Indie's Inanities

IndieGirl

IndieGirl

TNPer
TNP Nation
IndieGirl
Today:
  • Froze ass off on scooter ride to work.
  • Still trying to get the swelling on my knee down from wiping out on said scooter last Sattiday...
  • Scanned film, pondered why Dan's being a dork lately.
  • Realized it's because he spent most of his Thanksgiving vacation with his old crush...
  • Hit something.
  • Got a call from Opa, thrilled that I've come to hang out.
  • Don't want to freeze ass off AGAIN on scooter ride home.
  • Wanted to hit Dan.
  • Realized Dan went home an hour ago.
  • Wanted to hit Dan's old crush.
  • Got sick of talking about Dan and finished this list.
  • Addendum: Wearing Aussie Floyd shirt today. Look hot. Went on date with old friend last night and haven't told Dan yet.
  • Feel like schmuck. :smack:
  • Am really done with this list.
BYE! :shutup:
 
Today's List:
  • Woke up, it was Mom's birthday.
  • Gave Mom cool, expensive present.
  • Took the only car because I didn't want to ride the scooter.
  • Came home 2 hours later than I said I would.
  • Mom had to get the kids from school on the scooter.
  • Took a nap instead of doing my cleaning.
  • Mom did my cleaning.
  • I went babysitting instead of staying home for Mom's birthday dinner.
  • Finished babysitting at 10:30.
  • Didn't want to go home.
  • Decided to walk to work.
  • Got to work at midnight.
  • Am staying at work until I feel like walking home, or calling home and admitting that I'm a grade-A jerk and don't deserve a Christmas.
  • Have fingers crossed for a new full-time job that will let me pay my parents off sooner, move out, and be responsible.
  • Went off my head medicine a week ago.
  • Considering lying in the street in the dark on the way back home.
Yup. All in all, great day, don't you think? Bastards. And by bastards, I mean: I'm awful. I'm going to hell.

YAY! Hell!
 
I have suddenly exhausted my poetic steam, and the veritable train of inspiration I had barreling in me has hissed its last and come to a standstill. The people got off and wandered away, and I am sitting here trying to pretend it's still going....trying to pretend that there's nothing outside worth looking at. I have to write. I have to. If I can't write, then the boredom dissolves into mists of despair, and I have nothing to cling to. I have no anchor to keep me grounded if I wander away in that cloud. If the cloud wanders me away.

Odd dreams lately. I cannot escape them, I cannot always remember them perfectly, but my waking is filled with some dark, desperate memory from the nights before. I feel haunted by my subconscious and it's rather disconcerting.

It's the baby that threw me off. I keep getting lost in unfamiliar places...or familiar places that are suddenly old, decrepit. I panic, and wish, and often I can't make a noise, or I don't make a noise because I know there's no one there to hear it. I wander dark hallways and half-lit stairwells....searching for something, and after a while I notice that I've been cradling something in my arms. This small boy-child. It clings to me, as I rush faster, and faster through the house, unable to find the thing that I'm searching for. The thing that seems to be screaming my name in the silence, pleading with me to find it. The baby whimpers, and clutches me so tight around the neck that I'm gasping for breath. I fall. Down some dark pit....like a stairwell that's suddenly not a stairwell, and I step, but there's no step, and I fall. I land and make no noise. I land and don't remember that I was falling. I look for the baby, and there's no baby there anymore. A figure steps out of the darkness into the shaft of grey light sifting through the broken floorboards above us. He reaches for my hand...and I take it. Surprised that he wants to help, that he willingly touches me. I feel like I shouldn't be touched...even if I want to be. My hair hangs shroudingly over my eyes, which I have averted. I'm always averting my eyes, stealing glances sideways at his feet. He sweeps my hair out of my face with a warm hand and asks me to come with him into the dark. I refuse, half-heartedly. There's some reason, some pull that is keeping me in the grey light. It's become familiar, and I know it well. Something comforts me in the way it twists, in the way I can see the dust moving in it. Thunder in the distance. Cold creeps in, and a baby cries in the dark. He asks me to come with him again. It's the crucial moment. A second of wavering on the knife-blade of decision and all will come crashing down around me. I want the grey light. I want the baby in the dark. I want him to hold my hand. I feel pulled in so many directions, and I curl up on the floor and cry. He shakes me gently. I tell him to let me go. That I want him to let me go, and he says "He needs you." And I can't tell if it's him who needs me, or the baby who needs me, or both. I cram my fists into my eyesockets and rock back and forth, wanting the darkness to be over. Cold rainwater, murky, hard, pours through the floor above. I'm quickly drowning in a puddle, but I realize that the puddle was there before the rain came. That I've drowned in a tepid collection of my tears. He is gone. The baby is not crying. My loneliness breaks me, and I am full of regret. The grey light is gone. Something eats me in the dark.
 
Improvised poetry while I'm bored at work...

I grasp the irony...
of haunting a library
when it's too dark to read.
I saved my life...

Hell is paved,
with souls who were "saved"
by taking their music away.

Lighthouse heart took dark hours.
A heart like an anchor
sank him down to me...

Tied to the mast of a pirate ship,
I chose to hear bad news first.

Talents for my own destruction:
all I've ever owned.
the velvet edges split,
the bright lights have found me again...
Nostalgia for meaningful things.
The happiest days of my life,
I know.

My death played to no applause,
angels came to my dire cause.
"Your darkness is brighter,
you are inevitable!"

Give me the ghost.
The crumbs.
Something to help me sleep at night.

I went to your room and
laid in your bed and I looked
out your window, towards my house.

He said, "I want to go back...Just back."
Two frozen atoms stir.
A fear of the future.
He said, "We're two of a kind."
Like moths to electric light,
we didn't even get the crime right.

Young at the century's end,
but the law of gravity
will not bend, for you and I again.
Love at absolute zero.
I think they filmed the whole thing
on a soundstage.

Moonlight transmits the golden years displaced.
Nothing rises so we're content to
decline with a certain grace.

In me,
electricity and trash.
Tonight my life depends
on you and me and this trust that we'll
believe in something
when this party crashes us.

In the absence of love,
we loved the absence.

Because we're still alive,
we get into his car.
You could say we're a team.
But I won't.

Beneath the stars,
life is cheap and easy.
We pay in hard currency.

He keeps talking about the end of the world and
he's a dedicated boy.
Oh, how do you live when love is suicide?
When love is such violence?

Your world may end in dust
and silence.
 
More poemtries...


Putting Off

So you catch the glimpse
of my dark corners,
the doubt and fear
that would eat me
if I had no lights.

Does it scare you?
Are you suddenly
unsure of me,
and my new breed of quiet?

In all the hope and wishing,
somedays it's just too much,
and there is lost in me
some forlorn resolve,
and I am bitter.

Bitter to taste, and
be thought of.

The world around me
spins in bright colors,
some fascinating glow...
and I will paint it.

But it is not part of me.
Not today.

I curl up
on the corner of my bed
in a dark lit,
half-spun room.

Where trying to sleep
is the key to forget,
and music drowns
all the tears away.


Stalks and Bonds...

I disentangled myself
from the cunning, tentacled malignancy
that wound recumbant on my sanity.

Some malcontent found boredom
and eagerly they bred,
to create an unfathomable restlessness.

Dragging narcoleptic emotions
I embarked on the reparition
of this corpulent disaster
that had petrified my moving on.

