Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Time erases nothing, but diminishes everything.”

How did things end up like this? 

In the Winter, you were here. 

But then came Summer

And suddenly I can only see you

When I close my eyes. 

Will tomorrow be the same? 

Will the next day be another day 

Where I don’t know you, 

Where I can’t find you at all?

I can’t forgive you,

And I won’t forgive myself.

But I want too…I really want too…

I miss you.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics

“I loved the way she touched me, the way she ran her hands over my past without reservation.”

Her hands trace over your body,

And as they move down your neck

The butterflies in your stomach

Melt into a solid mass

Of fear and uncertainty

For what her hands will find…

The scars you’ve tried to hide

In your summer hoodies

And forced affinity for jeans.

 

Her fingers reach your shoulder,

Burning a trail down your arm,

But the heat it quickly replaced

With an empty regret.

Reflexes kick in, and the tears begin,

Until you realize her hands,

They never stopped.

 

You expected a shudder,

A slight intake of breath,

But no; she never wavered.

She gave the same affection,

From your head to your wrists.

You know she couldn’t have missed it,

The war you’ve etched into your skin.

Yet she acted as if those scars

We’re just another part of you.

That thought alone

Is enough to make you cry.

 

You begin to pull away,

But she holds your arm in place.

Her touch is still fire,

And you feel that if she stays

You’ll both end up as ash.

Still, she won’t let go.

Even more so, her lips find your wrist,

And her fire has turned into the Sun.

 

It’s crazy, because you know,

Those scars are there forever.

They will fade, but never disappear.

But in that moment, you could swear

Those scars didn’t mean a thing.

The anxiety is still present,

But so vastly diminished

It might as well be gone.

And in its place, you find

A feeling you thought

You’d never find again;

Acceptance.

 

The scars weren’t erased,

And who can say if her fire

Will be here to stay,

But for a moment, you weren’t afraid

And if you found it once,

You can find that feeling again.

Who knows; maybe one day

You’ll wake up and see yourself

And realize you’ve always deserved

Forgiveness.

 

 

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“You remind me of apples during lunchtime, afternoons spent outside, and better days…you made those days the best days.”

I don’t like dancing. I have nothing against dancing as a means of self-expression, only that I don’t like expressing myself through dance. I never wanted to go to any school dances, but I had a girlfriend who wanted to go, and I wanted to fit in, and so I found myself at a number of semi-formal events hosted in the gymnasium. The songs they played were songs I knew; pop hits, rap singles, and some classic ballads to balance the mood. I like to tap my feet or nod my head in rhythm, but that’s about the extent of my desire to move.This, of course, did not fly with my girlfriend, and so I found myself swaying on the dance floor, trying my best to smile.

I hold nothing against my girlfriend of the time; she wanted to dance, and I wanted to make her happy, so I danced. I could have said no and she would have accepted that, but she would feel let down. I figured it was a small price to pay, being uncomfortable for an hour to see her blush and smile and laugh. She liked to dance. My friends liked to dance. My parents, aunts and uncles, brother and sister, they all liked to dance. I know I’m the odd girl out here, and it makes me think I was missing something that everyone else had.

Once I was out of high school avoiding dancing was easy. My college didn’t host any dances, and I made friends who would rather play Pokemon on a Friday night over a trip to the club. Again, nothing against going to the club, it just wasn’t my cup of tea. I loved my weekends, staying up late to finish heated games of monopoly and cooking breakfast for everybody, to help them nurse their hangovers. I felt like I belonged, and I didn’t have to do anything outside of my comfort zone.

Then I met her.

She was just like me; a Pokemon master and lover of all things breakfast. We talked for days about our favorite shows and movies, arguing over what fictional couples we wanted to see and contemplating nicknames for our cars. I talked and talked, more than every year prior to her, and I listened, always prompting conversation, because I loved her voice. I loved the sounds she would make when she was annoyed. I loved going out for burgers, because she would give me her pickle, and she would take my tomatoes, and both of us avoided ketchup like it was the plague. I loved holding hands everywhere; no matter how short the walk might have been, you would seek out my hand, and I felt safe and warm and like forever wouldn’t be long enough with you.

