of my Other, my mirror image, my like opposite). But there it was: that prized movement, you against me, so simple as we are but so unnervingly complex (as we are). And not moments later, that dead-lock eye to eye match of wit against authority. A moment tangled between reason and desire. My yen suffered the blow of time and place; my security won again.
It wasn't an accident.You meant to touch me.
IDR and I talked about it/you last night. We were covering Lacan in class, one of my favorites, and the idea of the Lack was at the front of our minds. IDR said my confused want for you is due to what I'm lacking in my life. Of course it is. I mean, it makes sense beyond sense. I don't have what I want, I have something that I thought I wanted and simply cannot handle, and I see in you, crazy maybe, what I want. Need? I don't want to need anything, especially you.
I can't get you out of my head.
It wasn't an accident.You meant to touch me.
IDR and I talked about it/you last night. We were covering Lacan in class, one of my favorites, and the idea of the Lack was at the front of our minds. IDR said my confused want for you is due to what I'm lacking in my life. Of course it is. I mean, it makes sense beyond sense. I don't have what I want, I have something that I thought I wanted and simply cannot handle, and I see in you, crazy maybe, what I want. Need? I don't want to need anything, especially you.
I can't get you out of my head.
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