Could be the light but I shine too narrow
only to the few do I burn
all else know me for darkness
bit and piece, all slip shadow
one to hold, one to kiss, one to love
Or arm in arm strike pose
But know me for a thieves lantern
Hooded and focused
Spilling not wide but focused
And each to each
One moment in sorrow and another
Spinning between grace and oblivion
Consumed by swift and sweet
Beats pound and breath comes languid
Hold you tight
But watch you slip free my grasp
Taste terrible freedom
Better to dream
Than live in forever
In your normal life
I’ve heard it said that the benchmark for love is whether or not you would die for someone.
It’s not. Death is Easy. We all do it. It’s going to happen.
No, the benchmark for love is whether or not you will live for someone.
Will you wake each day with the intention that today you will be as good to them as when you were courting. As when you were dating. As when you first saw them blush with their body. As when you first touched and your heart sped up a little.
Love is a emotion, yes. But in a relationship, it’s also a choice. The choice to love completely. To not allow all of the noise and fury of this chaotic, beautiful, mad world we live in, to not allow it to take over and intrude where it is not welcome.
But, people call me crazy for opening my heart so wide. And I won’t pretend that I have not been hurt. But, if I allow that pain to make my choices for me then I am not living. I am hiding.
I choose to not hide. To not be ruled by pain. By fear. I may not always know the way. But I know that love is my guide
I dislike how we got here
Whatever here turns out to be
All I know is that
I’m breathing for the first time in years
Woken for the the first time
Working with you
I don’t know what will happen
Now is enough for now
There’s wine in my room
Because I have no room to store it
Because I chose, in my youth that I’d be a wine guy.
Neverminding that I can taste every element of it
including the alcohol
and it’s hard to aquire the taste for something that is essentially poison.
But I’m the wine guy
with opinions on pinot noir vs chardonnay
but really I’m saying that one masks the poison better than the other
That one has a bite but doesn’t feel like being bitten.
That one I can drink but the other I’ll decline because I don’t drink whites
but really it just tastes like oak and rubbing alcohol.
I’ll drink blends because I’m a wine heathen
but I’ll say it’s because the combination meets and creates a uniqueness that must be savored
when I really mean that this combination tastes delicious
I don’t have to control my face to keep the disgust off of it.
After ordering a 12$ glass it’s hard to justify not drinking but wait, ah, too oaky.
It needs to be drunk in one to two years when the finish softens.
I know these things
I’m the wine guy
You self identify as the thing that you hate because by embracing it you can make it a little bit yours even though it’s what is destroying you. You keep running on that treadmill needing to control something, anything, drowning in socially acceptable positive self image when what really needs to change is this situation where neglect of your needs and desires is the best you can hope for. But I can’t make the choice for you, I can only sit here telling you that you are valued for the things other than what you do for other people. That you are valued for your self and hope that some day you will listen and that this thought will work it’s way into you past your defenses that say you are not worth enough, not doing enough, not human enough to get the things you need without destroying yourself, that you must fit into the mold that they impress upon you to have value.
I’ve read your art and seen it and that glimmer in your eye is passion and unshed tears for this future you give up to fit. It’s never the right time, enough time, always busy, always in motion but never for the pieces of you that can break you free.
You’re fighting so hard to be this perfect thing that you are hurting who you are and it’s terrifying to watch and I’d make it all stop but you won’t let me. I’m happy you say with a smile that never reaches your eyes. I love him you say like a talisman you hold out in front of you. While his expectations and silence chip away at the pieces you try to slip past your walls.
Love does not destroy like that. To be sure it is destructive but it’s passage is marked by rebirth, by growth, by joy and waking. But you love him, you say. And I can’t keep pushing because each time I do you pull back a little more. I just want you to see what I see. To wake up. To see what everyone but you sees in your tone and words. Your discontent. Not wanting to be here but when you are there you aren’t comfortable either.
Watching your pain. But I am not allowed to act.
Someone told me today that now that he is grown up and can choose to buy things like candy or toys that would have made him happy as a child(engineering toys) he doesn’t feel excited about those things.
But, he was lying. Or telling himself a lie. Because he lit up when he described the toys. And he said that the thought was about not being able to go back with the same enthusiasm as that child and enjoy it anew.
And I said, “well that’s one opinion.” and left it at that.
I didn’t feel like getting into a lengthy discussion, especially from this guy who gets defensive when his ideas are questioned or folds completely.
But what I mean is this, We can choose to be passionate. To pour ourselves into the people and things we love. We can choose. We live in a time where we have enough wealth to choose to marry or be with someone or multiple someones for love, for passion. We can choose to be passionate about the things we love. (I’m well aware that this is not true everywhere but access to the Internet puts the mean income and lifestyle at a certain level, though there are cultural barriers I won’t go into)
We choose to love and sing and dance, we choose to color or play with building toys, we choose games, we choose books, we choose.
Desire is a burden. But it is also a choice. One that for myself, I choose to make, every time. Though it costs me. I consider it necessary.
Do the necessary thing, no matter how difficult or how much it may personally cost you.
One of my rules. I try to live up to it.
all choosing and not choosing leads down branching paths
each word spoken, written or left unsaid is a choice
each step, fast or slow, each breath we take
yet we feel these moments when something possible slips away
and we cannot help but regret them. I don’t know if this possible slips away for good. I don’t know if what I chose to keep on course with will be what I need.
I don’t know
Uncertainty makes us grasp and reach for the differing branch
the unknown, the possible always seems like the better choice
because that world is a fantasy
It doesn’t have the problems of the one we chose
Because we do not envision the problems, only the ideal.
And maybe it would be great, amazing even
I have the feeling it would be
But right now
Where I am now
I could not imagine life without
and because I could not
A choice, a word, it all had to be said
The cold seeps in
Tearing me open
A thousand words unsaid
Leaving flechette blooms
Blood flows freely
A thousand acts taken
Leaving indelible marks
Lips caress skin
A thousand choices
Leading me to you
spilled from lips
I long to kiss
I’ve made my choice
I wait for you to make yours
Someone I care for has said that I push boundaries. Like it is something that I actively do. My perception is that I know who I am and what I want. I may not know day to day what I’m doing and I get lost all the time but ultimately I have a rock solid idea of where I began and how I got to here.
My ideas are evolving. I am evolving and learning. I change as time passes. We all do. I’m just paying close attention and shaping myself as I go. Is that pushing boundaries?
I think of boundaries as the lines we draw ourselves with. Mine are spokes radiating outward. Ebbing and flowing to encompass new ideas or discarding old ones. Is that pushing boundaries? Or is that, at least for my self, a disregard for the existence of boundaries.
It’s not like I don’t fear things. And I hate changes I have no influence on. But my self? I think I am not willing to be defined by boundaries. Lines that I won’t cross. There are a few. I have defined those. But they are more broad outlines with escape clauses should it prove necessary.
Perhaps I don’t define myself by the boundaries I won’t cross but by the things I will do. Maybe that is the more accurate statement .