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Good enough was never good enough

You were a piece of something special in a lumberjack shirt hiding the most lust worthy bust I had ever seen, and I threw it away because I’m really quite the idiot.

I got scared.  That’s the part I told you.  It’s not like it was a lie, it was the truth.  Someone barked and my head couldn’t keep focus.  The gun shot threw me off, which is stupid because things like that never throw me off.

What really did us in was me being unsure.  This may be the undercurrent in every fucked over relationship I’ve ever had.  I never know if I want to deal with another person all the time, every time.  If I commit to one person and I’m stuck with them will it all turn out the same anyway.

And I know where this is coming from.  Even if I never could put my finger on it before, you were the best example of it.  That relationship to end all relationships fucked me up.  I hate being the poster boy for commitment issues because it always seemed like bullshit to me, but here I am.  I’ve got commitment issues because when I was fully committed I felt like I was physically committed.  You suffered for that.  All of you did.

Now I only have our words and their bittersweet smiles.  You were always so fucking good to me and even when it was unequivocally one sided I never knew whether you were for me or against me because of my own bullshit.  You were always with me though.  Always on my side, no matter what.

But it’s been two years now since we last talked.  I don’t know where you are or how to get a hold of you.  I guess you’re as good as gone.  I’ll hope not but it’s not promising.  I’d at least hope to get to say thank you.  A chance to rectify a goodbye that shouldn’t have been.

 

Dear Pablo

Dear Pablo,

I envy the pain that’s ached your life and has carved such beautiful scars.

I wish I could hurt as bad as you have.

To know the ripping contrast of emptiness and burning need

To be haunted by soft lips

To hear the echo of your name in her voice

Frozen at the smell of her perfume.

Dear Pablo,

I wish I could have loved as you have loved

and etched memories in my depths and in my soul.

To know the anger of being forgotten and to tell her I have forgotten her too.

To tell her I don’t feel the pain she caused anymore because

I can’t remember the way we kissed or how it killed me every time.

Dear Pablo,

I will never sing any language as eloquent as you

I can never hope to love a woman with your passion and vigor

All I can dream is that the pains I feel are deep

All I can ask is that when she leaves I’ll know a part of what you suffered.

I Can Cry

I can feel the words

and sometimes they hurt.

I can hear the music

and sometimes its sad.

I can see the end

and sometimes its awful.

I can taste the salt

and sometimes it doesn’t stop.

I can witness the horrors of every day

and sometimes I can cry.

The Hurt

The hurt is the best part of being alive.  So many people try and avoid it because it makes them feel too much, I do quite the opposite.  I run to it with outstretched arms.  I embrace it like the sun in winter.  I roll through it like leaves in the fall.
Anything that can make you feel so deeply should be an experience that requires waiting in a line for over an hour.  Where you ask your friends if they want to join you and even if they say no you head down yourself alone.  You stand with strangers, nervous in your gut but so excited you can’t keep still.
The list of things that people do to themselves that have a terrible effect on their bodies isn’t endless but its enough to fill both hands.  The list of emotions we let in to feel can be balanced on a few fingertips.  We would rather hurt ourselves then feel.  I’d rather feel the hurt than anything else.
Tell me you love someone else after I said I need you.  I’ll smile through it that I made it that far.  Leave me a note saying you can’t stay any longer and disappear from my life forever.  I’ll put it away someplace special and admire the curves of your handwriting whenever I miss you.  I want to hear anything you have to say that’s going to make my heart ache and my soul collapse as long as the words are for me.
I would rather feel like my world is falling apart and nothing will ever be the same again then stuck in a room with white walls and a chair and nothing else.  I would rather look at you for the last time then never see you at all.  Make the pain felt so intense that I can feel everything rather then staring blankly and feeling nothing.
The hurt is the best part of being alive because the hurt means we are alive.  Feeling nothing you might as well be dead.  Being in love is the only hallucinogen I need to see things that aren’t there or miss things I don’t have.  Hurt me.  Make me feel something.  Indulge my pain a little longer.

I blame me

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

-T.S. Eliot

I loved a girl too hard.  I saw something in her and I grab hold of it and I squeezed it so I couldn’t let go.  So, of course, she ran.  When she ran she looked back but her progress forward never stopped.  I think she looked back because she might have loved too?  Probably not.  I over romanticize every little thing.

When she stopped running she kissed my forehead instead of my lips.  When she sat it wasn’t near me.  When she left it seemed to be because of me and when she didn’t enter it felt like she was waiting for me to go.

I didn’t stop though.  It was my fault.  I squeezed too hard.  I loved too soon.  I drowned her in the waves of my adoration.  She could swim fine but I think her arms and legs began to tire as she was merely looking for a casual lap or two around the pool.  I grabbed her hand and jumped into the ocean.  I can’t blame her for it really.

So I didn’t stop, even after she ran.  She went into the woods and I followed her with a torch.  She hid in a corner and I turned on the lights.  She went to bed early and I was there when her eyes opened the next day.  Too much isn’t enough to describe how much too much really was.  So I blame me.

