Here I go again. Opening doors that should not have even been there.
I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think I've missed it. Us. Whatever it was. However insignificant to you and impossible to understand for me. It still clicked and I know we both felt it. It was undeniable yet unattainable.
Apparently now though, I'm single, but remain unavailable.
After we fuck,|
we eat dry cereal with spoons and drink Diet Pepsi
in your kitchen.
You have to leave for work by 7:40. It’s 6:30 or so.
We watch the Chicago Morning News from your couch in Michigan.
You miss that city the way I miss the town my mother died in.
I’m wearing my leopard underwear and your Michigan hoodie.
You’re trying, but you’re anxious, and I know. You will
peel at the skin
if I apply enough pressure. I don’t want to rush you, I say, but I have to
because I get scared that the drywall armor around you will harden
if I don’t pull hard enough while you’re still damp.
We fought last week because you keep locking
the screen door to your balcony.
It’s frustrating, the way that you lock all your doors and pay all your bills
and budget by percentages and own more than one car.
You said that should be a good thing, how responsible you are. I tell you
you don’t get it.
Your heart is in Chicago. Your body, here, next to my body. My hand holds your hand
once, in a cab on the way to dinner.
How can I make wild the tame soul, the lonely one?
Your body is in Chicago. My body is getting high in my car behind my apartment complex, thinking about your body, trying to want it.
The hard states between us rip us slowly, like a hang nail.
How did we get this far? Where are we going? Don’t you feel my body, sleeping awake next to your body in the middle of the day?
Aren’t you scared I’m going to leave?
Sep. 12th, 2014 @ 12:55 pm
“Once, I said: you’ve got to live like everything will hurt you.|
Now I believe it.”
--Stacie Cassarino, “Zero at the Bone”
My aunt asked me over the phone, “is this fun? Do you like how this feels?”
Paul had cancelled our plans last minute. Plans are a way to say fucking
without demonizing him.
Yes, I told her. I like this.
There’s such adventure in that kind of pain. The not knowing whether he will show up or call, how late he will be, calculating exactly how much we could drink before he wouldn’t be able to cum. Every-morning hangovers. Showing up to work and wincing as I pressed against my collarbone at my desk, deepening the bruise he had made when he choked me the night before.
The evening I told him to just tell me the fucking truth, he told me I didn’t want to know. Please, I said. He told me about every girl, every drink, the girl from Florida that had made him this way. The vulnerability in him overtook the weight of his infidelities. He didn’t ask for forgiveness, I just gave it to him. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t need to. It was better that way. We were lovers without trust, like surgery without anesthesia. I knew this would hurt. I wanted it to.
There was mystery in the not wanting to know what I was up against, what women he had touched since the last time we saw each other. I couldn’t ever tell if it was his cologne or someone’s perfume that had rubbed off on him, but it didn’t matter because he always smelled good.
More than once, his friends called me other girl’s names. I loved that rush of sadness, the endorphins thickening when I ran my fingers through his damp hair as he vomited in the woods. He fell asleep in my lap on a chair that night, removed from the rest of the party, warm in front of the bonfire. “You’re an angel”, he mumbled in his sleep.
In the wide space of that contrast, the dark of us against the light of his words, I was not an angel.
I was human and I felt everything.
One morning, still sore from the night before, he wanted to fuck and I said no. He pinned me down to the bed and I tried to fight him off, heart pounding from the thrill of it. No, no, no, it hurts but once he was inside, the pain was dull like a butter knife. I never told anyone about that.
Outside my apartment building, a family of deer sit on the side of the road watching cars as they pass. All the cars slow down and stare. Some try to see how close they can get before the fawn scatter back into the trees. They never run. Every animal needs my kind of danger, my possibility of pain.
I’m waiting for the day one of the deer leaps in front of a truck, wishing for a wound that never heals.
Nevertheless, Brahma grew in a lotus|
out of the navel of the sleeping Vishnu…
Are we the consequence of His Amnesia?
