i was never prepared for this.

I have a conflicting relationship with “goodbye.” We’ve never meant it, really, to each other. It was always a test. Always temporary. Always fleeting. A sinuous whisper of both regret and hope – I never mean it. Meant it. Behind every goodbye I’ve ever wished has been that crouched, aching morsel of what… whatever it is that makes the other turn, and maybe look at me. Maybe wish for some other outcome. Maybe pray for another chance, or perhaps another wistful glance at the frustrating “coulda shoulda woulda” that dances me from this to that in my upsetting experience so far. My heart has been broken. It resonates, and I try to just let it drop off the walls once it hits, but sometimes it just sticks… and I can’t scrape it off. I just watch whatever it was I gave over and over and over smear down the wall like paint. THAT is what it was. Reduced to this. Reduced to these words, which means I’m just grabbing at straws to justify this pain that results from loss. We all lose. We all try. And risk. And hope. And sometimes, we lose. Sometimes our hopes are far greater than the reality grasped in our fists. Sometimes, we squeeze so tightly; all that is left is just a powder on our palms.

Somewhere in this ether I can find your answers. Your approval. Your advice. Your fears. Your regrets and mistakes. Your passion. Your love. More and more of it can’t be grabbed in these hands – it’s disappearing… the tangibility of you. Your voice is in here somewhere, calling me…


In what language should I answer?

an ornament for the heart.

i write myself more than i write anyone else...






it's these lines who curl around your face like smoke. your form is no longer crisp, no longer clear... where you end and where the space around you begins just floats in the ether around your shoulders; embraced like the ghosts that tug on our footsteps, begging our memories to haunt us as they do. my friend, i'm saving my breaths to tease the smile from your floating visage. this is the memory i save of you: while i step on the earth, you are lost at sea, living a hundred years like a hawksbill beneath a jeweled shell.

i hope you return to the shore from where you crawled out to the sea.

it's worth something, usually.

may deserves a shout out. it was complicated. fun. incredibly exciting. and somehow the opposite as well.

i am going to miss my friend d.p.m.
already do.

normal circumstances, indeed.

never underestimate the power of your own neuroses. not that even writing it down makes it more excusable. excusable, really? not that dismissal is what i mean - perhaps, exercisable. executable. excitable. exemplary. exempt. sure, exempt. why the fuck not. why do i even care? i am always returning to "this" and not "that." all pronouns aside, i know i have a teensy little collection of hang-ups that i'd rather not have. and of course it's not as dramatic and insurmountable as, say, a phobic disorder that causes me to reject anything that might be good for me. no, of course not. tragically, i'm just not that interesting. strike that; reverse it. interestingly, i'm just not that tragic. i'm about as neurotic as my cats - as dismissing and insatiable in equal amounts. love, touch, food, etc. yes, i think i may have just compared myself to my cats. shrug. eh, worse has happened.

taking my mother's advice and recording my interpretation of whatever this is. is it this because i never created a "that" for myself? because i became complacent with the "idea" that what i have passion for and where it is i am skilled will never align quite right? i know i keep asking the question... at this point, i'm not sure that i care as much i thought i should. with passion at full fruition - an unshakable state regardless of production - i'm still not completely convinced that the fight is over. i think i'll be in a never ending state of budding and bloom... the frost will never take as much as maybe i once believed. it's there in the roots...

sometimes i really hate to be that person chasing what it is i feel i need to experience in life or in love. i feel like some "sex and the city" episode and i'm carrie bradshaw (okay, so maybe that wouldn't be so bad with her apartment and her closet...). but it's kind of ironic (talk about neurotic): i'm either a pussycat or a fictional character. either way, i'm hopeful about where this is headed. tangibility, optimism, and chemistry are present in this new relationship with myself.

i can't shake the feeling that something good is about to happen.

stand up straight at the foot of your love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tNs2ZuOVOQ&NR=1

posting this as a way to keep myself... myself. i feel more whole these days, but it doesn't mean i don't make mistakes. i keep pieces of people in my heart, and remember them before they master the art of forgetting. eventually, we all become ghosts.

whoever knows me, knows i chase the possibility of falling in love. i'm still running as fast as i can.

i'm kicking up the fucking dirt beneath these heels. i've never felt this lucky.


to whom it may concern: i've been there. i don't want to go back. i don't (only) want to miss the possibility losing of myself - never anything else. i'm as smart as you think i am; however, i'm limited to my 27 years. i think that's longer than one thinks it is. i'm regretful. no, no i'm not.

i don't think i ever would be. could be. ought to be. i'm a living, breathing contradiction of myself. and i have so much to share; "love sought is good but given unsought is better." shakespeare knew what he was writing down.

it's because i am more hopeful than most are, usually. glass is mostly full kind of stuff. even that the glass is here in my hands.

in any event, these last few months were experimentally interesting. february, admittedly, was a mistake. to the man in stripes: sorry if i hurt you. it just wasn't a good fit. what goes around comes around; it's a dizzy spin, isn't it? march started to emerge beautifully, and ended crisp and clean. it's too beautiful out to stay indoors. april is going to charm the hell outta me.

being young means getting into trouble. cheers to that. going to go run with the horses.




(i'm always going to smile.)

if nothing else.

I'm praying


and praying
and


praying.

-mjbsw - upon the discovery that our father has lung cancer. 02.17.10

lying by the rags.