I was left to loiter
amidst pedantic delusions of adequacy.

It was an imperative discovering -
I learned nostalgia for progression
and the burn of past effort gave me
a recognition, a thawing of my feet.

Discrepancies between was and will
lay scattered in botched reconcilliation
with once well-founded mulling-over. Breaks.

I garbled in acknowledgement of wrongs,
the heraldic sound of my own admittance;

the irridescent pang of possibility
lay jagged on the forks and winds ahead.

I would kindle a fire that stings me -
lambasted with inspiration and drive,
motivation needles its way out of my skin.

Opalescent: decision's mark was pressed to my lips,
paranoia exorcized,
its gaping wound soothed of queries
and salubrious doubt -

its umbilical ties to all fear.
Victory,
hides beneath the first inch onward.



Insighed

What grimness swallowed?
Its processes eaten through
the trembled inner walls of me.
Marauding as some better thing;
ran rampant in the electric spirals of my mind.
beholden to the glare of imposed shackling.
Was there some tryst in the shadows
that I mistook as a deeper thing?
The unabashed way I let it sink me.
Imps and demons parley for my soul.
It was illodged in my eager trust.
Now I find a rush for departing,
the impositious need of flight.


Weeps Wild

Razed enigma,
empty stares.
Saturated vessels,
the verification blooms.
Blood weeps wild starvation.
Silence haunting the hoarded eyes.
Eager misconceptions,
the mastication of ideals
irks my brooding.


The Lonli

Always this constant gnaw -
a cage for some trapped, starved thing.
It eats my bars and fights pointless
to die empty;
always conscious of the lock on the outside,
of the morbid oggling from eager-eyed spectres:
haunting their humanity so self-important
from the corners of their bodies...
consumed in their tininess
by the convincing of wretched importants.
Is there not a full to fill me?
No softness, whole-half
that will slip piece by piece
between bars,
to cradle aching dark.


Initially...

instead she fades so
loosely into shadow,
outside the biting cold, the dark:
verify her slipping,
each moment counted in the
downward spiral of glorious flake,
drawn dark and so soundproof.
a poison seeps out some vein,
no anti-venom for what
lingering way rejection irrigates my inner webbing.
overdid the underdoing, never
told him the way
the lights - reflected - so trembled in my eyes.


(untitled, written yesterday)

Variegated resignation
gnaws my sodden consternation.
snarling teeth tear vegetation,
tendons, skin...no hesitation.
The deepest writhe of his eschewing
distills some dew in lack of doing.
Airy linger scents of brewing,
o'er the picturescent viewing.
Eager races a stone distance
marbled by one's legs' resistance.
Are we always shackled to existence?
Perplexing, our plodding persistence.
Wearied, worn, and ground to tatters
a heart no longer holds what matters...
beneath it proof in bloody spatters:
the wretched refuse when hope shatters.
So e'er long I weave forlorning
in threads and fibers for adorning
the teeming shores of plea and mourning.
Yet between strands myself I'm scorning.
And in confusion I will end
a poem written for a friend,
and pour heart-words I've never penned
o'er a confession I'll never send.


Blanks Stretches of White

Vile frozen flaky whiteness
icily slides down my throat,
and deadens some inner me.
Gnaws me wholly,
lifts me to the place where
you can see you are
finally free, liberated.
So you go.
Flit off to that glimmer in the dark,
that glint of something in your eye.
I age before I'm old.
It wrinkles at all you love.
A depth of me I know you love.
You love me when I'm ignorant,
when I need you.

Sickly sleet, it freezes me in slow spiderwebs.
Left dry...you leave me dry.
You left me barely whole. Wholly bare.
It all comes down, down to one line.
A stone freezes to watch you.
As it often is: it's all you love.
The deeper in I go, you love.
You love me when I'm ignorant.

So here, I'm going. I'm digging me deeper.
Here I dig me,
buried in the snow.
Buried by the me you love.


Sweetly Shattered

I wandered in your noticing,
doubt is huddled, no one leaves.
It's clear to me, so obvious,
the way you'll carve her
into so many pieces.
You shatter her so sweetly,
so sweetly,
she is shattered.

Catch my fall in veins,
pain stays, some secure sleeping.
It's clear to me, so obvious
you could be carving her to pieces.

And I watch me sweetly shattered.
shattered sweetly,
so completely.


Signals

Pondering your pointed comments.
Thought slipped to the subject of shame -
and it made me laugh, how you said
sometimes it's better not to stay
if you surely feel nothing,
it's better, for you, this way.
You say.
Have you found the place you can't breathe?
It's that last word...
and I watch you understand.

We're here,
at the final signal.
Here we are,
at the last thing to say.

The light fed our inner flame,
the sunset hues
winding so tightly in the trees,
found us at opposite ends,
and our points were different...
we deferred.
Who knew why?
I can't escape myself,
there's no way you can just fall away.
It's the place where you feel nothing.
Your eyes scream to me
the final signal.


Fallen

If you lose,
wound in the tangled web
woven of your lust,
and the binding
of your own desire
...grace-distant.

If you call him,
the music will wake you.
Your eyelids rebel
in the blinding light.
Something burns all the sun again.

What use is life around here?
Things are so dangerous
on your own.

Something good,
dies early.
Dies before the second song.

But when you fall,
you slide from grace.
The beautiful things dim
In the half-light of your
folded faliling
Away from grace...
What beauty to discover.
 
More from today...

Afterthoughts

Is it true you kill your own expectations?
Raising the bar
after she's already jumped it?

Don't idealize the race,
don't make a life
out of embellishing a pedestal
till no one can stand on it.
Why would you want her on one anyway?

Don't keep her there.
Keep her in your hand.

For all the loving -
love has found you wrong, I see.
I think.

You have to want her
as more than just
a place to keep yourself.

I wish I could find for you
the piece that you are missing,
that thing to complete your heart...

But I can't.
You continue -
and I, I can only watch
and be.


Longer

In all our late distance,
there are moments I catch you closer -
some burning shovelful
is flung into my face.

Can't you feel the changing?

On the wind I snatch
whispers of what's passed me by.

I seem to collect them.

I have pockets and and fistfuls of dead leaves.
Of proof I could have blown away.

So we'll sit,
and talk in patches.
Some awkward detachment
unties our little knots
with brittle fingers.

Can't you stop the slipping away?

Or do even I
mean that little to you?

I would call,
if I heard you listening.p


(untitled)

I would beg you
to stop me from digging this hole.
I am hurting,
and want to bury it -
but this is not the way.
Remind me why I know you,
like no one else.
Remind me why
it counts so little.
Am I distant?
You didn't pull me closer.
Am I different?
Perhaps.
I couldn't be enough,
I had to change.
I'm sorry if I let you down.
I'm sorry if I left you down.
Leave something like a tear
the next time you find yourself
in places where I lie.





GAH! I LIKE HIM AND IT'S MAKING ME NUTS!

Well, not really nuts. I don't want nuts, made or otherwise. But still. There's this guy, who I, well....like. A lot, and it's making me stupid and dumb and very tentative and stand-offish because I am SOOOOO convinced that he doesn't. like. me. Because, number A: I. Scare. People. Mleh.

So, yes, in lieu of not being able to put that in a poem and have it seem remotely poetic, I had to explode for a moment there. Thank you.

