A face like an angel,

that no one could love.

A heart like a stallion,

that ended up alone.

just be scared with me

Life is so stupid. So many of us fail at it. I fail on a daily basis. I fail to have patience at a stop light or consideration for a coworker. I fail to look myself in the eye and believe that I'm beautiful. I fail to care for me.

A few events have occurred over the past week that has left me sullen and sulking. I don't know a way out. I don't know where to go from here. I'm trapped inside my apartment with a keyboard and monitor. It's beautiful outside, and I cannot bring myself to open the back door. I'm lost in my thoughts. I'm lost in devastation. There is one thing I'd like to succeed in, and I cannot seem to find another person willing to go my distance. How foolish of me to think that another person could contain the amount of passion I hold... the amount I extend. I'm just too intense, and I don't know another way of being.

A friend send this text to me... a friend that knows me well. A friend that has always got the perfect words to say to me. He cares greatly for me, and I'm so thankful for him. He is letting me devour myself for the time being. He's allowing me to be sad. Other people seem to just want me to wake from this nightmare, as if they can do so by shaking me. It's like shaking an angry cat right now. I just want to be sad.

me: the hardest part is getting dumped

Friend: I'm sorry. You are truly a unique and wonderful woman and clearly he doesn't have the capacity to appreciate who you are.

me: ty. That means a lot to me.

Friend: Just know I care, and you matter. It's well-known that time heals hurts... people never acknowledge, however, that when you're hurting, time stretches, interminably slow.

How right is he?

Monday is steadily approaching, however, and soon I must face life. I've been fairly independent throughout my life. Things have happened and I've been able to overcome them. This... this however, feels very damaging. It's more damaging than anything I've encountered in recent times. But, I still have to pick up, and be, I guess. Many people depend on me continuing on... pushing forward, or whatever. Maybe I can just delay this shit for one more evening...

*Are you okay?

-I'm scared.

*Me too.

-Want to be scared together?

*I like this idea.

My capacious heart

I've neglected you, Daughter. The fleeting disposition of my absent nature is my Life. I will not expatiate my regret or grief. I will not burden you with my eccentric deeds because you see, Daughter, you will not forgo my trespasses. You will not repudiate my damage because it is done. I do sit up at night wondering and dreaming of your place in life. I think, "Did I have a hand in success or happiness?" Well, as truculent as my Life and choices may seem, Pride remains. I'd rather not face the facts. I'm ruined.

Ephemeral Enmity Love

Father, you have left me. A day has gone and went and still... all is silent on your end of the line. My jovial childhood precedes my somber youth. And, somewhere in between I can see your evanescent guidance and your dilatory inclination swallowing your love. I can see you forever in the background whispering, judging and hating. You knew someday your laggard ways would perch its filthy face on my shoulder. The day has come, Father. A day for recognition. I have bruises; They are well protected and remain fresh. But, Father... I'm okay. Mother was there. Always, Mother was there picking up after your sloppy counsel. She governed in a world enveloped in regret. She's still cleaning your vacuous Life out of my eyes. Bruises fade, Father. The past remains the same.

But, I'm okay, Daddy. Mommy is still here.

Why does it feel like we made it official, and suddenly caught the plague. Our disease is eating away at one another. The closer we get.. the further we are from happy.

I realized something sobering last night. I put all my eggs in one basket. A basket that was supposed to with stand eternity... or at least my eternity. Well, the bottom fell out, or it caught on fire or something. Either way, my fucking eggs are spoiled.

Useless.

I'm terrible at this "girlfriend" thing. I don't know what I'm thinking. It will only end, and probably journey, into pain. Maybe I'm too demanding. Maybe I don't know me. Maybe I'm a fucking idiot. All I know for sure is I feel like crap. I'm so tired of waiting for other people to make me feel good. One would think I would have figured it out after all these years.

Life has dealt me awful awful cards. Not the worst a person could have, but not even decent. Why do I continue to hope I'll get an Ace once in a while? Why am I so fucking foolish? I'm just a ghost here. I'm not even a likable person anymore.

I gently float
on my limits.
Pushing and
pressing
softly.

Loving
dysfunctional,
and weeping
for it
woefully.

Gliding
and misleading,
the strings of my
heart
foolishly.

I'll continue to
depress my love
in longing.
I'll keep it from
mending.

I know nothing else.

A love affair exists in the skies. We don't notice it, but it's always there. It's tumultuous. It's a stellar triangle the sorts only celestial beings are blessed... or cursed... to experience.

The Sun, he is steady. He's trapped in place while the woman he loves, The Moon, circles an uncontrollable forever. He watches her always as her evening hair is soft lifted upon his eternal morning. He goes days without even a glance in his direction; he struggles to keep her attention, but his glare burns bright on her light skin, and her aging surface hides from him.

The Comet can't stop his tracks. He constantly crashes past the Moon... and past her... and past her. Each of his lives begins with the excitement of fragments breaking off into her, or the terror of his uncontrollable path taking him into the Earth instead. His journey takes years, decades, and sometimes longer... each life's duration is unpredictable. He races for her... he tries to bend himself in her direction... but he's subject to the wind's discretion.