It was during a trip to New York when it happened. In the subway station, waiting on our train, there was a musician playing songs on his violin. He was playing classical music, and was wrapping up one song while people shouted suggestions for the next. I didn’t recognize most of the songs being requested, but when he finally settled on one, it was a familiar tune; Stevie Wonder, Isn’t she lovely. God, I love that song. It’s catchy and romantic and sappy as hell, but it’s the perfect amount of audio sugar to satisfy my sweet tooth.

I found myself tapping my feet. A second later I was nodding my head. One more second, and we were both rocking back and forth, fingers laced. I wrapped my free arm around your waist and swung you around, and you giggled at my overacting. We twisted and turned and we were shaking our booties like nobody was watching. But there were plenty of people watching; this was a New York subway station after all. Still, in that moment, I could have sworn we were the only 2 people in the world. I couldn’t get enough, and we went all out, ending our frenzy in a huge twirl and dip. I honestly didn’t think I could dip you without dropping you, but I felt compelled to try, and luckily for us my arms held on.

The whole thing lasted less than 3 minutes. We weren’t good dancers; nothing we did was impressive. We had a few people laugh and clap as we bowed, and the violinist was smiling, and we throw him a $20, because I didn’t have any small bills, but I refused to leave this man without a tip. Our train arrived, and we packed on with the rest of the crowd, and away we went.

It wasn’t until we got to our next stop that it hit me; I was dancing. Just now, unprompted, in a situation where dancing really wasn’t expected, we danced. It wasn’t a school event. I wasn’t trying to dance to make her smile and laugh. I wasn’t trying to fit in with friends and family and society. I was dancing…just to dance with her.

Dancing can be for passion or art, to make a statement or let off some steam. Dancing can be done alone, in a duo, or an entire ballroom full of people. You can dance to jazz or country, polka or rap. I never clicked with any of those. I never felt a desire to dance. I figured it wasn’t a big deal, and it never bothered me at all.

But with her…I didn’t want to dance as a statement or as art. I didn’t care if we were in a crowd or all alone. I didn’t care about the genre of music, nor the talents of the person making that music. I just wanted to take her…I wanted to take her anywhere and everywhere…and dancing with her made me feel like we were floating, that nothing was more than a few heartbeats away.

I have been out dancing a handful of times since then, for various reasons and with various folk, but that feel of floating hasn’t come back yet. Maybe I just need more time, or more practice. Maybe I need to make it a weekly thing or sign up for dance class. Maybe I should explain this feeling to my family and friends, to see if they can help me. Or maybe…maybe it’s time I just admit it…I don’t like to dance…but I want to dance with you…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Real love is always chaotic….The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret.” – Jonathan Carroll

I truly hate how people use the term chaos to define things, anything at all. Chaos is wild and unfocused, being family to disaster in general.

“Real love is always chaotic.”

No, just…no. Not even remotely close to being an accurate statement. I see love as being fairly subjective, different for every person. Even so, I disagree with this sentiment on a fundamental level.

To start, the term “real love” is already a misnomer. Love is love, and if it isn’t love, then it’s not love. That’s how words work. You don’t eat an apple and say “Yup, that’s a real apple.” It’s an apple, because if it wasn’t an apple, we wouldn’t call it an apple. So if something’s not real love, we wouldn’t call it love. People do, of course, but in those cases we aren’t dealing with love at all, right? If it’s not a real love, then it’s not love, so we should simply call it whatever it is.

“You lose control; you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself.”

This might be the worst way to describe love that I’ve ever encountered, and all because of one word. Well, in this example, it’s actually three words; lose. You lose control?  You lose perspective? You lose the ability to protect yourself?

Fucking.

Garbage.

