Wednesday, December 9, 2015

well holes.

taking velvety-warm songs to heart- after
you go, the melody
is still there. you will

play the same song over and over. you will
wonder what i'm up to now

and realize we're not in it together
any longer

and we were only in it together somewhat
to begin with.

it was slanted. not
entirely, but mostly, it was about
you. i addressed that i resented this. there was

nothing left for me to do but to
give myself an ultimatum. continuing on,
or moving on.

and listen- love is a precious thing. refuse
to let go of it. it's never really

the person. (let go of the person.) love
is the m.o of the heart, so the cards say, and i know

we're not supposed to agree with them
because cards are campy and expensive,

but i agree.

nobody wants to get sympathetic, but they do
get that way. our hearts

our on our sleeves- pure. wholesome. adorable.
let it be. mine too. allow this.
i have this bottomless reservoir for
feeling anything. for instance, today

i got angry.

i thought about swinging my dog's bagged shit
toward a car, an
imagined car, in which the driver

rolled down his window and put
his foot on the car's brake, because he couldn't help

but tell me
that my dog is walking me, and my hair
looks stupid, and that i need to have a sense

of humor.
(that's not the truth. i can't remember exactly
what he told me.)

i walked and thought about my blood and stuff. still,
i'm doing that? still doing that.

i walked more and thought about how you called me
while i was in my hospital pants and hospital socks
and in the hospital all safe and stuff,

and on this phone call, i gently asserted myself, explaining
to you not to visit me if it was only because

you felt all pressured to do so- because we're
supposed to express sympathy to

our loved ones- and that sympathy is supposed to be
much bigger than it is. that's me fucking up somewhat, needing
to put my foot down
and remind myself and everyone else

that i hate all rules; yes, that's me

alright, the anti-establishment type
of queen.

i knew you were afraid of what you'd see
and that you believed you'd see it.

you
and your self fulfilling prophecies.

but really. i wanted you to visit me. i needed
proof of our relation

in order to either move on or not.
but i knew you didn't want to come and some part
of me had enough of your sentiments

being bigger than what they really are.
i was tired of being a cardboard prop.

you thanked me for understanding.

the last time it was like this i convinced you
to see me. after being reluctant, you finally

did. that was a while ago. remember?

this time, the day after thanksgiving

you called me to inform me you had "a nervous
breakdown" the day before and your

sister calmed you down. i probably
rolled my eyes, listening somewhat to you

but also somewhat to me, too.

it was then, that moment, that you
floated away like a balloon. a red one, off into

a muggy sky, up, up,
and away, perhaps in an industrial area, somewhere

in the big city, where i know
you want to be.

today, when i was angry, i was thinking of how i still
haven't seen you. i thought of how

you sent me word that your car is in repair and
how i don't fucking care.
i thought of myself screaming at you about my

psychological state being difficult to forgive, somehow
getting it to hit you that i'm special

in the way you'd rather i not be, as if

if i wasn't offbeat, everything would come together. you know
what? i'm tired of being identified as the ill person

in your life and the lives of others. this is what
i'm in repair over. this psychological state,

it is my car.

without it, i walk through a fire. i die, burning
because of fire. i set myself up for it.

i worry
i'm going to wind up retarded somehow

because i have limitations. i'm supposed to
change and accept things at the
same time. isn't that crazy? isn't it crazy

the people we throw our love at, but it
turns out it's just more throwing of shadows? how we
search them for something we can't find

in ourselves-? that's
something else. i traveled the country for this shit
then got fried then got afraid to leave the house.
isn't it crazy

how we have to dig into our own bodies to present
our hearts to ourselves in order
to love someone- it has to be
ourselves, and we'll never love anyone else

past ourselves- in order to
reach out, but we have to stop reaching out however
we were before

to do so? i'm searching for reality in the eyes

of my jury
to manipulate them into saying something differently
about my crimes. i can't get a read

on them
any other way.

we have to be surgeons/

i've dissected before, and i've done it really well
but couldn't get that passing grade

because i wasn't someone worth that
reaching-out-to, not during the moment. i was rejected

and i'll be damned if i forget.

i forgive rejection because- even though
this has nothing to do with anything, it's always
in the back of my mind- i know

it is me disappointing myself. my expectations
are limitless.

love

is precious. love is kind. it's patient. once
you find love
you find stories to tell. love

makes everything fantastical. i refuse

to judge who i've extended it to. but now
i refuse to judge myself, too.