Poem Translation:

Boys are dumb,
because I am dumb.

I hate their silence,
because I am silent and so unsure.

All this liking
makes me a scream,
a writhe,
a sad batch of love songs
from headphones in a dark corner.

There's nothing to say
that we would work,
and in all my hinting,
I catch no hint.

Perhaps he's waiting for me to say it,
that he sits there knowing,
and somewhat amused.

Like him laughing at me
is going to loosen my lips.

I hate that I crave and loathe his laughter,
the difference between with and at.

Someone hide me
from my hiding,
and find me a place more warm and dry.

Turn off the music.
Take of the headphones...

Find me in the light.
 
Alrighty! It's been far too long, and I have to have some place to suddenly vent emotionally over Veebs return. I feel like the prodigal son's step-mother or something. Sniffle.

Can I explain why I honestly am so moved by that?

I literally didn't think I'd live to see the day. I was seriously broken-hearted last September(ish) when I thought I was saying my last goodbyes, and was left so unsure if Veebs would ever know how grateful I was for the laughs and the smiles.

Now suddenly it's January. And I see his name on the forum, in the OOC, and I'm not dead, and FRABJOUS DAY! HE'S NOT EITHER! And suddenly, all is right with the world, and it feels like it's only been a week, and...and...and...

Veebs is back, and words have failed me. I knew it would take something great and epic to make me speechless.

I hate crying at work, but I'll make an exception this time.

*IndieGirl dabs at her eyes.

Sheesh, you guys mean far too much to me, I don't know if it's healthy. But I don't care! I love you all.

GROUP HUG!

15392946.lemer21J.jpg


Yes, they're lemurs. Shut up.
 
Please do! You may continue your blog ninjing. :w00t:

Also, OPArsenal says Hi! He's currently mostly computer-less at the moment, so he's not been online in a while, but I was talking to him yesterday, and when I told him you were back, it was like,

Opa: "Are you serious?"
Me: "Well, I think so."
"You're serious?"
"Yeah, I am."
"I think I just had a heart attack."
"I cried."
"I just might do that too."
"Yeah..."
"I think Veebs return is mentioned in Revelations and a harbinger of armaggeddon..."
"Maybe he's buddha."
"Maybe he's FECKIN' METAL! YES! *head banging*"
"Ow. My ear."
"Care for a spot of tea?"
"Why thank you."
"Today's my unbirthday, you know."
"Really? I wondered about the bowtie."
"Well, it is a special occasion. Hence the matching plaid pants as well."
"But the bowtie is polka dot..."


Okay, so it might not have been quite like that, but something. It's still only 8:17 and my brain isn't fully booted for the day.
 
Roger that.


In other news...let's see. Not much to tell from Chel these days. Still working. Going back to school this spring, and then I'm transferring out to Hawaii this fall, if all goes well and according to plan.

Woof. Hawaii...that'll be the furthest away from home I've ever been. But I'ma learn to surf, and find me a Tongan. Or I'll run away and get shipwrecked on some desert island, because I've always wanted that to happen.


Anyway, I picked up a book yester day at Borders that I had been meaning to read for a long time, and I read pretty much from the time I got home, around 2 in the afternoon, to the time when I fell asleep unknowingly, and woke up with my lamp still on and my candles still burning and my face stuck to my book at 4 am.

Something about the whole idea of the book keeps winding around my heart and sqeezing it rather uncomfortably in all of my sensitive, insecure places.

The book is about love. It's about love that spans anomaly, time, and absences; it spans infertility; huge age differences that weave back and forth uncontrollably.

If I tell you the title you'll laugh that I'm so affected by it, because it seems such a ludicrous premise for something that has shaken me. But it made me ponder things...mostly that empty half that sits beside me day in and day out. That gnawing sense of one's incompletion.

I don't know why I keep finding these things to draw my mind back and back and back to that same hurting place. The book has been one instigator among many that have bitten into me this week and don't seem to want to let go. I don't even understand it, and the more I think about why it seems to hurt and explain all at the same time, the more I just feel confused and want to cry.

There's no way to express it. I can't draw how I feel...I tried. I can't write it out, I've tried that over and over. I can't drown it in music, and when I try, it only emphasizes the...pain. The unbreakable heartbreaking. The something. It's nothing in the here and now that hurts. It's...maybe it's my own terror that I'll never have someone to call me their own...but it's more than that. Deeper...somehow. Inexpressible. That I dangle too close to that chance, it wavers in front of me the slightest breath a dangerous thing that would disperse the misty cloud of possibility, and it will be I who break my heart, my chances. I keep having dreams where I'm destroying the things that make me happy...but it's unwilling, it's blindfolded...

I don't understand them. I want to be able to fight for something that for all I know isn't even there, and I feel like I am fighting for it. But it's hard.

Mleh. Chel feels lonely this week. Stupid...things.

Had my monthly check-up yesterday, and Dr. says everything looks excellent. And hey hey, my hair is almost 2 inches long! It's so nice to have hair again...you never know how much you appreciate eyebrows until you don't have them...

So much you learn when you go through some near-death ordeal like cancer. It taught me to be sincere. To say how I feel, to tell people what they mean to me. I learned how much people truly appreciate that bare truth of feelings. Of being who you are, no matter where, all the time. Sincerity is key to happiness. People try so hard to be anyone but themself, when in the end, it'll only make them miserable. I learned to embrace who I was, the bald, flippant, scarred, angry, hurting aspects of myself. Honestly, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. Looking back, it was something that I desperately needed. A new shift of perspective, a clean new paradigm.



Song of the Week: April 8th by Neutral Milk Hotel

Crawl across towards your window
I'm calling softly from the street
Always a lonely widow
Half awake and sleeping on my feet
I'm of age but have no children
No quarter phone booth calls to home
Just late-night television
Inside my bedroom all alone

There is no use in waiting
Offer up your steps so I can climb
Show me all your figure paintings
Etched in the middle of the night
Let me stretch upon your carpet
Let me hear the rain tap on your street
Knowing I am safe on the inside
Blankets wrapped and drifting off to sleep
Click to expand...
 
I wouldn't go to Hawaii to live there if I was you. My brother's been living there for a little over 3 years and he wants out real bad. The mystique of it wore off real quick,

As for the shipwreck, don't forget the volleyball! :lol:
 
:hug:
Aw, thanks, Veebs.




So....Today....Today is.....Today is the greatest da-a-a-ay.....

-= ANNNND *cut Smashing Pumpkins* =-

Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays come before Wednesday, usually. And Wednesday, for me, is the hardest day of the week. Wednesday is the day when my mind, of its own free will and choice, automatically jumps the proverbial gutter and heads straight for the cesspool. Translation: on Wednesday, everything is crass innuendo. "Somebody's tipping my bowl!" = stupid laughter. Sudden Onset Wednesdayitis or SOW for short, is currently the bane of my existence. "Hey, Chels! I like your hat!" gets the response: "Oooh...hey, hey, thanks for that. I like YOUR hat too! *wink wink, nudge nudge*" It's really rather annoying. SOW is a disease that's rapidly sweeping the nation. An epidemic, if you will.

And apparently the only cure is stupid movies, infecting someone you know, and hanging out with the others who have been quarantined.

All in all....SOW is far more trouble than its worth, but if you ever need inside jokes, share it with a friend.

