My journey through love, inevitably,
seems to only bring about the destruction
of the ideal-love supremacy.
At least it makes me write.
I fight to express and capture the musings
of my sado-maso torture-ress;
In other words, myself.
It’s that recurring love-hate thing.
The constant theme of opposites attract,
so to say, how can I love you if I don’t hate myself?
Or love myself if I can’t hate you?
--A theory that just might, in theory, be true.
Since you love me once I’ve placed you on a pedestal
High and mighty, my love I grovel at your feet
Your satisfaction born when for you I weep.
And in parallel or paradox as well,
it is only after I grow this hard shell,
Oblivious to your whims,
Love for myself wins over love for you.
And no longer the need to be smothered
to calculate self worth.
But that understanding becomes so difficult to achieve,
when immersed in love, lover’s validation is all you need.
It’s simply selfish greed playing at our core,
as much as we have we still want more.
How much more?
I’ve gotten down on all fours,
and I’ve pleaded and I’ve begged,
shared the most intimate corners of my bed,
fed your ego with the submission of mine,
predicted your orders and complied,
gave sight to things that, logically, just can’t be seen
accepted the ocean to be red, even though that murky day,
it was green.
And you stand by your words
because you know that it’s true
As your love takes their ground
And throws the same argument back at you.
And as streams roll down your face
And you don’t know how much more you could possibly bare…
The straw that breaks the camels back,
Is when they say how much they care,
How much love and emotion they feel,
your body shakes and you start to kneel,
like a Tsunami rising to drown you in its midst,
and you find yourself wishing that all this love would turn to hate.
Because you can’t wait to move on.
You can’t wait for another special someone.
You just can’t wait for another special song.
You can’t wait for it to end
--even though you always bend,
dragging it on as long as you possibly can
until, really, you’re drained from all
the love you can possibly spare
and now hate is the only thing that’s there.
-All this to know that indeed our heart does strive
for a purpose higher than keeping us alive.
If I hate you it doesn’t mean my love was a lie,
on the contrary,
it means you’re still stuck inside.
In truth a lover should be scared not of this,
the only thing to fear is indifference.
-The cool façade and dreary glazed eyes
happens to be the punishment I most despise.
I hold my breath and count to ten
before I puncture the love-hate thing with my pen,
before I puncture wishes, hopes, and dreams,
before I puncture year after year.
-I count to ten before I puncture the love between lover and you-
Because once that balloon has popped
With its loud obnoxious BANG
I’ll need to hold my breath and count to ten once again,
this time just to where I stand.
I find that the best metaphor that this phenomenon can take
is that it’s like I’m swimming in my own emotional wake,
an emotional block, if I had to define,
like someone took my love remote and pressed stop.
Left the room.
Then came back to press rewind-pause-fast forward-pause-slow motion-pause-play-could we have some director’s commentary…(in other words advice from friends)-
Ok…great movie…but when does it end?
Or how does it end? Who takes the scene?
And I am every character, both protagonist and antagonist lay in me.
Both victim and bully, depending on how angle is shot
both walked all over, and one without a heart.
--So drum roll please as I open the card
Hey! Look at that! For every Oscar I have an award!
What do you ask was my inspiration?
My thanks must go to the Love-Hate Sensation. (And God)
It’s funny you know? To come to that understanding,
that not only through love do we grow, but hate as well,
it’s so easy to say don’t dwell on the past
but the present doesn’t seem to get here.
And I fear what might happen if it does,
since –despite the hate its grown-
I still would rather stay, thank you very much, in love.
Day after day it gets easier to get by.
I try and keep that stone in the pit of my stomach settled.
And it better stay there.
Remain unaware to your phantom presence,
this intense essence that wafts through mundane pleasures,
-like dating-
waiting for it to go away.
And during the nights when there’s nothing to distract,
I find myself actually believing you’re there,
that your hair falls across my naked arms,
and you’re grasping me tight,
your breathing and mine in unison.
I wake up in alarm,
because I swear you were just there.
My guts plunging because you’ve disappeared,
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