The rest is a descent into madness.  A trick played that was mentioned casually before but I had never let go.  A game that took itself too far so she wouldn’t know the lips against hers.  As chivalrous as I’d like to think myself I’m really not.  If she hadn’t asked the question I would have absolutely gone as far as she would have let me.

No lies were spilled though.  When asked I gave in.  I gave up.  She ran again, this time covering her tracks so I couldn’t follow.  This time masking herself so I couldn’t see her.  This time squeezing too hard I let her slip through my fingers.  I have nobody to blame but myself.

Accidents are nobodies fault

I got hit by a car once.  It’s amazing, the feeling of it.  You never really know what that kind of force is like until you experience it.

Yes, you can run into a wall and fall down.  You can try to push a tractor and admire its ability to not move.  But to have something fling you through the air so effortlessly while its barreling out of control is impressive.  If it wasn’t so dangerous I’d recommend it to everyone simply so they can know how little they can defend themselves in every day life.

The pain is excruciating as well.  It’s fantastic the amount of hurt it can cause with little or no damage to itself.  The most impressive part is how it can seemingly carry on as normal while you’re left clinging to life support in its wake.  The after effects are catastrophic to you and a minor annoyance to it.

I recovered, obviously.  As fragile as us bone bags are we can recover from a lot, even a being hit by a car and thrown on the concrete.  Our bones heal and our organs settle right back into place.  Cuts and bruises fade.  One of the few similarities between the car and us feeble-bodied beings is the long standing possibility of never being the same if we’re hit hard enough.
We may carry on with a limp and never walk the same way again.  There might be some kind of internal damage that causes a lot of things that we did before to be altered.  Our brains might even be shook up enough that they don’t snap and sparkle in the way they once did.
And the car?  The car might need repairs.  A windshield that needs to be refitted and never sits right against the wipers.  The front end welded back into place that now has a clicking sound when it’s driven.  Overall performance, like us sacks of skin, will have to be re-evaluated.  It’s funny how we can be so similar yet so different, machines and humans.

Of course it wasn’t a car that hit me, it was you.  You stared at me and I froze to like a deer in the headlights.  I don’t know if you steered into me or if you were as out of control as I was stuck but you hit me head on and I went flying through the air.  It was a light feeling of wondrous glee.  I couldn’t remember a time when I was happier than when I was falling for you, and then I hit the pavement.

Falls can never last forever, the ground is always waiting.  You crashed into me and broke everything.  Even after that I tried to get better.  I recovered with a limp.  My brain didn’t quite work as well as it did though and there seemed to be little scaring on you.  You drove along as if nothing was the matter.  It was incredible.

You hit me and I got better and you carried on.  Then I felt the lingering effects.  The limp started to hurt.  My head started to ache.  You drove off and nothing was the same.  You crashed into me and wrecked my sense of normal.  Maybe I did some damage to you too but you never showed it.  You still don’t.

The funny thing I found after all of this is maybe you’re just a bad driver.

What did love ever do for me anyway?

Who needs the hassle, right?
Who needs the bother
The nonsense
the blather
the constant
feeling of am I good enough for this person?
The lesson
that messing
with feelings
is nothing
but torture.
Our culture
of needing
and feeding
our psyche
of “love me”
so that we
are happy.
It can’t be
so easy
for something
so sleazy
that love brings
like teasing
and pleasing
and upside down
reasons
that she isn’t
seeing.
I’m desperately
breathing
and needing
my words
to mean something
to a girl
that feels nothing
aside from the
dumping
of effort
that’s lacking
onto my back, and
leaving me here
wanting her near
feeling the sheer
weight of her
fabric
tickling my nose
as she leans
on her magic
that stares from
her eyes
and tells myself
lies
its a surprise.
The focus is
LIES!
Thoughts I’ve
contrived.
The things
I denied.
I know its
not right.
But I’m back
where I started.
Dearly departed.
Still brokenhearted.
Writing left martyred.
In pieces
and shattered.
Broken and battered.
I feel like a fraud
End this,
my god!
Onward I plod.
At endless odds
because it
won’t cease
by each corner
it creeps
at the end of
each street.
Shown down
each road.
Each ravenous
avenue.
Laced in
each place.
Stained on
each lane.
Until I can see
maybe it’s not me.
Although I am
skeptical
I can reach that
reputable
status with love
a good standing
above
the place that
I’ve stood
it seems
long enough.
Forget it,
I’m done.

Topography

You are the mountain
and I need to climb you.
I have no equipment
just my wits.
I’ve fallen to my death a few times.

You are the ocean
and I need to cross you.
I have no training
just my desire.
I’ve sunk on a number of voyages.

You are the jungle
and I need to journey through you.
I have no map
just my heart.
I’ve been lost for many months.

You are the desert
and I need to trek over you.
I have no water
just my parched lips.
I’ve perished among the dunes, often.

You are the tundra
and I need to travel across you.
I have no warmth
just my memories.
I’ve been frozen in the ground for so long.

You are the sky
and I need to fly in you.
I have no skill
just my arms.
I’ve gone too high, always.

You are the hills
You are the plains
You are the skies
You are the sea
You are my thrill
You are my fame
You are my try
You are my (in)sanity

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