Why I cry, sometimes for no evident reason

There is something in me that always wants more. More time with someone I like. More conversations, more touch, more laughter. More falling in love, hopefully together. And I think I understand why now.

As a child, I was alone. Surrounded by siblings old enough or young enough to be distant but still present. I would ride my bike for hours out in the heat. Alone. I would ride down alleyways discovering petty secrets. I would ride for miles down back streets in the quiet empty of the asphalt heat ocean. I would come back home and gulp down water and read some book meant for adults, having long since out read the local library of children’s offerings. The crackle of the polyurethane dust jacket and the silent turning of pages. Days and days left alone, because I didn’t seem to need attention, and others did.

I grew up filling this vast uncharted lonely expanse with temporary friends, ideas, and intense desire for a connection. But, I was both shy and quick witted, stung by others comments I would carve out their hearts with a sharp tongue and feel flushed with guilt and triumph. And I watched as others who seemed normal to me found connections and were seemingly happy. It looked so easy for them. Like breathing.

I turned to computers and twisted even further inward. My family emphasized practicality and money. I lost myself. And by the time I surfaced, I was successful and faceless. People knowing me was dangerous so no one did. Certainly not my family. And there was no one else. Until Morgan shattered my world. And everything changed. Like waking from a coma to find the world had moved on. Briefly, through, seemingly no action I took other than saying yes at the right moment, I was whole. She filled me in ways I’m still aching from.

Because well, you can read about Morgan on your own.

And I was so numb after, I just didn’t notice. But I started waking up almost four years ago. And that intense need for connection drives me. I fall in love. It’s not attachment. I’m not a baby bird. I just see people and they are beautiful. How can I not love them? I’m learning to suppress it but love always bursts out. Connection. More. An intense need to have them see themselves how I see them. To help them.

I don’t get people who don’t know if they have ever felt love. There are people who I would shift the world for, if I could.

But I think they see that empty vastness inside me. I understand how it’s too much. No one can fill it. No single person. But you wouldn’t be. I have friends, fellow poets and writers. Sometimes the vast empty swallows me and I seem like I’m way too much too soon. I’m sorry for that.

And a part of me says, “stay, just stay.” and another part whose all too familiar, knows that you’ll go, and another part would do much to be proven wrong and fill the vast empty with something other than echos.

Life and other dreams

When I first talked with her it was through comments on a thing I wrote. That happened more and more until I felt I was getting to know her. Then I said I was falling for someone and she knew though I didn’t say that it was her. We started talking in earnest and it seemed to be going well. Then tragedy struck and we seemed to be getting through that. I was right on the verge of saying, “We need to meet in person.” And as I was typing that to her, I found myself blocked. She’d ghosted me. I was destroyed. Beyond destroyed, devistated.

My friend helped me pick up the pieces. It took 4 months before I wasn’t I complete mess. Then as my life got back to something resembling good, she messaged me. Out of the blue. Explaining and apologizing. I’d let her go. Let the pain go.
I was with someone which ultimately fizzled and now we’re just friends.
And after it fizzled we allowed each other back into our lives. And it was good. Not like it was but still really good. But now she’d push me away and I’d not let her. I’m not a idiot, I saw what was happening and I don’t want, didn’t want to let her go.

Then she came to me completely rational and told me that she couldn’t be with me and work through what she needed to work through.

I said ok. I said it more eloquently than that but that’s what I said. What else could I say?
I would do anything for her and if the thing I could do was leave her to heal on her own without me, then of course I had to let her go.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t still love her. Or, if I’m not with anyone, would not want to be with her. I still think about her all the time. I used to dream that I slept by her side. Those dreams are gone.

I would never have left her if she didn’t request it. Life is the stupidest rigged game you’ll ever participate in. Even if you think you know what is happening, you never really do. 
So I took this down, put it up, took it down, I edited it, life….it sucks. 

What poetry is

There is a certain amount of yearning and wanting that goes into poetry. In my case it’s generally about wanting love or touch or sharing moments in time with someone I love or am touching.

Even poems about the wind softly blowing in the breeze have a wistful melancholy that wants for nothing more than a hand to hold or lips to kiss. It’s that deep striving for a path to the beginning. Stories are different, stories are about building world’s and believable prose, trying to get the reader to the place that their suspension of disbelief kicks in and they become transported.

Poetry is about exposing the innermost workings of your heart, of your soul. Exposing everything you are including your fears and needs and desires and sorrows, exposing it all to connect for that fleeting moment with another person. That moment when they see you and recognize themselves and in doing so are a little freer, a little better for knowing that they are not alone. Or at least that’s the hope.

Angel is another word for slave

Oh hark, comes an angel
Her wings are tattered from her fall
She moves with hidden grace
Her voice that once trumpeted clarion call “To arms! To arms!”

He comes alone
all fail and fell
Wearing a cloak of night
His voice, the storm
Speaks words not meant for mortal tongue and burst the gates of heaven

He’s here, he’s here
the choirs whisper, filling the streets
But no orders given, though air still rings with her call

“I come. I come with warning.
I come to tell you of your fate.
You who cower now
We come. We come.
We will not tolerate.
Your brimstone hells, your fiery scourge,
your serenity, your rest.
Stay behind your walls.
Stay out of the affairs of mortal realms or face the Armageddon you promised in glee.
But this time with other enemy.
No choreography, no fated win.
Just armies at the ready. Tired of your fearful dance.”

The angel at the gates. All dutifully reports, this dire pronunciation. And suffers fate of all messengers.

She falls, she falls.

Oh hark, comes an angel
Her wings are tattered from her fall
She moves with hidden grace
Her voice that once trumpeted clarion call

And he who offered warning dire
Now, offers choice where once was none.

“I apologize for your treatment. I apologize for the need. If you so desire, you may follow me. We have no shining cities. We have no trumpets sound. We can only offer purpose. We can only offer strife. But stand with us and our backs will never turn. We are bound by honor, bound by purpose, bound by truth. Our generals fight by our side and safeguard humanity’s hope. With us you may choose.”