Mlehhhhhh....

Sometimes my whole week is a Wednesday. :pinch:
 
Fridays suck. :P Fridays mean housecleaning and siblings overrunning the xbox so I never get a turn, and then I wind up babysitting while Mom & Dad go out.
 
Random poetry from lately...past couple weeks...yeah.


(untitled)

dangerously visionary,
illimitably winding progression
about your feet.

a mindful of spirit
keeps moving higher.

a jacob's-ladder of
celestially propagated
transcendence.

validation of propelling oneself -
somehow
it falls up.

a stumble
and the soul's flung
deep heavenward.

something lit
flickers between the bars.

the world is caged,
not you.
catch the right box-thinking.



(untitled)

have you ever
loved something so much
you want to break it?

i do and have.

like, waking
baby siblings
to see them cry,
because they're more
alive that way.

squeeze love
just tight enough
that it doesn't
cry yet.

i want to feel it
rendered almost-broken
at my hand,
if only for their understanding.

it's not a real love
if it's not painful -
i like the fire
because of the burning,
not the light.

because at least,
in this moment i see fine -
it's the feeling
that i've missed.


Trees in the Dark

Did you see the branches?
Bare, groping at the night,
the sky.

Did you hear them breathing?
That call to be needed.

The air surrounded,
silhouetted,
caressed them -
and still they shivered,
so dark and incompletely.

The taste of spring
more fickle than spring itself.

Did you see the way
their empty longing,
their overwhelming, crowded lonely
kept them so cold?

I watched them tap me,
beckoning for the ear
that hears their wizened whisperings.

The almost-rain
so much less bearable
than each acrid drought.



paperwings

have you put on
your bright, new paper wings?
got the glue for your head?
the tape for the broken wing?
i don't mind,
as long as i can't fly.

go put on
those bright, new dancing shoes.
here's news for your head -
you need tape for that broken wing.
i don't mind,
as long as i'm with you.

you're long gone,
on bright blue paper wings.
it went to your head,
you never taped the broken wing...
i don't mind,
as long as i die too.



(untitled)

i lost happiness
in your vast, stretching sky.

all those homes are lined up so straight...
but on the inside they're not that way.
they've closed all the windows and locked all the doors.
from sadness to sunshine, i'm yours.

lately i've been feeling
like you'll never know
if you don't mark the way back
the further you go.

i'm the bright star
that fell behind
the mountain of feeling you are.




a dream

there was no long reclining;

an inclination toward shrillness
and repetitive side-cast glances
at the fleshy underbelly
of an obsession i'd labeled invincible.

i dreamt it mingled
at friends, so nonchalantly.
i changed, and they
saw my too-loud hiding.

he was stained and many-fingered.
he wouldn't let me go.
i weaseled some touching,
to revel and detach in all the warmth.

he came too close -
and i withdrew,
drew in.

i couldn't deny this impending
unleash of a hurt i've yet to know.
a sudden pique in curiosity,
a deformed bent
toward self-evaluation of strength,

of tasting the flames
to know how to describe the burning.

i wanted it not for a pleasure,
but as experience that also
had passed through
the mould of my perception.

i had to know it,
so i could set it aside
and cease its relentless eating.

i watched him gnaw my shoelaces
and trembled to hold,
to still - distill - him.
in all his potency,
he was still not strong enough for me.

i bruised him:
hugged his wriggling,
and wound up with
a knuckle in his soft spot.
he moaned,
and played with his shirt.

i had to keep turning,
to hoard my distraction
in a magpie's nest
of feigned ignorance and trivia.

too close - he kept
moving in too close -
and i couldn't de-veil.

i couldn't give him the words
already packed,
tangled on the tip of my tongue.

oh, how
i wanted to.

but the room was full
and he crawled,
already so overwhelmed.

i cried and he was too
busy laughing to see
how i buried it
in inflated transparency...
they were a decoy.

a mask for the blood-price
he exacted so unawares.

my glimmering was shot-crippled,
and fox-eaten too soon.




(untitled)

escaping in music
and sleep.

i drown so carefully
in everything else.

your clutches
sink me more.

each truth,
confession,
another stone
in my pockets.

another struggled blinking
at the harsh white
of shifting watery sunlight.

in this other world,
even death is real.



(untitled)

will you click easily into place?
or is there much forcing,
more edges to be trimmed,
and neither of us happy
with an imperfect fit?



(untitled)

sidled up to a streetlamp,
i watch the nearby meter
run out of time.

maybe there was a time -
some coagulation of moments
we might have built with.

for now, i ponder
with lampshade eyes
the seconds we spent...

contrasting what i
wanted to see,
to feel...
with what was
actually
seen and felt.

you brushed past me
in the rain,
in the dark.

and in that blink,
your warmth was familiar.

it also burned me.



(untitled)

exhumed the ghost,
the slivered dangling
which wrapped my fingertips.

it was treasure,
silk victorian lace,
silver-stranded -
delicately filigreed.

moving to dote on it
the next morning -
in true light,
i cradled cobwebs
with these hands.



(untitled)

burn the midnight,
ache the very bones -
and gut my wrenching.

your chill ran bloody,
i curdled screams
on the floor.

razed hair -
that docile, pretend growing
i sweep callously away.

on moving,
it's the backs i'll look at
to give soul
in all my numbing.

there's that occasional...
life...
better sorry
than safe.

it's not a tame lying.



(untitled)

how do i break
so silently,
so shrugged and apologetic?

it almost fascinates me.

friends with
needled hands
and threaded teeth

eye my laughing
and shake their heads.

i laugh to shrug off,
to veil the tears
that singe my eyes,
my throat -

the careless cremation
of whored hopes.

i will disentangle
these optimisms.

idealism
is for pop stars
and smarmy country songs.

that doesn't mean
i won't call the pieces mine.




flush

a snail discovered
midst repose
in its shell.

truth doesn't let
sad, small things
possess their dreams.

each moment
of soft hopes snatched
by that rush of tide,

and broken:
thrust upon
reality's shoals.

the waves
will never care.

birds peck at, eat
the remains of what
they cannot understand.



(untitled)

as delicately as an eyelid,
my only real belonging
tears along perforated, memorized lines.

blood-stained walls close it
to collect the relics of this cleaving.

every reincarnation
devalues the sanctity of the me,
the life, before.

tiny vessels rearrange
the color of this time.

numb, but not new -
pain sears its tattered edges.

i will spare erubescent sincerity
its new sieve;
pouring it instead

into my pillow,
and complacent distractions.
 
And these are some that me and my friend Dan coauthored.


A Chance Sky

Unknown to ground beneath my trodden feet
I was continued by that cloud,
blanketed by misty sheet...
creased and curtained, shredded shroud.
Restless or gray?
so far to say...
to watch the way it floats
I have to call it both.
Continued - trying to forget in the horizon,
which always receded:
all the subtle wisps of cloud
the winds of change I wish I needed.
Can one trust a wistless submission?
A cloud can't move of its own volition.


Tilted

stumbled on him as he sat
at a quicksand pond
tracing his bare toes in the silt

watched her lay her body flat
from behind the fernleaf frond
her beauty on it's back to stilt

sigh to scream, to sweat from matte;
sediment covers bare-skin bond
in inching moments, caution unbuilt.



Transcented

We merely knew
it wasn't human nature
to love
only what returns love.