If you are trying to define love by what you lose, you clearly have no idea what love is. Love is not defined by what you have to give up. In fact, if you think you are in love and you’ve lost basic faculties, such as control and perspective, then you are most definitely not in love.

Love isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Love does mean some sacrifice, but never a lose. Whatever you sacrifice you do so because it will equal a net gain. Love should be defined by what you gain, not what you lose. Love might only be one letter away from being lose, but when it comes to their definitions, they are polar opposites.

“The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret.”

If chaos is a “given” in your experience of “real love”, then perhaps you should re-evaluate what you are doing. And since when does chaos have a correlation with anything? Isn’t chaos, by its very definition, unable to be correlated to anything?

Chaos means, and I’m quoting the dictionary here, “complete disorder and confusion”. In even simpler terms, chaos means not knowing what the fuck is going on. Are we to believe that the greater the disorder and confusion the greater a love? How does that make ANY sense AT ALL?!

Answer: IT DOESN’T.

To be fair, I’ve never read anything by Jonathan Carroll, nor have I ever heard of “White Apples”, but I saw this quote floating around the internet on various blogs, Facebook feeds, instagrams and pinterest boards.

And I am worried by that.

This is a dangerous idea to put into people’s minds and hearts. They will adopt an unhealthy idea of how love should be. As I said before, I think love is very subjective, but all love should still share some common elements, and the very bare minimum would be that love is defined not by what you lose, but by what you gain.

In summary:

Chaos is not a good term to define anything except for…chaos itself.

Love is not stronger because of the presence of greater confusion.

Apples are apples, and that means they are not white. White apples are not, in fact, “Real” apples.

Please, if you have any friends or family you have an unhealthy idea of what love is, make sure to challenge them. It’s for their own good. Reference back to this post if need be. Hell, just send them my way and I’ll rant for hours until they wake up to reason.
Finally, Jonathan Carroll, if you ever end up reading this, please know I am not attacking you as a person. I am simply attacking your idea of love expressed in this quote. Because it’s really, really stupid.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics

“I gave you a world of words, not leaving myself a single letter. So now I am speechless, and you’re just drowning in alphabet soup.”

I wanted to take my time with each word I wrote for you. I wanted to be as deliberate as possible, so everything had to have the perfect amount of weight. When you would read my letter you’d be able to hear my voice, like I was lying right there beside you, You’d have no doubt, even for a second, that you weren’t loved. I wanted to give my world of words to you every single day.

I wanted to give you so much…but I was pretty stupid, huh?

I was so lost in thoughts of you that I actually lost my way and stopped wondering if my words were what you truly wanted. Before I knew it I had given you everything, without ever asking if it was to much. I left myself empty, and expected you to fill me up, but that wasn’t your job. If I had taken even a second to think things through I would have seen, would have realized…

I wasn’t giving you love and care, I was giving you the world, and with the world comes gravity, and it just weighed you down, didn’t it? I gave you a world to balance on your shoulders and still wanted to give you more. And so I become a hollow wind, nothing you could touch, and I floated away into the far reaches of space, never looking back. I saved nothing, so I became nothing.

You learned it was okay to carry only what is yours, and used time as a shed to store away those pretty little words. But I’m not much of a planner, so I never thought about what would happen if you stopped trying to be my tether. The outcome is obvious in hindsight, and it was probably also obvious in the moment, but I didn’t care.

So here I am, and here I am not, and there I was, and there I wasn’t, and I held onto everything as tightly as possible, until I realized that it’s not human hands that hold and support and nurture, but human hearts.

My heart was never that strong to begin with, but it pumped away all the same. It craved love and affection, and wanted to give love and attention. I somehow forgot about that first part, and only focused on the giving. But if all a person does is give, eventually they will be void of everything.

I became void of everything. I expected you to give me your heart in exchange for mine. I was being so unfair…to you, and to myself…So here I am, with nothing but borrowed time and borrowed words and borrowed hearts…and I just want to know where my heart is now, because it’s cold…

It’s so goddamn cold…