Loving you was like
walking off a cliff –
not walking, but
running.

I saw the warning signs,
knew what could happen.
I do not blame Fate
for my own actions,
this was the chance I took.

To be a fool
is to trust
[again],
to be a fool is to
Fall.

And I fell.

Loving you was like
flying.

The height was so great
that I felt giddy,
thought I would never fall,
thought you could catch me,
thought the things you told me
were enough,
were permanent
were safe.

But loving
is never
Safe.

To love
is to be the Fool.

Let me always be the Fool,
let me always be crazy,
let me always be open,
let me always take the risk,
I want to fly.

At the end of the day
it is us -
the sensitive, the women, the marginalized, the empaths -
who are sought out.
It becomes our job
to tame the beast.

Our job to
endure, educate,
be patient, compassionate.
Our job to put on a good face,
no matter what we might feel,
to not expect or accept pay,
unless it is in the form of gratitude.

We cannot be lions,
cannot raise our voices
and bare our teeth,
for that is not good behavior.

That might terrify.

Call it an overreaction but
when we use our voices
we are ignored,
put down,
locked away -
“tamed.”

But we are a force
when we are loud
and when we are quiet –
you will remember us
before the end.

1.
Nothing is stable:
not moods,
not relationships,
not circumstances.
It is better this way -
when things are bad
do not say “it gets better,”
which may or may not be true.
Say it gets different.

2.
People are not always
going to be there for you
when you want them to be,
they will be busy or sick or asleep or indifferent.
Words do not equate to action.
Words can just be fillers.
“Love” does not always mean good,
“Love” does not always mean support,
“Love” can be in name only.
Love is something
entirely different.
You deserve Love.

3.
“Don’t ask, don’t receive,”
is the way it is.
You must always make an effort
to initiate friendships.
Even so, don’t expect them to last.
Know also
that it is not your fault if/when they fail.
Nothing lasts forever -
this is okay.

People who Know
will sometimes ask how they can help.
If you don’t tell them
they won’t do anything,
won’t offer suggestions,
will probably offer other things instead:
apologies, anger, their own guilt.

If you cannot explain well enough,
be prepared for no change,
no aid,
nothing.
They are not mind readers,
after all.

For some people
explanations won't help,
will not make them
understand.
Let these people go.

4.
If you state a boundary,
and it cannot,
will not,
be honored or remembered,
grit your teeth through it.
Know that it will be okay soon enough,
but always remember
your triggers are still real.

5.
If you engage with acquaintances,
you must find the balance
between Distrust and Hope.
Not too much hope -
that would be naïve,
set you up for a hard[er] fall.
Not too much distrust –
that would make you
Bitter,
Unpalatable.

You must play nice
with everyone,
walk on eggshells
if you must,
but even then
know you will never please everyone and
prepare for the worst.

6.
You will never be prepared enough.

7.
You will learn
what is necessary
and unnecessary
in your life,
how to make do
on very little.

This is a blessing and a curse,
this is the way it is now,
but it does not always have to be this way.

You are allowed
to have wants and needs
standards and expectations,
even if it feels Wrong.

If they cannot handle you,
you do not have to keep them
in your life.

Having very few friends
is not Bad or Wrong or Abnormal.

You can do without
most people.

8.
You do not have to
empty every word of meaning.
Being empty
is a way to stay alive,
but it does not have to be this way.

9.
Your intuition is valid.
Do what feels right,
do not spend time regretting.

10.
You are not weak
like your mother says.

**** your mother,
**** mombrain,
**** every single person
who has hurt you and put you down.

You have survived
23 years of heartaches and breaks,
exquisite forms of torture.
You are strong.

You’re an artist -
you say you’ve gotten back
into painting?
When you’ve got the time,
give me a palette:
mix me shades of hurt
so I can paint my own landscape.

Mix me hurt
and shock,
some unexpected hideous color:
“I can't believe they said that to me.”

Mix me hurt
and fear,
a shade that makes you sick to your stomach just to look at.
“What will happen now, how will I survive?”

Mix me hurt
and anger,
some hot bright uncomfortable,
in your face can’t miss it color:
“How could they? **** them, **** them, **** them.”

Mix me hurt
and letdown,
this one’s a dull color:
“I thought....
but I should have known.”

Mix me hurt
that’s just sorrow,
the deepest shade of them all,
escapes poetry, escapes all words -
I won’t even try.

Give me the shades of hurt
and I will paint you a landscape of my life.

Hidden bottles under the bed, hidden *** toys, hidden pills, hidden emotions,
there are many things I can talk about
when I think about what I’ve stowed away.

Honesty is often yoked to Openness
by people who don’t understand.
When angered, they use words like
sneaky and liar
as tools to pry me open.
“Stop shutting us out,”
they'll demand,
like they deserve my truths.

But what they don’t realize is that
I am not an open book.
I am
a gentle fragile thing.
Handle me carefully
and I will shock you
with how open I can be.

But know
that I will snap shut
at the first sign of danger,
go back into hiding.

I am not an open book
and there are things you will never know.

It’s not Dislike,
not Snobbery,
just
Uneasiness
that makes me leave
well intentioned messages


                                                      ­               hanging.

A question:
Why do you even want to talk to me?

A series of justifications:
-We aren’t close,
-We’ll never be close,
-I have too many hang-ups
-I hate casual conversation.

A silent plea:
Just stop trying,
live your own life,
give up, go away,
I have nothing for you,
you who can find others.
It’s not you,
it’s me.

The truth is,
I don’t particularly want
new friends
anymore.
I can barely hold on
to the ones I have.

I taught you
how to say my name correctly
Uhn-juh-nuh
and you taught me
how to say the name of your hometown
Can-an-day-gua.
A fair exchange,
perhaps.

Canandaigua.
Town that manufactured
Arbor Mist,
the cheap artificial wine I bought
[being the only one of drinking age]
that we drank
all summer,

well,

until July
when everything fell apart.

In August
When things settled down
when you decided that
you didn’t love me anymore,
we issued that age old
empty promise exes make:
“We’ll still be friends.”
Exchanged a few Facebook messages
and that was that.

I was never in love with you,
but
you still made it into my zine,
and I still think of you
from time to time,
visit your Facebook page
as if...

well, who knows?
It’s always the same with
everyone I used to know,
but Over is Over,
no social media changes that.

When I see that name:
Canandaigua,
I think of you,
but it’s just another name
and you’re just another Over.