I was sitting at my desk doing an assignment,
I had to make a list.
I had to write down all my memories
the ones that came to mind
and the ones that haven’t in a while.
I know you wouldn’t ever do this, but really,
you should try it.
Truly, I was a little ****** at first.
(Let’s be honest there are better stories to tell)
I guess we can assume that I chose not to think
of preceding life events that led me to now.
Consciously speaking.
Maybe I was blocking them out, but I’m no shrink.
I was always curious, you see,
but the type of curious that gets you into trouble,
The type of kid-like-curiousness that makes you stare at a fake
not fake, fake, not fake, fake, not fake cactus
for thirty minutes in your moms office waiting for her to finish her meeting
before you decide to touch it.
I was five and found myself irreparably damaged
barred from making any future decisions on my own,
in fear that I’d be left crying again
with a prickled, throbbing finger ,
a ***** I couldn’t have possibly have predicted.
It looked fake.
And there we have it,
I don’t have ESP.
And from then on I had a new motto.
This came from a fable that my dad told me,
The night I touched the cactus,
The Tortoise & The Hare.
It had a moral, but I never gave a **** about winning the race,
or being slow and steady.
I just wanted someone else to touch the cactus first next time
to see if it was real and I could have the designated shoulder
to lean on when they started crying,
hyperventilating.
Maybe they could successfully avoid the fetal position
and the rocking, to and fro, in corner,
waiting for the fashionably late question of “Are you okay?”
And for the inevitable lie;
“Yeah”.
I’m really not cut out for the whole consoling, thing.
Or taking care of anyone for that matter,
I’ve got shaky hands.
Remember when I told you about my baby cousin
That was born on the 22nd of June
(my Moms birthday too.)
She was gorgeous and I wanted one.
A beautiful baby girl and although I had just nine years
and she had nine weeks,
I entered her room secretly, I held her like she was my own.
I followed all the rules, payed close attention
and supported the fragile skull of a life-like doll.
I turned around myself to peer at myself as a mother in the mirror,
I bumped her head
on the corner of her white crib,
she cried.
I cried.
And when I found out months later,
that she had Autism,
I cried
in my room
with a secret.
Do they know?
Do they have to know?
I always do this: touch things
that I know will hurt me,
irreparably hurt others.
Should I start living in a plastic bubble?
When I wrote this all down,
It was years after I told you
in my backyard,
while we were just kids ,
secretly sharing my dads Budweiser, then.
I hope you know I didn’t think about this much,
until I wrote it in down in my notebook.
And then again when I wrote it on Microsoft Word.
As I changed the font to something that seemed less
melodramatic.
I’m sure that before I send this to you
I’ll read it and check it for errors,
Spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes...
Maybe I should cook you a steak and send it
instead,
rare.
So anyway, I wanted you to know
that one time
I hesitated,
and the time after that,
and that one other time, I won’t forget.
I couldn’t talk to you after.
I thought
I knew what love was.
I have come to understand "love"
after watching a bit of Casablanca.
But I refuse to see the whole thing alone,
“Here’s looking at you kid.” has been branded
in my memory.
And every time I fast-forward to the end
and watch that same part. I tell myself its
okay to let go, let "love" go;
to wave goodbye.
I’m still looking for someone to watch the whole thing with.
I’ve become accustomed to waiting.
And I know you don’t deserve that.
Hope you are well.
Take care,
Me.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 3:47 PM UTC
You're afraid
of everything that held them back
its what they thought
it kept them awake
it hurt
as they shut they're lids
they listened
to the chatter
the fear
the pain
the regret
the lonely
the way
to sleep
is to forget
the pit in your stomach
you are the only one
who hears
the screaming
in your head
at night.
Do something
or lay restless.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:36 PM UTC
Don't leave me,
here alone in the dark.
Please
turn on the light.
I'm ready to see,
I'm just scared.
Please be my courage.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
Stop.
Just stop.
You know
how I feel.
Go away,
Get out of my head.
Or
say something.
I can’t.
And if you won’t,
Then stop trying
And Kiss me.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
Its not ignoring it,
that helps you find it.
It's being able to accept it.
Most people won't find it.
They won’t find anything.
They'll make themselves a picture.
Something fake.
That keeps them busy.
A creation.
Can you just become
Love?
I can’t picture that.
That must take time.
I want effortless love.
Maybe I don't want love.
Because, I want to fall
and break something.
I want to stop fighting with myself.
I want to see what I want clearly,
when it finds me.
One day someone will feel the way I do about you
for me.
So I swallow my feelings,
Day to day,
Knowing that it didn’t work out.
It was you, who was the stepping stone,
in the gravel, past the fence, under the old withered trees,
blocking that view
worth waiting for.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC
Its not only when I feel
myself swallow
the sting
of my drink
that I think
of you.
It’s now.
I’m flooded
with words I cannot say.
I’ll think,
Some more.
I thought yesterday,
ignored you,
to make you
want me.
Whatever it takes,
I guess.
Maybe one day
I’ll know what I want,
Or you will.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
You are good
with words,
and so am I.
I know
What they mean,
Do you?
Don’t make me ask
If I do someday,
feel the vibration
In my vocal cords,
And not my pen,
Don’t let me down.
Don’t make me ask.
You might wake me up.
For my fairytale is nice,
a dream really.
Don’t make it a nightmare.
Prove me wrong.
And if you won’t,
Don’t make me ask
Just leave me to sleep.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:21 PM UTC
a clenched fist need not hold much
but the infections in my mind
in the deepest crevice
is the illness I fear
puts too much weight on
my once soft temples
now they are crammed
they want to burst
to relieve the me of the painful words
I cannot say to you.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:17 PM UTC
You know nothing
Of what lies under
my frozen cheek
beneath me as we
condensate.
This is the truest thing
I’ve ever heard.
A warm rhythm,
That you
will never hum.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:06 PM UTC