His channeling down Who He is in His dreams
--- Not reality, mind you,
But who He is in His dreams?
Are there limits as to how awake
Something can be and still be in a dream?
(Lucifer hated this thesis of course,
Decrying the notion he wasn’t in reality itself!)
But what if the worlds within a dream
Begin to reflect in a perfect way
Those which originate beyond?
Will the borders of reality dissolve?
Will we find ourselves in what Yeats called
“A superhuman mirror resembling dream”
(Where God reciprocally exists through us)
And when we do, will this be our childhood’s end?
Aug. 8th, 2014 @ 02:16 pm
"Fear is the glue that holds society together."- The Scarecrow AKA Johnathon Crane.|
But what would happen if the fear just started melting away?
Would society break?
Would there be no more fear?
But everything causes fear one way or another,
Would that mean there'd be nothing?
Nothing, not even a particle.
Our feeling of fear would be gone,
But then what would happen to all other emotions?
All but positive emotions would be gone,
But is that a good thing?
What are they?
Who are they?
Why do I care so much about them?
I never get why my heart tells me to protect them.
If there was ever a bullet between me and one of my friends, how would I react?
Would I jump away?
Would I run to save them?
Would I persuade the gunner to shoot me instead and leave my friend alive, fruitlessly?
Would I watch as my friend dies and then mourn for their death?
I don't know.
I fear one day I will see blood dripping out of their chest.
I fear one day that they will need me but I won't be there.
I fear that I will one day care too much for them.
You tell me you love me.|
You say, I'm your girl.
You kiss me and make me feel like I'm the only girl in your life.
Yet with all you say
With all you do
And all your love.
All you do when your mood changes for the worse is slap me,hit me, and shove me away like a rag doll.
I cry and you just scream, "Quit being a crybaby!"
I leave and you come and get me.
You say your sorry
But then this whole cycle repeats itself.
Making me finally wonder,
Do you truly love me?
I look up at this moving staircase wondering just where it will take me.|
It moves slow yet with so much purpose.
I put my first foot on and then my second feeling a little lighter.
I don't see an end to the the moving staircase yet I don't see a beginning either.
Everything seems a blur, or is it just me?
I begin to see images, of what?
I see my friends and family.
My loved ones and my hated ones.
I reach out to touch them but they fade away right when I get close.
I see tears coming from the eyes of the ones I care most about.
Why are they crying?
Why do they seem so sad?
The moving staircase seems to be going a little slower as I see myself playing catch with my dad,
Getting hit by a car,
Kissing my parents good night,
Hugging my friends as they comfort me,
The moving staircase moves faster as I see a gun at my head,
Hear a shot ringing though my ears,
Hearing cries from multiply people that have blended together to make a profound mourn of sadness.
The moving staircase stops to show nothing but white.
Aug. 3rd, 2014 @ 01:19 am
This poem is based on this picture made by citreneowl from deviantart
This winding path that is ahead of me.
Such a long path that is only lit by one streetlight.
I am here, no one to help or protect me.
Not even my own shadow is seen.
Did they abandon me?
Did they leave me behind?
Once I started walking it there's no turning back.
It feels as though there is something watching me,
But once I look around I see nothing but silence around me.
I notice that it has grown darker around me.
"The light from the streetlight must've died out..",
I mutter to myself in hopes I am right but when I look at it I see it still as bright as ever.
I shudder a little when I see that but keep moving.
I just keep going...
If ignorance is bliss, then where is my bliss?|
I'd been alone for as long as I remember,
Friends are just a fragment of my imagination, leaving me behind as they become popular,
I know nothing of what people say, nor do I care any longer.
My life, to me, is considered a lie,
A truth that will never be discovered.
I lived not worrying about anyone for a long time,
I want to have it stay that way,
I wish to say ignorant,
But why don't I have the bliss other ignorant people receive?
Why do I end up in tears at the end of the week?