February – Audio

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The mind ranges back

there is a poem I wrote more than a year ago.  Something that was for someone.  An unrequited love who was intimate and sharing and all the great stuff.  But only on her terms.  Only when she needed me. And only as a ‘friend’.  No this is not a ‘nice guy’ or a friend zone post. We were more than friends.  More intimate than friends.  But by calling us friends she got to minimize what we were and make it easier for her to treat me as disposable,  I think, anyway.  I never really understood the point of lying to yourself about important things. I wrote this and she was not interested in hearing it.  So it sat on a shelf. Really a text file on my phone until I thought of the perfect last line today.
It was all about how I loved her and wanted her in my life, how I saw specific things about her and about us and all that jazz. But really, i was just a toy to her. Or I don’t know what.  But it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t good.

But I’m not sharing the poem.

Instead,  I’m just sharing the last line.  Because the last line says it all.


I love you
beyond your desire
to love me back

The things I miss

Your voice, whispering softly in my ear.
Your smile, like the sun coming out.
Your eyes flashing grey in sudden anger
The look in your eyes, saying Sir
Dressed to the nines dancing with abandon
Holding you after you spoke with family
Public displays of affection and your blush.

These 7 words for seven things that I miss.
11 years, 4 months, 11 days.

But there are those who are here that I love. But I’ll never be over her. I hope that’s OK.

Companionable silence

every secret
every truth
spilled from lips
I long to kiss
I’ve made my choice
I wait for you to make yours

Dream

I had a dream last night. I was living in London but not real London. It was the dreamscape I refer to as the City. It’s based on a amalgam of cities I’ve spent time in. DC, New York, Seattle and Phoenix. But the whole time we were calling it London and making comments about Britain. There was a subplot of looking for/running from something. That is general anxiety. But the over notes were me as observor of these friends of mine living their lives and having fun. I’m on the periphery. Offering advice and comments, jokes. And we all occasionally have sex. Singly or in groups. It’s all very companionable. It’s like these are the people. That goes on for half the dream. I then notice someone who I know in my actual life is on the periphery as well. And this is odd because it’s not any of my current people I’m courting. We aren’t dating, aren’t seeing each other, it’s something more than friendship, and I am looking to have it be more, what else do I call it but courting? Anyway, it’s this woman Jessica whom I have always been attracted to and who has always been interesting. It’s odd because I haven’t seen or even interacted with her in years. We all as a group go to the Bookstore. Which in my mind is a good place filled with great memories and also books, so Sqee. She’s on my left side and we are looking through the books and I invite her to an opera. I like opera, never actually been to one but my dream self doesn’t seem to have that problem. I ask and she says, wonder of wonders, yes. Now to put this in context we met years ago when she was seeing someone else. It was never the right time for us. If there even could have been an us. And here she is in my dream, we are planning a date together, which is my preference. I like collaboration not dictation. Her elbow is touching mine. A prolonged contact. Deliberate. We pick an opera and I wake up. Weird.

Past, Present, and Future

I am very used to referring to Morgan as the love of my life. Even my phone has seen that phrase so often, it predicts that phrasing. I think I need to put that aside. I think I need to say she was my first true love. Because, I am still alive. And it is not fair to anyone I love in the future to feel like they contend with a memory. Because they don’t. I love the people I love for what they are. I don’t compare them to her. I, frankly, don’t understand why I would. They are not her. How could I, in honesty, compare them? If I love you, it’s because I see something in you that is worth the pain, the price I always pay for that love. And I hope, that if you, whomever you are, give me a chance, I hope you will love me as I love you. But, as the song goes, I would never say I love you dear, just to hear you say it back.

https://youtu.be/OGpjvzrdKZg

Anger opens the door

I have defied gods and danced with devil’s
Drunk from the twin chalices of life and death
I have borne a blade into battle and shed blood
Watched friends rise and lovers fall
I have been darkness, been light, been shadow
I have see things history has forgotten and done things that would break your mind to know.

And you stand here trying to manipulate me. I am no mere child nor am I love struck. The niceties, the flow of words, the touch, the giving of time, these are the things I enjoy whilst in the throws of love and relationship. But when I wake? When the web of relationship no longer holds me? I am the other face. The cold face. I am the night given form, sharp, deep and full of hidden dangers. Manipulate me? You are a fool.

Crossroads

I’m waiting at the crossroads
Ashiver all with fear
The darkness has long fallen
Something felt draws near
Quiet muffles all
but the pounding blood

Leave me in the shallows
Leave me to the pain
But find me on the morrow
Between the dusk and dawn
Just sitting at the crossroads
Just looking all around

I have loved and I have fallen
Lived and I have dreamed
Just waiting at the crossroads
Waiting to begin

Daedalus step

Drift and burn
as descending into brittle nightmare
surfacing into dream
out of madness
pain and chance crowd in
giving and taking
as chaos is sown from order
burst through doors made weak
spiral into vortex
wherein choice is denied
as decision was made before the breaking of the world
and it was always you

Wind blown snow

She echos in my place of sanctuary
Looking out the window or curled on the couch
But for this ghost, the wind blown snow serves as isolation
The elemental howling, screaming through the creaking trees
Amidst the snap and pop of the hearthfire
Sitting on the couch reading aloud
Remembering you cuddled against me
Listening with rapt attention