“I remember the bed just floating there” is how Phil Kaye started his ‘repetition’ poem.  
I remember pausing the youtube video after he ended his masterpiece.
I remember burying my feelings under 3 blankets and 4 hours of binge watching spoken word poetry.
I do not remember the dreams I could have had.

I remember the set of nightmares that visited religiously like the downstairs neighbor tired of how loud my heart pounds at late evenings.
I remember, very clearly, how they went.
I do not remember if I have written them down.

Dream one: he peels my freckles off my skin; he says he needs them because his coffee is too light. I scream while he calmly adds pints of the cheeks I inherited from my mother’s reactivity and the sun’s intensity to his coffee. He says I can never be as quiet as the girl who managed to sneak into his ribcage and build herself a bedroom.

Dream two: We are standing in the great library of Alexandria. He pulls the sea from underneath my feet and stuffs it into his back pocket. He says he needs it because he is tired of drowning himself in uncertainty. I start to cry and he says: Aries is the god of war, and women born under this sign confuse war for love.

I remember the mole on his left ear growing bigger in my nightmares without me ever watering it.
I remember he smelled of tangerine trees and broken records.
I do not remember if his face looked like the man I almost fell in love with last winter, or my father.

I remember the first time I saw my father after he came back from Ukraine.
I remember his brown leather shoes that oozed of old spice cologne and neat scotch.
I remember his hardly worn pair of glasses and the pieces of me they never cared to read.
I remember the wrinkles that seemed newer than his glasses slowly colonizing his hands... the hands that never held me as tight as the dress I wore to my school prom hoping it would catch my ex’s attention.

I remember that dress.
I remember it had a floral print reminiscent of the season that I was named after hoping maybe it would remind him I’m part him.
I remember realizing he will never remember.
And now, I sit on a carpet of autumnal leafs as crisp as my tied tongue and as dead as my fears, trying to turn my love for him into more than just a memory.

Thousands of miles away
Human beings are being gassed to death
And photographs of mourning families
Are published by the hour
And even though
The world acknowledges Syria's current condition
Very few have seen the pictures
Blood and tears and unfathomable terror
Ignorance at its finest
America at its finest
Why cant we be a nation of proactivity rather than reactivity
Why does it take so much
For people to realize
That genocide is occurring
And that lives are being torn apart
As we sit calmly at our dinner tables
Abundant with pea soup
And roasted chicken
And lack of caring

We all have wounds in our hearts that have been stitched up with loose, flaky sutures.  At any given moment, someone may touch your wound and it can open up.

Our reaction is to recoil in pain and then lash out.  

What would happen if we were able to have enough focus and self-control to think first before we react?  We might not burn so many bridges, we might save marriages and friendships.  We might be happier in the long run.

Wishing to **** the person who hurt us so deeply feels totally justifiable and appropriate in the moment, except once the emotions flatten, saying those hurtful things, acting that malicious way is only turned back on you and hurts you with the pangs of loss and regret.  How we so wish we could undo it all and go back and do it right this time...

We must remember that we can react on the inside, but that we have the power to conduct our external actions in loving ways.  We are humans.  We will not be able to do this every time with grace, but we can do our best.

What propels our ability to be non-reactive is to acknowledge the incredible skill of putting yourself in the others' place and wondering what they're going through.  What is she feeling?  Why might he say those things?  And then responding with compassion. Self-restraint coupled with empathy is the way we do this.

I believe most of us (like 95%) of humans of the Earth are truly doing the best we can with what we've learned in life and what concrete things we have to work with.  The person who is selfish or violent may have had convoluted messages and abusive parents while growing up.  Any one born into her situation would probably behave the same.  But on the outside, when all we see is the selfishness and violence, we judge her.  We gossip and say she's a bad person.  But, if we really saw and experienced all of what she experienced, we might not be so quick to judge.  In fact, we might reach out with loving arms and compassionate hearts.  I believe people are good.