A reclamation of potential,
and the acknowledgement
of something more
than just compassion.

And by the same mystery
we knew
it was divine seed
growing in us.



Unveiled

sipped once-known dew,
to fall into
the world we find -
in kindred kind,
in place divined -
is only once in childhood.

With it where the world stood
betrothed to such ephemery
the rest is merely memory
and wherewith it was wrought
is held as tiny as a thought

a place we knew beyond recollection,
in certain flashes we glimpse perfection.


Long Ways Home...

Held aloft in wanderlust
just nowhere, home where 'no' is just
creation's source,
the death of beauty.

Where home is just the way the light
turns in her hair,
how so many tangents set the same path.

Two voices speak to me:
one your voice,
the other the actions in your hands.

I cannot discern my yearning
between the one, and the other.

Absorbed in hard solidity
none stop to see or pity thee,
except the occasional me,
who would wrench out your divinity
and feed you your potentiality...
could I but keep a semblance of what is pure
from all this burning.

In the land of unmaking,
the glamour of death unwound -
two mouths are silent:
one in awe of destruction
both in being kissed.

It's rarely seen,
what lies in nothing except between.


-untitled-

You
are all that's wrong
with my life.
And I need you.
And I claim you.

You will have to crawl on all fours,
through the burning
to reach the bleeding.
the other side of the wound
that I am embodied in

And I
I'm all that was right
with your life
you need me
and you'll have nothing
nothing to do with me
 
Weird mood lately...Chel's in hidey-neutral-mellow mode today. Bored, detached, unmoved, resenting the blah non-adventure uninspiredness of the world around her...

There are days when I want so much new, something new, shiny, moving, transcendent, fly-away, breathtaken, beholden, cherishable...something feet-sweeping. And it doesn't come, and doesn't come, and I melt and distill in the bottom of this shell...I feel like writing, and it comes, but it feels same-old. It feels second-hand. It feels...not so fresh...

How do we find the things we never know we've lost? I asked my friend that yesterday, and he wrote a poem in response:

the things we don't know that we've lost
you find them with sincerity, gravity, benevolence
they wait outside security, forethought and malevolence
they present themselves
from diving delves
and steal away to waiting empty shelves
you find them without knowing

...you find them without knowing...How do you find the place/time/space/emotion where you don't know? I could walk that in circles for a month of Sundays...

It got me thinking... ... ... and I wrote:

Knots

the no in the knowing
to know some no known.
you knew you'd neglected
that never-be-shown.

so no is the new way
of never, of knows.
of tweaking the action
to forsee the shows...

the music not twisted,
the picture-knot scene -
to know the not knowing
of knowledge between.

I spend my whole life with the question of where my next inspiration will come from always at the forefront of my subconscious. Inspiration is my motivating factor. It's the force that moves me. I dunno.

I really liked my poem, though. I haven't had one so flowy and well-strung just come out of me effortlessly like that in a long, long time.
 
Mleh. Updates, updates. I need to update all of my little online journals...

These poems are from the recent batch that I wound up writing about someone - who once upon a time meant the world to me - because I was feeling lonely and when I feel lonely, my thoughts seem to revert to him and I can't write anything until I get him back out of my head. So...yeah. They're all untitled but they're all separate poems. Just a common theme...


fingering my disillusionment
like still-warm sheets
the empty morning after,
i press my lips to your name;
the taste of you
still ringing in my ears.

i dismantle
this eager pleasing,
like i'll rearrange the kitchen
once he's finally moved away.

in my unguarded mind,
i was yours.
whispered to you beneath
those many, many
waves of sleep. my own.

given piece by piece
in pieces to the wind,
addressed to you -
swept so unceremoniously,
and scattered.

i won't be retrieving.

each tear for you
returned to sender.



migratory direction.

the yellow ochre core of
oh, desire.

burnished gold,
a taint of dried blood.

i've found the colour
of refusal,
breaking,
her pieces beneath rugs,
shady shoebox letters;

why so many things
fall apart
at the creases.

promises to self
in faded print,
erased by the ignorant years.

my time
always on your side.

my side
the one you disapproved,

the one you painted in
callous,
callow,
hollow laughter.

your colours never
wash away in tears.

your tearing the only thing
to rebuild.

i gnaw this
papier mache heart
to stop the hurting.


we laughed -
we talked about...
well, everything.

and i wanted it,
i loved it.

he loved me,
and i smiled.

we talked, confided
and the world
fell away.

in whispers,
contented silence,

i learned
to let them love me.



i wound your moments
in the afterward,
around ponderous fingers.

a desire to lay you
scriven on this page -
wholly bare,
barely whole;

were i disentangled enough
to objectify
each meaning, glance -

to extract some
less-raw symbol.

i've never been so literal,
so flayed.

instead, it's this
purged you -
riven from me -
smeared somewhat
undelicately
here...

uneras-
able the traces
of this ectomy,

it's you, in my
blood on each page.



i can laugh at you now.
i can be angry,
and not blind.

i see truth
without exceptions.

the window i chose
to catch your light through,
to look out of...

we broke it.
i stand with bleeding fingers
in shards of glass
and laugh

at how i couldn't
see it coming.
 
And one that I think's pretty good, as far as my own writing goes...

Ponderous

What endures is the simple
question of having
been alive.

The fabric of love
scorches no matter
how vigilante we are.

Bound
together in many ways,
we are still
swept suddenly out
of each others' lives, by tides
we don't recognize and tides
we do.

What can love offer
that cannot be rejected?

Humans are creatures
in search of proportion
in life, a pattern
of grace.

People want beauty
and balance - not
triumph.

We forget what we
want to mean.

Suddenly, somewhere,
we will turn on again
in darkness.

We are unquenchable
and stark
in the same moment
we are ordinary.

I try to hide
my deterioration -
the loss of meaning which seems
like dry rot working
its way deep into a house.

Who is the family,
waiting at home,
for whom you choose life?

What comes after freedom
from suffering?

The dark caves
transformed into halls
of light.
 
Do you know how difficult it is reading these at work?

Nice, I liked the one about trees - but misread one line as "the taste of chicken"...
 
:D Thanks for that, Nov.





Anyway, updates, updates...that aren't poetry. Looks like I'm going to do the cut and paste from email conversations thing again, because I haven't been keeping track of the psychoticness of the past couple of weeks....


random email bits:
"Wierd, I've been having the same kind of conclusions about my own love-life these days. --- This bozo can gather the wierdos of course ---, but when it comes to collecting me a nice, decent, funny, sincere guy, I totally fall of my face. EVERY DAMN TIME. It's getting really old. And I try to be unassuming, I try to be laid back and fun and occasionally flirty, but...I dunno. I hate myself somedays, and that's really hard to deal with - especially lately for some reason. It's like...the line between loving who I am inside - being comfortable and happy with that, and the downward spiral of chronic misery and loathing and abhorrence of outside me. It's like, sure my personality is in one whole piece now, but the outside me doesn't feel like it fits the inside me, and I try so hard to take care of it, but I just can't. I'm doing something wrong and screwing up stuff, and I have no idea what goes wrong, and I have no clue of how to fix it, and sometimes I feel bad for myself and wonder if ___ was my only chance at that, and that somehow, in someway, it was ME who screwed the whole thing up, and that if somewhere along the road I hadn't turned or did turn, or paid better attention, we'd still be together and he wouldn't be an asshole and I wouldn't be some...whatever the hell sad thing I am."