The Moon is continually faced with a choice. A fleeting love she knows will die a hundred thousand times before he can grace her with a soft kiss, or the steady Sun that cannot be moved, but would worship her forever, and be with her always. Emotional excitement or steady suburbia.

Look up sometime... you'll see it.

I wonder when I'll die? I could be dying all along. I could be floating to
death like a feather departed from its maker. It does not die until it has hit
the ground. I was living until my innocence left me. What happens when the
amount of time spent living is exceeded by the years spent dying? Is that when
I will expire? Or, is someone sent to save me? I have been waiting for some
time now, and I'm hard pressed to believe they are coming indeed. I've only a
few years remaining before my time overlaps. If I continue breathing, it would
surely be dying inhaled, and death exhaled.

Maybe we are all feathers? Some have lived beautiful on swans, but dying is a
short trip to drowning death. Some are on the wings of eagles, soaring
sorrowfully their inevitable extinction, and grand idolization. Their feathers
fall a beautiful back and forth, and are sometimes prolonged with gusts of wind
and life. Some are trapped on flightless birds. How sad a the life of
a feather that never soars in the sky... their dying is short, and death comes
beneath the feet of predators.

They (we) all eventually sink, and only memories of their (our) fantastic falls remain.

As a feather floats upon the wind
and fancies itself endless,
I soar with her flight.
She romances the evening sun
and pleads for another day of life.
I relish in her fight.

Resolution

I'm a little achy in the heart today. It's a bizarre feeling, and rather difficult to put into words properly. The best way to say is, I have a particularly dreadful sort of longing right now. Longing because, obviously, there is something I desire which I do not presently posess. Dreadful, because it's not something I'm quite comfortable desiring.

Last night, I made a... resolution, I guess (I had trouble determining what word would best fit here). I've said many times that I'll never marry again. I believe this determination, although many others do not. Here is why I believe marriage fails. We all know people who marry, and stay together forever. But, what percentage are they of those couples who marry? I mean, 5% maybe of the married couples I know/knew are still together. Something so fragile as love is doomed to failure when the expectation and pressure of "forever" is place on it's very existence. It must breathe every moment with the understanding that if this fails, dreams are crushed. How can anything possibly survive with that kind of pressure?! Life is fleeting, and that is why it is precious. Love is fleeting, and should also be cherished as such. Two people get together and decide that they have the rest of their lives to appreciate one another, so appreciation ends. I'm certain someone else has thought this before, but I'm just now thinking it, I guess. Or, I've been thinking it, and I'm only just now able to put in into words that matter.

So, my resolution... I'll never put any pressure, or expiration date for that matter on my current fling (or any future for that matter). I don't think that it is a fling exactly, but it is fun and exciting. No pressure... no expecation, no guilt, and no disappointment. I'm hoping that's possible for some time to come, because as soon as it becomes impossible is when one or the other will split. He's not my boyfriend. He's more of a lover in every sense of the word, not just physically. It's romantic, passionate, and important. So, he and I end when we end. I don't believe in forever anymore anyway. Everything dies, and why should romantic love be any different?

Anyway, why is my heart achy? I don't rightly know. Maybe because I left him with a kiss as goodbye this morning while he lay very cozy still... maybe because I have nightmares when I sleep alone... maybe because I have deeper feeling for him that I would not define as love. I believe I've stumbled upon some other sort of affection. I don't quite know its definition. I know that it's different, and it's probably because I'm different. I'm exploring it, and just trying to be happy. I'm trying not to lose me amongst all the other people in the world. It seems easy to do. I've never considered myself someone of weak character, but still, I lose me. I'm trying to keep me close.

He picked me up
with ease.
He said he meant
no harm.

He lied.

Love sick and
diseased,
I'm romanced
and disarmed.

Locked inside.

My affections
pleaded,
and melted,
with his love charm.

And I died.

I'm fairly certain, that I can never really be with someone else without giving up a piece of me. I really don't want to give up any of me. I'm selfish. I want all of me to be here; it's not fair that I should have to compromise me. Life is stupid.

Love is even stupider. The stupidest part is that I need it. I long for it as flowers yearn for spring showers and the coming warm sun. Ceasing to breathe seems easier.

I'm living with half a heart right now anyway. What's the problem with giving up a bit of me so I can have a whole heart? I'm not so sure it would be in good hands. I'm scared for its treatment. I'm scared for the half of heart I have hiding in the night stand. If I put it back in my chest, it could be stolen. If I carry it, dropping it is inevitable. I could lend it to someone, but would they return it? And, what state would it be in? I'm scared for it.

I'm just straight up scared.

I have decided... I have a need to make other people happy. It makes me feel good to please others. I have seen this as a flaw in the past. I've seen it as something I need to change. Maybe I don't? Maybe, it's part of my character. Maybe it's something other people have to accept. Maybe it's something I have to accept..?

As I age, there are so many things about me that could be better... but, I can never be perfect, right? So, I have to stop trying to change the things that really won't have an affect on life. I have to live with them.