I greatly struggle with being reactive.  I make sweeping assumptions, believe these assumptions, plan an attack and then attack head-on.  I've lost over four close, wonderful friends this way.  I've lost numerous relationships.  I've almost lost family.  It's time I grow up and learn some self-regulating skills.  I am finally starting to see how I regularly sabotage my relationships.  I'm like a bullet-train racing down the tracks and my collision is waiting for me every time.  How does one reverse the direction of a bullet-train in motion?  I do not know, but I feel it is my duty to figure that out and do it.

I think the first step is to think.  I feel, I stop, I think, and I think some more, and THEN I take action.  The trick is to STOP first so that there's time to think!  

That's my personal therapy session for tonight. :-)  Good night.

limiting reactant: that’s you & that's me
both of us standing on a cliff,
neither of us jumping
is this chemistry worth the kind that will decompose our hearts at the bottom of the ocean
or the kind that burns my empty hands

ideal law: ideally, breaking it
you're in the driver's seat, wrist on the wheel
our pulses driving the car and pulsing in the floorboards
speed, velocity, distance,
the physical sciences
(my lipstick distracts you from the road)

balancing equations:
you: black flame, glistening furiously
me: god knows what i am but clear and soft
disaster: the explosion is all-consuming, a violent display of reactivity and fire
people stand in awe, wishing they could be destroyed by something so beautiful

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I can feel the genuineness radiating off your words like the reactivity on Chernobyl. But we aren't trapped between melting glaciers falling apart with every movement of our lips. and you know me better than anyone. anyone who has touched my bones deeper than the marrow inside of them, but they never existed outside of you. you took shelter in my cells, feeding me with the healing tones of the words you send towards my heart, that make me stronger.
Because it's melting like the glaciers, but crumbling when weak and breaking like ice after an earthquake when my chest collapses on top of itself. You protect me from myself more than a bulletproof vest protects from bullets and environmentalists protect the earth. Maybe i have to scream at the universe to remind myself that my desires are within my grasp of reality. Even though my messages can't be delivered because the space program lost funding. But you're my rocket ship, my race car, my boat, my journey to the warmth that is your arms that melt the iceberg before it sinks the titanic.
The difference between us and glaciers, is that we aren't cold, and our break, won't last forever.

All the songs we played,
I thought they were about us.
All the stories they told,
I thought they reminded you of me.
All my walls, I let crumble
and I replayed those songs
like a storm and an anthem.
I dreamt of when they had meaning

Signs you never saw and
I was blindsided by the call so
my walls did crumble,
but I never let them fall.

I can now hear the wind mumble
I don't need its protection anymore.

Collecting items, slamming doors
and the plans you ignored

We were supposed to keep the time,
Carry the tune,
Rest our worried minds,
We were never supposed to outlast the changing seasons
and I can't disregard your reasons.

I can sleep alone
and I can follow a trail while
I continue to roam.
You always walked without creativity
and moved like a chain of reactivity.

I just wanted to loosen one chain
because you carry all the blame
that colors your past
and trickles like beads of sweat down
the mask
of your ship that you sail
insecurely with pride
and all along,
my expectation was simply
that I was just along for the ride

I had no destination in mind
and in my forced leave
I unraveled the weave

The beautiful mess
we created a life around
and the happiness we found
terrified and drained you.

I forgot that when I met you,
I already knew.
How you needed your chains
you needed the pain.

So you poison sun beams
and search for darkness in summer afternoons

Sectioning your life into hotel rooms
and that little rain cloud that looms
and follows you into every room
I thought were trying to escape,
but I learned it was more of a cape
or a badge you displayed
of past roads you have paved
and followed to a beginning
that was was supposed to be new,
but you live in repetition.

Thinking resolution is found
in the color blue.
All along missing the patterns of mistakes
and the souls you slowly crack then break.

There is no way to find restoration
in this healing process without a destination.
but I know I can't compete
or point out those grainy mistakes
that create a sandy wake
you travel in front of

I could feel your love
but it was true to the darkness
We were just tangled in a mess of lies
from the moment we met
you wanted to unravel every sun rise
but had given up on it by sunset.