The truth, you are worth loving.
Love is worth pain, I love you.
An immortal connection, perhaps it’s not enough.
But if it’s not, I’ll wait forever.
Lifetime after lifetime I will find you.
There will be a time for us.
Even if it is not this one.
love
Reminders
see yourself through my eyes
See what I see
feel my heart
Without suspicion
free to know yourself
Free to follow
healing
Accept all of you
Always
There is no other way
to love
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Just some things to think about
There isn’t a thing in this world I would not do for the people I love. I know all too well how easy it is to lose them. The world is not forgiving. It takes and takes and you are considered fortunate to be the last person in your age group to be left standing. A dubious honor to be sure.
The older I get the more prized those that I love become, not because I love less people but because I find my love grows. It builds on itself. It spills out and touches more people than I ever imagined I could love. More people who I feel a kinship to. More people who I respect.
For all of that, someone who sees me as vital to their life eludes me. I find something to love in so many but I still feel alone. I think that is what galls me. I can’t be unique. There has to be someone searching as hard for me as I do for them, right?
Maybe that is the hardest lesson. No matter how much we want, how much we need, how much we strive, there is always going to be something we cannot achieve, cannot find, cannot help.
This doesn’t mean that we don’t endeavor. It just means that we need to accept that there is a chance that we will fail. And that’s OK too
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Give and take
There is nothing I can give you
And nothing I can take
A shadow long and burning
A moment ere I wake
But I am lost to dreaming
I am lost, it’s true
The dream is of my making
Of building more to you
I am softly waking
A moment I’m confused
Your warmth has long fled
This heart we built for two
On waking I am empty
A space too big to fill
Your heart is slightly broken
But I have seen much worse
I will patch you up
Be a Latticework
You will heal
And when you leave
I will be undone
but a little fuller too
I will hold the hope that wounded birds
Made whole and now to fly
Will remember that broken man
And visit time to time
And secret kept in heart of hearts
That one will wish to stay
The foolish hope that brings,
And holds the reckless
tears at bay
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Emotional intimacy
In a very immediate way, physical intimacy is an outgrowth of emotional intimacy. I know that is backwards of how it usually works. And there was a time when I tried to embrace that. But it never really clicked for me.
It’s a high then a crash to nothing. Fun in the moment, but we(writers/poets) don’t live in the moment. We live in the vastness of our minds. Exploring our lives and emotions. Coming to the surface to give this found secret to the world.
If I am emotionally connected, then there is a moment in my lovers eyes, an echo of that discovery, of that perfect moment of vulnerability and hope that takes me beyond the shores of physical pleasure. To a place of the mind. Taking them with me into my heart.
Maybe that is scary. To think that way. Or be thought of that way. Fear, this kind of fear, has always been an indication that I am doing something right.
Afraid , emotional and vulnerable. Thinks too much, cares too much. Broken and mending. Practiced and fumbling.
I am all of these things. But, if I love you, it will always be so. And though we may be parted, I will always carry you, my love for you, in my heart.
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Rambling thoughts on love
It’s as simple or as complicated as we make it. Loving another is always going to be messy. But it is always worth it. Even when it hurts. Even when it feels like your heart has been ripped out. It is always worth it. To cast yourself open into the yawning abyss, hoping their love will catch you. That your love, together, will halt the fall. I don’t know any other way to do it. Not and have it not take years. Ask any of my friends. For all that I am open, I’m a hard man to get to know. My friendships take years to form. And I love every one of my friends. And from most, I would try for a intimate relationship with, if that is what they wanted. I feel I’m rambling now. The point is that love, while painful, is always worth the pain. People create walls around their selves. Trying to keep out every possible hurt. But that keeps out most of everything. I speak from experience. I shut myself off. Turned off all the things that were painful and felt nothing. Blocked behind walls, behind doors, inside a bubble. Trapping myself inside, to protect from the pain.
It didn’t work. All the pain, the sorrow, all of it just built and built until it crushed through my walls. Battered them to pieces. There is no wall high enough or thick enough, no defense built well enough that it cannot be breached. The only choice becomes to deal with it.
