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

If ever I find myself falling in love again, I hope it comes as one big wave; I’m tired of drowning slowly in sweet nothings.

She touches you with two hands,

And she cradles you in a lover’s whisper.

She outlines your face in her right;

Slow motions, etching into the tips of her fingers

The curves you never knew you had.

 
Her left makes its way toward your ear,

And the fire starts in your blushing cheeks,

Burning a red across every inch of skin

Her light walk leads her to.

 
Without a sense of purpose, nor known destination,

Still; her hands feel as familiar

As the glare from the Sun off windows ,

The scent of mornings in July, or else

The cold of snow that somehow warms

These bones during those terrible

Winter days of December Ohio.

 
Yes, she is that feeling

Of being lost out at Sea

And being home at the lighthouse

All rolled into those midnight touches,

Those kisses from fingertips

She has strung around my soul.

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

It’s not so simple, black and white and shades of gray. We exist as light, and can be bent to reflect the colors of the heavens themselves, at least in the right persons eyes.

My body lies still in sleep, unlike my insecure soul. My dreams carry weight; they are the leaves after the autumn downpour, so common nobody stops to stare, but to each tree it feels like a lead weight just shifted onto the branches, making each leaf cry out in turn:

“It’s now the time for my colors to bleed,

Coerced into the season of letting go.

Embrace this slumber that takes us together

Into this living death we welcome as home.”  

I’m not soaking in the sun anymore; the light dissipates faster and faster and comes later and later, and my back feels a little bit heavier with each passing night left hoping for the sun and living with the knowledge that it’s going to take longer today to see it than the day before. My time feels insanely short, like it’s skipping the even numbers on the clock, like the “tick” is not followed by the customary “tock”, and so somebody must be stealing my time.

~Or maybe you’re just done stalling…~

Disconnect; that’s the issue, so he can’t feel okay because he can’t connect the thought of “okay” with the corresponding emoticon on his smartphones obtusely glaring screen. The mask that he wears remains a deceitful facade; He is neither a hero nor villain, his dreams not so grandiose as to require such lofty titles. He is simply a loser who lost his own face in the crowd, so now even as he searches for some hint of recognition, every mirror becomes a window into a stranger’s world.

~Because seeing the pain from an outside perspective lets him pretend that pain isn’t his own…~

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

On clear nights I stare at the sky and make a wish to those billion year old lights, and it’s the same wish every single time. 

I want to live in a place where my heart feels…weightless. I want to know the type of hug that feels warm, like summer air against your skin. I want to find myself lost in thoughts of fireworks and pancake breakfasts, snowball fights in January and chocolate filled Halloweens. I want to look forward to what I can be, what I can achieve. I have the type of heart that feels as if it is made of lead; to heavy to carry with me, and so I often find myself leaning on others for things I should only support on my own 2 feet. Basically, I feel a need to wish I was just like everyone else, to smile just because, to laugh without trying to hide something, without having to cry about it later. Do people walking down the halls of malls, the streets to different bars, parks and stores, do these people ever stop to wonder “why does every step I take feel as if I’m falling?

~A place where I reach for the hands of others instead of for the knife sitting on the table…

The scars are cat scratches and work mistakes, rough basketball and rugged runs through trails at dusk. The scars are warnings, screams of “stay away!” “I’m not worth knowing!” “I can’t be saved…”

If people were to have to face this, the reality that I’ve created in my own mind, I’d like to think they could appreciate my self-hatred a little more.

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

You know what they say, a little rain never hurt anybody, so I’ll be just fine. Trust me. 

Umbrellas are supposed to be used to keep a person dry in the rain. Okay, so to be very specific,  they are just tools to be used to keep things under them dry in the event of a downpour. In this scenario that would be you, which includes but is not limited to, your hair and ears and those owl earrings I bought for you at the bookstore, your flashy eyelashes and rosy cheekbones, the soft lines that serve as the outskirts of your wine lips I just love to see curve upward when we are talking, and of course that comfy ass, oversized hoodie you always wear when I ask you to come take a nap with me. We both know that hoodie belongs to me, but when you told me you liked it because it smelled like me and you wanted to keep it for the night so you could wear it to sleep, well holy hell, I never knew someone talking about how I smelled could make me feel so fucking loved. So now it’s “our” hoodie, just like The Muppets became “our” movie, Red Robin became “our” restaurant, Breaking Bad was “our” show, so somehow, even with all this sharing, all of these things that became “ours”, I didn’t see any problems with having my heart be all “yours”. Everything else was just stuff, right? I can get a different hoodie and burn the old one. I can start hating the muppets; maybe begin a complete aversion to all things puppet related, just to be safe. I can stop eating at Red Robin, or even just avoid all food places with names relating to red things, or bird things, or just stop eating altogether to save myself the hassle. I can stop watching AMC, or break my TV, or hell, just sell all my shit, move to a cabin in the woods and be a fucking hermit for the rest of my life. I can do any of that, or none of that, because those things were “ours”, so even if there stops being an “us”, those things will still be there, and they don’t lose any meaning, the memories remain, and that’s not a bad thing. But I made my heart yours…and I didn’t really give you a choice in that, huh? I was a dark soul, and you were my light, and I was so fucking happy to finally be…happy…I didn’t think I had a heart to give, and when you showed me I did have a heart, well I was so eager to give it to you, to force it onto you. We could share your heart, but not mine; I didn’t know how to share it, because I didn’t even know I had one…I didn’t know how to love myself, so instead I threw all of my love, every ideal of love I had compiled over my 22 years of existence, and I crammed it all together and I gave it all to you, without a receipt or anything, and what could a nice person like you do but accept it with that curvy smile and a warm hug in “our” hoodie and promise me you’d keep it safe forever and always? None of this is your fault. I’m the type of human who finally finds a heart, only to eagerly shove it into someone else’s hands and expect them to keep it safe and warm and loved for me. That’s not how hearts work. That would be the same as walking out into the rain and getting wet, then having a stranger hand you an umbrella and saying “Hey, this is your umbrella, it was just sitting there right next to you, so I grabbed it, but it’s yours. I have my own, so you just keep this one, it’s yours.” and then shoving that umbrella back into that person’s hands and replying “You’re so kind and you’re so wonderful, please, just keep both umbrellas, really, somebody like me doesn’t even know what an umbrella is for. I mean, if I had to make a guess I would say umbrellas are supposed to be used to keep a person dry in the rain. Okay, so to be very specific,  they are just tools to be used to keep things under them dry in the event of a downpour. In this scenario that would be you…