"Yeah... ... ... Stargirl puts me in a weird mood too. I read it every once in a while when I get into a mood of self-resentment, the sense of a need to conform. I've been feeling the pressure to kind of change myself the past few weeks. Felt like I've failed at something I didn't understand enough to ever have succeeded. Felt like being myself wasn't good enough, and that it's time for me to move into a new phase of some other mask of personality, and I've been resenting that feeling, because I know it's not the truth, and it's not something I need to do.

It's interesting to me (in an observation-type of interesting) that you got angry this morning about that. I've been having some serious rage issues with life and myself and whatever this past week. So much anger that I couldn't have a serious discussion with anyone without yelling at them. I've felt so off. So resentful at myself for the way I've been dealing with people. Thursday night, after a huge fight with my parents, I had a totally panic/anxiety attack and spent the rest of the night sobbing and clawing at my wrists with my fingernails in the dark because I couldn't sleep and wanted to get out. Get out, leave, no more. Friday morning was desperate, and awful. I felt sick and disgusted with myself. The weekend was a whirl of friendly concern and self-detachment...that empty feeling you mentioned. If it's any consolation I can somewhat relate.

Ugh. I'm sorry to kind of twist everything to my perspective. I feel like I do that a lot. Listen to someone and understand, and then wind up just talking about myself. I try not to do it, but it's like...I can only understand things through my own paradigm of experience, and I present the experiences to people to show them that in some small way I can relate...I dunno. I get mad at myself about that. About being too selfish. About projecting myself onto things, experiences, people. I dunno. I guess I'm trying to say that I'm sorry if I treat you like an emotional pack-mule. :) I don't feel like one. It's nice to know that there's someone who I can just kind of...express myself to without thought of being judged or misunderstood or...yeah. So, don't worry about unloading to me. It's nice to feel like someone trusts you enough to just...tell you things. And thank you for being someone who I can just talk to. It means so much to me.

With the Jed, Andrea, Adam, and Su crap...I dunno. It's just getting really old lately. Su really just doesn't know what to do to get out of herself and live ...so she whores herself out emotionally onto whatever the closest thing to Jed is. The reasons for that are many and complex. Su likes Jed because Andrea loves him. And she has a weird kind of respect and pity for Andrea. She wants to be Andrea, and she's glad she isn't...all at the same time. If Andrea thinks Jed is amazing, he must be. And he is. If Su could get Jed to love her, it would mean she was better than Andrea, and she desperately wants to be better than people. It's why she was trying to get you to ask her out. If I thought you were amazing, you must be. If she could get you to put the moves on her, she would be better than me. She's done that to all of her friends. But Jed didn't want her. Jed didn't respond. So she felt worse about herself, and worse, in her eyes, she felt like Andrea was better than her. So she picked up the next thing that moved, that paid her attention...which happened to be John. She wanted to play with someone. She wanted to reassure herself that she was better than Andrea. That she could take a man, twirl him around a finger, and not even have it matter. She plays with John...and it makes me sick. She likes Adam because he's dangerous, because he, himself, is a player. Because playing with Adam lets her be at Jed's house, be around Jed. Where she can observe the kind of man who can resist her wiles. And it just makes her like him and resent him more. But Su didn't take into account that she can still get played with. She likes to pretend that the things people say to her don't matter...but they do. They do desperately. And so she plays pretend. She plays spy. She plays the independent aloof ingenue. She plays like she doesn't care. She plays the game like there's no stakes, when really she's put everything she feels she has on the table. Andrea and I realize that. It's why, after all the backstabbing she's done, we still let her be around. We still coddle her. We involve her and reassure her and let her prop herself up with our failures. She's the kind of person who can only feel good if she feels like she's at least not as pathetic as the people around her. Which, perhaps, only speaks to my and Andrea's own insecurities. About our willingness to admit that we are somewhat pathetic. That we willingly let ourselves be the sad lower bar people raise their standards from. It gets hard. It's hard to convince Su that she's brilliant and smart and beautiful so that she doesn't do something desperate like slash Jed's tires so that she can come rescue him. Stab him to death so she can nurse him to health at the side of his hospital bed. She destroys things so she can try and fix them to feel productive. And they always end up being her friends, and she never follows through on being capable enough to fix her messes. We fix them for her. We feel sorry for her. Currently, Su's the troubled, unstable teenager of our eclectic group. Andrea is the insecure one with the longing she won't admit to, sacrificing herself to the needs and whims of those who mean so much to her. Jed's the seemingly indifferent hearttthrob who's too afraid of commitment to just take the thing that he needs, the thing that would take care of him. Meanwhile, I'm playing the mother at her wit's end. The headless hen trying still to guard her chicks.

It's getting old. The games get old. The lack of sincerity and genuine communication gets old. The babying, the overlooking, the constant forgiving and conceding get old. I'm tired of it. And it's worn on me so much the past few weeks that I feel myself slipping. I did slip. The past week was one giant slip that I'd been heading to for a long while. Helping so much that you don't realize you need help too, and everything collapses around you and all you can do is sit with your head in your hands and cry.

It's been a hard week. A hard past few weeks. Hard at work, and hard at home, and hard with friends. I feel like I have no escape place. Nowhere I can go and not have to care about things that aren't real that I don't understand. I feel like I'm maneuvering through stalemate after stalemate. I want a new game. Or I just want the game to end. The pain gets old. The hurting is so old. So unbearable some days. Friday night I wanted to just go out and get blind, slobbering drunk to the point of numbness and then wander out on the highway. I've been so mad at my family, at my friends, at my job, at myself...it was nearly worth it. I'm glad I just decided to sleep all weekend instead. I just feel like my ability to shake it off has run out. And I'm scared for the next wave to hit."


Friend: --ah but there it is again... now you've left and i can feel myself getting angry again, because you're not here as my blood vassal.  i'm such a vampire it's sick.  it's like i only like people for their vitality and my dream is an eternal marriage of a male parasite to the female wholeness that i need and detest for my dependance on it.  i'm so sick.  i make myself sick like this when i'm alone... what a fucked up kid.
    Me: - It's not sick. And neither are you. But I understand. Who doesn't want that? Who doesn't want a pillar of strength, a tall, dark, green, living tree to prop ourselves up on, to wind and grow around? I dunno. I wish I were a vampire. I'm more of the over-enthusiastic blood donor who winds up bleeding myself dry trying to help other people. Fat lot of good it does when you're so bled dry that you're dead. I do that. I take on these "projects" under my wing and give them transfusion after transfusion and then leave them co-dependent and me rasping my last death-rattle thinking I've done them any kind of good. I wish I could even it out. That's the thing I'm in the process of researching at the moment. Finding that balance between helping quench thirst and keeping your own cup full. 