I'm not perfect. I'm flawed... so very flawed.

I'll settle for perfectly flawed.

Driving home tonight I was able to drive westward... into the sunset. The sky was clear, apart from a few clouds. They seemed to gather around the retreating day. Maybe they are clinging to its warmth? It's partly the reason I watch. I love soaking in those last few warm rays while the goosebumps overtake me.

Shadows drift off sunset's fringe
hopeful for a repeat of amber glory.
Fiery cast honor in dusk's binge
woefully reciting the day's story.

Sun does not see his evening,
only morning.
but Moon basks in the beauty
of Sun's duty.

I am emotionally compromised. I laugh as I say that because thinking about it being funny instead of sad helps me to deal. Truth is, I've probably always been this way. I told a friend a story a few nights ago. It wasn't a particularly thrilling tale of lust, drama or suspense. It was merely a memory... an early memory from when life was still carefree and simple. My mother didn't murder my father or anything tragic like that. It's the moment my life went from simple and carefree to worrisome and fear ridden. The day that my parents told me they were getting divorced. My father turned into a real
prick after. I guess it's why I always expect the worst is going to develop even if it's been fantastic for years. People always disappoint me, and maybe I cause it.

So, emotionally compromised. I'm too analytical and up in my own thought most times to really pay attention to what's happening. I don't know how else to be right now. There'll be no changing it until I can afford therapy... this is the best therapy I can get. So, for now... you are my therapists. I'm not paying, okay?

Girl's Night. Girl's Night is just about the most fun I ever have, ever. Last night was Girl's Night. We go out in packs (strength in numbers I guess), in dresses, painted nails, make-up we helped one another apply, necklaces or earrings, and a fancy peep-toed pump to finish it off. Getting ready for a night out with the gals is nearly just as fun as having it. I have quite a few male friends, but it's not the same. With my male friends, I spend much more time smiling politely at compliments... awkwardly, I might add. I try to gracefully accept the comment. I feel exposed, and put my jacket on. I feel... crowded sometimes. I don't feel that way with the girls. If they comment on my blouse, it's because they actually LIKE my BLOUSE, and not what's under it. We talk about where it was purchased, and how much was paid. We gasp at it's expense high or low.

We help one another pick out everything... clothing, shoes, hair, make-up... men. We rely so much on our girlfriends.... but, we have so few, and sometimes we treat one another like the enemy. That's a damn shame.

So, last night I had girl time. It was exactly what I needed. I hope it helps me to release all the frustration I've been carrying. I'm lugging around a heavy weight. It's difficult to think about letting it go; I almost don't want to. If I do, then I let that person go associated with the weight. But, I guess I have to do so.

It still pains me, but a night out with the gals lessens the blow.

upon others reflections

I've had a lot of good friends... most of them I still keep in my heart even if I haven't seen them in years. We still speak, and they still know me. Three of my friends have said to me, "You are my phoenix." Now, to be called this, is rather fitting. I am constantly rebuilding myself from my mistakes or failures. At the same time, I am not vain enough to believe I can be compared to this mythical beauty. These three friends do not know one another... they have all been in different moments in my life, different periods of repairing. They've said how they admire my independence and ability to take my happiness into my own hands. They say so many wonderful things.

Another friend wrote this to me recently upon my compliments to his writing (and I think you'll see his words are well placed and the ideas are executed perfectly):

"I think there's always been a distinction between you and I as writing goes. You do have a gift for poetry and prose. It's understandable that you might feel humbled enough to hesitate considering yourself a poet. Still, if you aren't, there never was one. I'm a bit more of a novelist for sure. I rankled at the rules imposed on how I could express myself creatively in writing when I was in school, especially in poetry. I tell stories, yet you...you bare your soul (forgive the term) like a woman stripped, standing unashamed of her naked body, allowing those who see to decide for themselves whether to approve or not. There's a clear difference in the amount of self put into writing and I admire it about you."

Coming from him, that is a billion dollar compliment. Priceless, even.

So, my friends and other people in my life have seen my worth and dare to measure it.

My point? Why the fuck can't I see it?

fuck your reasons

Again. Again it's one of those days when crying seems to be in order. It's as if there is nothing else I can do, but cry.

I've been there for you. I've been your friend, and you have been mine... mostly. You have been my friend when I fit into your life. When I haven't fit, you have broken up with me... you have cast me aside as though I were just a sour piece of salmon. I've taken you back without any questions... with open arms and a happy heart.

Again. You're doing this again.

I don't fit in your life anymore, and now you're tossing me like I'm bad milk. You poured me down the drain and rinsed out the carton. You were sure to confirm there was nothing left inside apart from a sour smell. You are thorough.

Have you ulterior motives always? You've never been my friend because that's what you wanted. You've been in my life under false pretenses.

If this is how it hurts, it couldn't get much worse.

Again. You've broken our friendship. You've defeated me... I am crippled... soaking in a salty pool of my making. I am devoured by my broken will to be in your life.

I want badly to be angry instead of saddened.

Forget what you know about betrayal. THIS is betrayal.

I can't forgive you, again.