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

I get to work before the sun is up, and I leave work after it has already set, and I don’t even think I care anymore.

The Sun is only romanticized as setting or rising, yet most of life will be experienced in between. A setting Sun bathes the horizon, outlining the nearby nimbus in blood orange as if stealing inspiration from love gone awry. The rising Sun is a steady blossom, curtailed by early morning commutes and excuses for running late. The world isn’t created to be lived through solitary moments in time, yet that is how people all seem to struggle through it. A welcoming smile to a home somebody thought was out of there reach is within a hand’s reach of a one-sided goodbye that challenges a person’s self-worth. A walk down the aisle towards everything you’ve ever dreamed of being able to call your own is mirrored an ocean away, that walk turned into a parade, a mockery of choice. Lives are lived through memories, and those memories are fickle, unkept things. They are like water, taking the form of the bottle our current hearts and minds process them through. This is what makes hindsight 20/20 and why people are always quick to warn others not to make the same mistakes that they did. A world full of history, stories of almost every imaginable situation, and yet the same mistakes keep repeating themselves.

And that’s where you come in.

~You are a memory now, so I can see it all in it’s entirety, all of those moments spent in between. I can see the small stumbles, the uneven steps forward and those giant steps back. I can force myself to see it for what it really was, a shitty fucking relationship that never could have worked out. You weren’t right for me and I wasn’t right for you, but we tried to make things work, pushed until things broke, and so of course we ended up falling to pieces. You found a peace with that truth and moved on; that’s what people are supposed to do.

But my soul hasn’t settled.

~Even if my mind can provide a rational explanation, some part of me, the strongest part of me, constantly throws out everything of meaning, keeping me feeling empty and leaving only a lingering desire to have a second chance. My body is moving forward in time, but I can feel the strain as my heart fights to keep some part of “us” alive…

I know better.

~I can see that I am killing my future to hold on to a past that is broken.

I know better.    

~I can feel the weight of those memories, so large that I can’t carry anything new into my tomorrows.

I know better.

~I can hear the sirens going off, warning me, begging me, to stay away.

I know better.

So why are you still here? I know the lessons that need to be learned, so why haven’t you left? I have no positive thoughts remaining, so why do you still dominate my everything! Dammit, why are you still here?! Why won’t you just leave me alone, for 5 fucking minutes, just leave me ALONE!! Fucking go, die, fucking fly away, you God awful piece of fucking trash! You never treated me like I was anything special! You never, ever, gave me all of your love! I knew it, knew that all along, but I was willing to settle, because I couldn’t love me! I couldn’t love me, any part of me, so why would you?! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T!!!!! So of course we could never work! So of course we fell apart! So of course you grew to hate me; I didn’t give you a choice! We had no choice! You had no choice, I had no choice, this was just how it was and it could never be anything different! I know this, I KNOW THIS!…and yet…

I know better, but you are still here…

Some people love watching the Sunrise, seeing it as a chance for new beginnings, a fresh start. Every day has one, so every day can be the start of something amazing. Some people love watching the Sunset, seeing it as a chance to say goodbye, to move on. Every day has one, so every day can be the end of something awful. But life mostly occurs during the in between. You happened in between. I’ve seen a thousand Sunrises since you, but I haven’t started anything. I’ve seen a thousand Sunsets since you, but I haven’t ended anything yet. I can see it all, in glorious 20/20 vision, this tragedy that was you and me. It’s over, we ended, I know, I know, I KNOW!

I know… that our love wasn’t right, wasn’t meant to be. And knowing this should mean I can learn, that I can stop being this broken person and start something new. But you are still here…and I must be losing my mind…because I would chose this all again…even knowing what I know, knowing how this would end, I would still chose us all over again…so I don’t know a damn thing…

A world full of history, stories of almost every imaginable situation, and yet the same mistakes keep repeating themselves.

But I finally get it. Because I haven’t learned a damn thing.

And that’s where you come in….