Friend:odd how perceptive i can be when i feel like shit... same goes for you, sista, but i retract the use of the s-word in your case... you're perceptive when your... cranky.  =P
Me:- Ha! No, that's funny. Because in the shower today, I was standing there and realizing how much I just felt like shit these days. And I said it. I was like, "I feel like shit." And it was weird...I dunno... because I had to say it. I had to accept verbally that it's what I was dealing with. And that, hey, feeling like shit happens. And if you realize it, then you can, I dunno. Deal with it better. I DO feel like shit...but for me, it's become a burrowing thing. I don't want people other than me to deal with it. I don't want to try and express it to people, because I can't word it right, and I don't understand it well enough myself to explain it even to me. I've moved back further into a few chambers of my nautilus shell, and just want to be alone. Duke it out in my head. Even when there's no one to benefit from it, I sit in a room and bleed myself. Watch it pool on the floor and wonder at how such a thing seems to help everyone but me. I bleed and I don't die. I sit there cold and grey, suddenly not caring anymore. Overcome by the most exhausting sort of apathy. And in the cold and grey and the apathy of my reason and my consciousness, waves of emotion throw me against the walls of my chambers, hurl me to the floor. Beat me on the hardness of my own safe places. I can't control them, I don't want them. They just come. And I do nothing. I let them throw and use me. And then they go. And I cry because I don't know what else to do.

Maybe someday I'll realize that it was all one big thing of pain these past few years, and the good things are still to come. It's just...in the moment you feel like nothing will ever be worth it. And that's the hole that I've dug myself into for now.
Click to expand...
 
3/27/2006

It's not really wanting alone time, per se. I mean, the last thing I want to be is alone, which is why this week is hitting me so hard in the first place. It's more of a...I just want to be away from the people who don't fully understand and appreciate me. I don't want to spend time with people who are going to hang out with me and then be so glad they get to run off and do other things with other people who are more important to them.

I dunno. I'm just feeling so bitchy lately, and I feel bitchy because I feel needy, and I feel needy because I feel lonely, and I feel lonely because I am. Ha. Something along those lines...only with far more stuff in the spaces between the periods and the next words. I was cleaning my room this weekend, and I found the old letters that i'd thought I'd lost in the bottom of my desk drawer, and being a girl, I had to do the stupid thing and go back and read them all. And it...walking through all of their old rooms in your heart...the places you lock away and vow you'll never go back to...I walked through them and it ached, tore at me. And it wasn't what was there that did it. It was what once was there.

In the empty spaces between things I read my laughter, and my happiness. Our laughter and happiness, and I sobbed. I was mad at myself. Rereading the stupid things I said and did. I was mad at the person who I was a year ago. I resented her for not seeing what she had, and where she was, for being so self-centered and fake and at the same time being so painfully genuine. I look back now, from a perspective that's been polished and cleared by tears and trials, and I see it for what it was. And part of it for what it could have been. I gave myself to him in the most literal figurative way possible. I cut my heart out and gave it to him, and for a while he held it. For a while he wanted it, and it meant something to him. And I had to take it back, because I saw that both he and it were strained, and that it was my fault, and I thought if I could take it all back and put it all back and patch up the holes, that things would be just as they were.

I was wrong, and I've spent a year reading my mistakes between each stitch of regret, forgiveness, and release. Each seam in the sewing up of an old life to give it a place in this new one. And it's hard, because I didn't know what to do with him then, and I still don't know what to do with him now. He just is. This disjointed part of myself that never quite fit, and that probably never will quite fit...but it's a part that I wanted - and a part that I still want - with me.

Sometimes it's funny how a thing as beautiful as memory can sting you. The burn, the lump in the throat, when you see an old movie, hear an old song. A joke and you laugh, because he would have laughed. Because he would have rolled his eyes. Because he would have seen it with his eyes shining. And I don't get to see it. I don't get to hear it. I don't get to be a part of that as the me I am now. It was with the me who I once was. Who I once tried so hard to be. I don't mourn the loss of her. Or the loss of him. I mourn the loss of something that never was, and what never could be. The loss of redoing something because you think you know what you would have done. What you should have done. The loss of being able to go back and make the now something different. Make it something better, brighter, cleaner...new. The loss of rediscovery. The loss of a friendship, a friend; an opportunity to approach a once-inextricable part of my life with a shiny new sincere comfort in myself.

It's just something that I have to do. I have to go through the rooms. A spring-cleaning of the heart, if you will. I have to take down the pictures and hold them and see them and wonder. I have to dust the shelves, and pull down the books and leaf through them. The memories. The poetry. The conversations. To re-taste, to smell again, to once more finger something I cherished. Something that was an invualuable treasure to me.

I know it probably doesn't make sense, and that you probably don't understand. It's hard for me to understand it myself. But I have to do it. And I have to sit up at night and write about it. To lay awake at three in the morning on a Saturday and remember what I used to do. It's a re-feeling that purges. That purifies. In a way, my going back each time is the way that I have to destroy it enough to let it go. If I return enough, it will lose its novelty. It will lose its meaning. It's value. And when I no longer have to go back, because it means nothing to me, then I can let it go. Familiarity breeds contempt...I must make myself once again familiar with my ghosts, so I resent them enough to no longer cry when they leave me.
 
to ____, after a year

i forget how comfortable,
and familiar
your rooms are.

i was stung
by the hovering happiness.

bit by the me
who still haunts your corners.

i buried her in june.
i buried her in suddenly embracing,
encouraging -
the wealth that she hid.

in her death -
and more, your death -
i found myself.
and didn't know what
to do with it.

oh, the severed pain
the amputated aching
of all that you are
and were
and still seem to me.

i wish that you could see
the profound,
the trivial
quiet
screaming
barbed and silken
ways you're still wound
in my days.

i have traveled
from the door of your room
around a world,
a lifetime,
and find myself
at your door again.

in my past month
of silent detachment
i settle to the spring cleaning
of soul, of self.

oh, do you
realize for what
it was
it was everything?
my heart was my own
until you took it
so smartly, tender
and intent.

i gave you what i could.
at the time it was some
spectacular
lunch-trade acquisition,
deal.

through old windows,
long-washed
in a season of tears,
i see the days clearer.

though it's misunderstood,
i call you my first -
and so-far-only.

you: the axis,
the fulcrum of my past,
my growing.

my life in measures,
before and after
the coda of you.
 
A Rambling Montage of What IG has been doing (which is nothing, really)


Pt. I (The Latest) Hard Things

Okay, so what really frustrates me is that because neither of them can relate to me completely, they'll totally misread anything I do. Anything I did. And I want to punch them. In the face. Until they're not alive anymore. I loathe the way they'll fondle their damn egos with the thought that I even care like that.

That is the most frustrating thing. A misinterpretation of sincerity into some grotesque parody of my intentions.

Oh well, if anything, they deserve each other. The more I've gotten to know them, the more I've realized that they don't have friends, they have toys. People are good, as long as they're usable. Once they don't know what to do with you anymore, you're made to walk the figurative plank at knifepoint.

It's all just....so painfully funny. Watching them insist time and time again that real, genuine feelings matter sooooo much, and they turn around and EVERYTHING they do screams the opposite.

It's disgusting to me, to watch these things, these people, these one-time friends dissolve themselves into something so shallow. However, it's a morbidly fascinating kind of disgusting...to watch them using each other. Because that's what it is. That's all it will be. Is it wrong to hope he knocks her up so they both get a faceful of reality? Because I do. In the maliciousness of my occasionally angry constantly-broken heart.

They like each other because they're dangerous, that's all. Eventually their interactions will dissolve into resentment and loathing, and I will sit quietly in the dark and resent the fact that I'm usually right and never listened to.