Again, I seem to have lost the thread. Love is always worth the time, the pain. I have never been more happy than when expressing love. Never been more at peace than when I am holding someone I love in my arms.
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Things I want
Rasp
Shudder
Red blossom
Fades black
Green
Salt
Heat
Breathe held
Nerve fires
Languid
Words
Promises
Trust builds
Secrets kept
Hope
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Just questions.
How can I be tired of not kissing you, of not being with you when I’m not sure who you are? Yet, that is how I feel. A bone deep weariness that steals over me, when I think about this person in my dreams. She always looks the same, her voice is the same. The thought of her voice fills me with longing. Does she look like she does in the dreaming? Will I recognize her? Or, depressingly, is she a hope unrealized of a heart cast open wide? Does she not exist, except in the heart of who will love me as I love them? Am I asking questions without answers? A chicken or the egg. Does she exist in my dreams because she loves me or because she will love me? Does it matter? I will seek her in my dreams, to hold her in my arms. I will do so until we meet and as often as I can after. Am I just a romantic fool, looking for someone who isn’t?
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Love and stress
Stress
Stress ate me up and spit me out yesterday
Thought I was sad but after the 19th, the 11 year Anniversary of Morgan’s death, I felt OK. I never tell people which day we met, when her birthday was, the day we said I love you. I never tell them about the thousand moments and pleasures and discussions we had. Because those are mine. Those are what tells me that love is still possible. That there is beauty and joy in this world. I only tell people about her death, because fuck them! Fuck them! She was the light of my world. She was judged, I was judged by our lifestyle and when a shitbag motherfucking piece of shit took advantage of the world we shared and took her life, her family shut me out. I don’t even know where she is buried. I don’t know if they cremated her and spread her ashes in the Tradewinds like she wanted. So that a part of her would always be in the sky. Watching over those she loved. I don’t tell stories about us, about her because I can’t get 20 words in before I’m crying and my throat closes up. I can talk about her death because it fills me with a cold rage. A control seeps into me and I can function.
But the stress, the knowledge of her sits somewhere in the background. And yesterday, it caused me to collapse. My brain shut my body down. I slept for 16 plus hours. And I write this now as a reminder. Morgan is gone. My love remains. I need to acknowledge that while seeking the beauty and love I know is out in the world. Someone is sitting there and we’ll meet.
To whoever that is, you aren’t competing with a ghost. I know I can love greater and deeper because of my Morgan. I’ll just be sad sometimes. I’ll be destroyed sometimes. I collapsed because I tried to bury it. To hide my pain, to forget. Because that is what people seem to expect. But what people expect has never really worked out for me. I guess I just needed to see that.
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Love and stress
Stress
Stress ate me up and spit me out yesterday
Thought I was sad but after the 19th, the 11 year Anniversary of Morgan’s death, I felt OK. I never tell people which day we met, when her birthday was, the day we said I love you. I never tell them about the thousand moments and pleasures and discussions we had. Because those are mine. Those are what tells me that love is still possible. That there is beauty and joy in this world. I only tell people about her death, because fuck them! Fuck them! She was the light of my world. She was judged, I was judged by our lifestyle and when a shitbag motherfucking piece of shit took advantage of the world we shared and took her life, her family shut me out. I don’t even know where she is buried. I don’t know if they cremated her and spread her ashes in the Tradewinds like she wanted. So that a part of her would always be in the sky. Watching over those she loved. I don’t tell stories about us, about her because I can’t get 20 words in before I’m crying and my throat closes up. I can talk about her death because it fills me with a cold rage. A control seeps into me and I can function.
But the stress, the knowledge of her sits somewhere in the background. And yesterday, it caused me to collapse. My brain shut my body down. I slept for 16 plus hours. And I write this now as a reminder. Morgan is gone. My love remains. I need to acknowledge that while seeking the beauty and love I know is out in the world. Someone is sitting there and we’ll meet.
To whoever that is, you aren’t competing with a ghost. I know I can love greater and deeper because of my Morgan. I’ll just be sad sometimes. I’ll be destroyed sometimes. I collapsed because I tried to bury it. To hide my pain, to forget. Because that is what people seem to expect. But what people expect has never really worked out for me. I guess I just needed to see that.
Pelgris 