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Its quiet on the lake
at almost one
in the morning
where the sway of the trees
in front of the stationary lights of
the island themed bar
across the way
gives the impression of endless dancing
despite the bar nearing
closing time
and the guests yell a little less loudly
out of respect for the night sky
where I find myself staring at the stars
instead of the bobbers in the water
because
even though fishing is great,
there's always
something better to catch
out there in the cosmos
It's the weirdest thing, we've had zero contact in 9 months.
Even after I filed for divorce you said nothing.
I wouldn't have believed anything you'd say anyway.
But it was the strangest thing, that you'd show up everyday, anyway.
Your best friend living across from me was pretty convenient...
Wouldn't you say?

And that's the one thing about myself I can honestly say is maddening...
Always trying to figure out the "why" behind a persons behavior.
Even when it shouldn't matter.
I don't know what I expect to find as I question a persons crazy motives behind the crazy things they do.
Maybe I think it'll bring some understanding??
Oh God...
Yea right...
What am I saying...

I told myself I didn't wanna know, I didn't care to know, and from that moment on I ignored your presence hard until I was gone.
Even when I knew you were there.
But you were always there.

Out of sight out of mind was my safest route.
You longer exist is what I chose to tell myself.
I blocked you on everything and yet I find another profile of you.

You never say anything or reach out.
So yet again here I am wondering why the hell you do the things you do.
All I remember is that we were at the farmer’s market. You see, the easiest way to figure out a time period is to note which vegetables were in season at the time, but unfortunately, I was too busy looking at my love to take note of the produce lined up neatly in rows on the stands; though there was a sample of pickled asparagus that threatened to change my life for the better. The love of my life was blessed with an extra bone in her foot and the tendons, of course, immediately wrapped around this extra bone and caused a great deal of pain for her, and as such she had to wear a BOOT. I walked, and she clomped along the street through the farmers market and because her physical detriment was noticeable in the air, we were surrounded by a group within minutes. “Can I pray over your foot please?” their leader had said. Although, I heard it spelled PREY, given my general distrust of people who go to farmer’s markets to spread religion. Before I realized what was happening, the followers of this woman had formed a circle around my fiancé and blocked me out as the woman gave a full performance invoking Jesus to heal the extra bones in this world and there was clapping and there was staring from other farmer’s market patrons who couldn’t be bothered to swoop in and save us. It’s years later and the extra bone is still in her foot.
All I want is for the right man to enter my life that's supposed to be there.

In my dreams..
I picture him having rough strong hands that are lined with experience.
I picture him running his hands softly across my damaged past,
Lingering over the shattered places within my heart.
Kissing me so deeply, engulfed in unspeakable passion erasing every ounce of doubt that arises.
I picture him grabbing my hand, standing tall beside me, at the most crucial times, when others have left me...
I picture him saying...
"I love you."
I picture me believing it because the truth will be in his eyes.
And when he says,
"I'll never let you battle anything ever again alone."
It'll be in this small moment of pure bliss,
That...
I picture myself thanking God,
Because he turned a tiny dream of mine into a reality.
I’m tucked away nicely in the JC section of the library. Apparently, they use the Library of Congress method of categorizing and organizing the library literature here instead of the Dewey Decimal system. I suppose it’s one way to set this community college campus apart from the uneducated townsfolk who still want numbers to tell them where to find their books. Looking at the shelves nearby, I see a great deal of books about dictators and rights and privacy, so I guess this section of the library is all politically charged. Which would explain this headache and general feeling of frustration, but that also could just be from the procrastinating I can’t stop doing. Strangely enough, I have been blocked into this row by a librarian who has her cart of endless knowledge parked in the middle of the political aisle of books. I don’t know where she ran off to, but I’m starting to get antsy. I mean, what if there’s a fire? All these books aren’t exactly flame retardant and the last time I had to jump through a wall of fire it wasn’t the best experience. I imagine these stacks of knowledge burning and I wonder how much it would be missed. There’s a book here titled “Management in the Public Service: The Quest for Effective Performance” and I can’t even tell you what the first page says because the second my eyes landed on the words, I fell asleep. But hey, the librarian is back and she moving her cart of ideas out of the way so that I may procrastinate in peace.
Journal entry#11

My mom is my best friend.
She's wise beyond her years.

Today I came to her with tears.

I said, "mother why am I suffering."

I could hear her smile through the phone as she gently replied...
"Without suffering there would be no compassion."

I chucked through my tears and said, "Tell that to the ones who are currently suffering mom."

Her voice softened even more as she responded with so much love,
"Without suffering my sweet daughter how would we ever know joy?"




I love you mom
Dedicated to my loving mother
Journal Entry #9

To lame to stand how I feel..
I press my lips to this glass filled with forget and I swallow deep.

Standing in nothing but a t-shirt, alone in this big empty apartment. I take solace in this glass to numb the pain within.

But as the music changes a song that reminds me of you starts playing.
How Ironic wouldnt you say...


I close my eyes tightly...
tense up..
try to fight it...
but before I know it my body is a slave to this beat and it makes my body come alive.

My hand grazes my bare thighs and I lose myself just briefly....
I pause, as I remember how good it felt when you touched me.

I remember the electricity and how you use to look at me.
God, the chemistry...
moments later your face appears so clear and perfect in my mind.

"Oh god, I hate this!" I think, as I press into the counter top behind me.
I try my hardest to stop thinking about you but memories of you are coming in waves and im being swept away.

I cant help but imagine what it felt like when youd slide your hands to wrap around me...
my god, the safest I ever felt.


I ache for you.

These memories are torment.

Tears stream down my flushed cheeks.

I bring my hand to my lips and I'm lost again.
I imagine bringing your lips to mine and how much of a rush it was each time.
You were intoxicating.
Kissing you was like a drug I could never kick.
Always wanting more.
Entangled in eachother.
Hold tight, each moment I did. Never wanting it to end.
Kissing in such synchronisation. Kissing you was nothing but second nature.

But I fight it, I try and shake it off.
shake you off.
my hips begin to sway falling slave again to our perfect song.
To the beat of my favorite song. The song about us.


I dont know how you do it.
I dont know how you forget such an addicting thing we had.
But you did and I'm lost with only memories now.
Memories I have to bury.
Because they give me so much pleasure but also so much pain.
He liked to think
he had eyes
like the moon
reflecting back
unto everyone
the things best kept
unseen
but instead he found
himself hurtling
through space
with the promise of a sunrise
being always
just
out of reach
Perhaps we
could take
a lesson
from the
surgeon
whose knife
excises
any and all
inconveniences
from her life
standing knee deep
in fictional blood
spilled over
fictional drama
where
"just being honest"
is a license
to maim
and otherwise
eradicate
any answers
other than
"yes ma'am"
because like
a malignant tumor,
dissent messes
with the
clockwork equilibrium
of the idyllic
life in
chronic
glittering
suburbia
"If I cut you out of my life, it's because you handed me the scissors..."

Ugh.
Like a broken
copy of Wizard of Oz
on repeat,
watching this situation
is seeing the Wicked Witch,
(Who has problems of her own, mind you.)
ask if the Scarecrow wants
a little fire
over and over again
and he just stands there
and barely moves
and I understand that it's
just a movie and that he wasn't
supposed to move but he
could have done anything to
stop the burn
the second time around
How about a little fire,
Scarecrow?
I've watched you burn up again and again
and yet the film keeps repeating
itself
and all I want to do
is click my ruby slippers
and get the **** out of Oz.

— The End —