She's like fire. Like a raging prairie fire, and I am one of the many things she's burned. And just like fire, it's her everyone rushes to, to control, to put out. And I am left behind. I feel so...tossed aside. Even my friends, my real friends, my BEST girlfriend - has spent more time at her side than mine in all of this. Supporting her. And...I resent it. It breaks my heart. I can't stop crying about it.

Said best friend dragged me to lunch with her today, and suprise-surprise, Su and Dan are there too. I hate the way they all act like nothing has happened. Like my feelings, because I don't like to make them so readily available appearance-wise, must not mean anything. That because Chelsea always has to joke about everything, if we joke about all of it, then we can have a good laugh while she's bleeding to death under the table.

In all of it, I think I resent Dan the most, but I'm taking out my frustration on Su, because she's the one who weasels her way into every relationship, every friendship, every interaction between people. I hate Dan for the way every girl is the same to him. I hate him for making me feel so easily replaced. I feel cheap. I feel, betrayed. I feel so unspeakably mad at myself for the way I was suckered into thinking all his schmoozy talk actually meant something at the end of the day. That his fluffy ideals actually played some small part in his actions and real life. I hate the way I finally trusted someone, and he took the opening (the state of willing open-ness that he had no IDEA how long it took me to achieve) I gave him, and flayed me alive with it.

Can I explain? I have no words for this hurting. I have watched unanaesthatized as my worst fear was gouged into me. Cut me to pieces. To finally give all of me, just me, completely open and honest to someone who I was sure, was SURE would appreciate it. Who would love me as a friend, and finally understand. But he didn't. Doesn't. And I have been so wrong.

It's not that I love him - I don't. Not like that. Not the way that everyone is assuming I do. That somehow I feel so upset because Su has "stolen" him away from me. It's not that at all. I resent Su because she was how Dan proved to me that he was nothing I thought he was. That neither of them were the friends I thought they were.

The hard thing is knowing and caring more than they do. Is knowing that for all of my love, support, understanding, and genuine concern, I get the teaspoonful, while gallon after gallon is poured out on the people who don't know it enough to appreciate what it is. What they have. It's a lack of desire for understanding, that makes me break so completely the relationship in my hands. I was willing to be there for you, but you will not use me.
This is the only thing I require.

"Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it." - Anne

The hardest part is trying to find the courage, the faith, to pick up each re-shattered piece and begin again.


Pt. II Sugar Pumpkin-Face

awake

in the stillness
i can hear your breathing
secure, unrestricted
devotedly you.

i myself, can't sleep so i
am listening to jeff buckley
singing: if you knew
how i missed you, you
would not stay away,
away...

awake.
awake, awake.
a wake of memory
is where i winter now;

in the quiet, without
you and with you.
but you weren't here for then.

you can't see the charred
pain tied to these -
each, eerie similarities,
moments.

i try so delicate hard
to untangle you from the
barbed wire he grew here.

if you knew
how i loved you, you
would not understand.

if you knew
how easy i love you, you
would know
how hard i have to forget.

________________


love, new
love, love
again

is tangled hair
meeting old brush;

painful working.

the notes of laughter
hang fragile
in the air you don't breathe.

i break
in the same moment
i slide

ever closer to
the promise -

or draw -

of that portion
of your Eden.



Pt. III Nova's Heart

Supernovas and white dwarf implosions...
This past week was weird. The weekend was hard. My good friend at an old poetry site who I've known for like, 4-5 years, her baby boy, Nova (Donovan), died Thursday (April 6) afternoon.

It was hard, in a way I didn't expect it to be. I hadn't been at the site for about 6 months, and wasn't really up to date on what was going on with everyone, and suddenly I'm back there and first thing I hear is that Erin's baby's really, really sick. It broke my heart.

He was 4 months old and 4 days old...and in the most theoretically improbable way, he touched countless lives. It's times like this when I feel very ungrateful, that I resent myself for taking for granted so often the amazing calm, comfort, and reassurance that I get from my faith. I can't imagine the pain, the aching, the impossible grief that would swallow me whole if I lost a child without the security of my knowledge that I'd see them again. My heart it breaking for Erin and her family.

And yet, even in their loss, I am amazed at her strength. At her calm...Erin has always been one of my favorite people. One of my poetic heroes.

Sometimes God likes to remind us that our own problems are trivial, and that life - any life - has a reach, and a power, beyond our understanding.


white dwarf implosion and the supernova

can you feel
the rings of saturn
on your fingers?

the impositious reaching
of a life
built from strung-together
nebulae.

stars hang
in a spring's bleeding
veils.

the coronal aura of
your very existence.

in that family's universe
you were integral,

you were a world.

in a sunset's
dying blush,

we feel the warm breath
of your dissolving
on our skin.


"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond comprehension." - Nelson Mandela

More musings on the Supernova...

In passing,
nightlight thoughts
transpire...

on wind your
every breath -
like fire -

scourge the mundane
from my veins

i let small things
again
take the reins.




naked, the peeling
of each new day
vies for attention
across the emptiness.




soft breath, little brother,
where are you
on the wind that brings you
so white and luminescent
to Him.




a delicate unbalancing,
whips of why still burn their sting
across the lips of hope mid-song -
its cast-off heartbeat rhythm strong.
each muse relatable, and praised.
new growth sprung in fields late-razed.




Pt. IV The Poems about Myself


symbionic

tentacled heart-anenome
starved to gather endlessly
grope at all the swim-by *WiSh*es
sleep - still empty - with fishes.


Abysmalion...

razor edge
of petal

bloomed:
so incomplete,
so unassumed.

deeper gouge
the silent yearning;

whispers whither
it with burning.

fire stoked
of dying embers;

how easy - quick -
the heart remembers

a lash of silver,
glint of flame,

to kill the thing
behind the name.


Rewound

misaddled
entropy,
and the sting
of each word
spoke softer;

many are
those silences
left unsaid.

rewound:
to where i
wrap
up the starting
again.

the early week
of my second life,
i found a niche
refillable.

i had never seen
one of those
before.

green-ivied
grew the door
away from this.

too late,
i was. behind:
the only thing,
these small hands.

i lived:
a place where
i was young,
and each new
unsaid silence

fell like gnats
into the buzzing
of my heavy-
lidded ear.

what me-
andered exploits
you spread
across my skinning,

something held
my box-puppy heart
from slipping
to its pre-assembled
state.

obstinants
would not let me
see whatever
did
that cradling.




Pt V. Conclusion

I currently resent all toilet paper in public restrooms. I've been spoiled by the plushness of Charmin(tm).




Pt. VI Favorite Random Poem that Currently Means Something To Me

the red wheelbarrow
by william carlos williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.





-=The La End=-
 
Last edited:
I've nothing to say because I've already said it all.

I love you beyond comprehension, and you mean everything to me.

I'm smiling at what my imagination is conjuring right now, images, sounds of the conversation we will have later tonight, like we do every night.

You are my Favorite Person Ever(tm) and I am incredibly lucky to have you.

:) x 1.8 trillion.
 
:hug: :kiss: You are wonderful, and I don't tell you enough how much you mean to me. I love our conversations, how well we complement each other. It all fits, and that - alone - makes me happy beyond comprehension. You have, in a very real way, saved me. The compounded misery I would have had to wallow through if you were not such an active, integral part of my life would have been too much to bear. I wouldn't trade you for anything.

Not even a really hot black guy.





Or girl. ;)


Love you, D.
 
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