Well
You are water, I am land
That's why every time you hold my hand, I take you in
And though I love the taste of you and how you make me feel
Too much of you has nearly been the death of me
Still, I wait
As the shore waits for the waves
To taste you one more time and make you mine
And though the waves are fleeting
As land, I hold on to the pieces that bind with what I am
Until the sun comes to claim you
Unless you want to come inside
There are two rules for survival at this point
Go deep and come frequently
For as long as I am wet, you live inside of me
And if I dry, the sun may have us both
But it will have you first and for certain
While I can thrive from your demise as well and I will have ample time to find another source of life that compliments mine
There is no going back for you
Only to and fro, my sea
Undisguised
In this digital era, I am a ghost from the past.
I exist in paper, ashes, forgotten memories, and trauma
My digital trail is a collection of puzzle pieces that don't seem to fit together
My intentions are non-existent
My goals are evasive
My demise will be unperceived
My dust will be spread in the west
Please don't bottle me up
That's all I've done is bottle myself up in life
But not in death
Anything but that
But that's what they'll do
Because I'm already dead
I was never alive
Just playing tricks on your eyes
A Muse
Nothing works without you and that's just the truth
I didn't know I was co-dependent until I took a step back and looked at my attachment to you
I thought I had overcome it, but here I am
Floating on air again, if only temporarily
Feeling the weight of everything we will never be
Letting the gratitude of what little we have carry me through my days because nothing else will.
Management
Some of us will only ever know how to be angry properly
We won't learn about love or joy
Patience will be a foreign idea to us
Kindness will be a fairy tale
We'll be born from and out of anger
We'll perpetuate it
Because of our experiences, upbringing, or DNA
We won't know how to get by without anger
When we're not angry, we will subconsciously find a reason to become and stay angry
The best we can hope for is to learn how to channel that anger into positive productivity.
Personally, I like to sleep.
Memories of Marissa
Her name was Marissa. Her boyfriend overdosed at school one time and I never grabbed another pair of boobs after hers. They were perfect. I needed no additional pair in my life after that. There was nothing else I could pursue in that department. To me, she was perfect. To her, all she saw was the mole on her cheek. I thought it was adorable. She thought it was fugly.
She slapped me one time. So I threw a Gatorade bottle at her and chipped her tooth. I probably shouldn't have done that, but she shouldn't have slapped me either. Maybe it was sexual tension. We made up and she still kissed me after that. It was her fault and she knew it. I never loved another girl after her. I never will. I've tried and broken a couple of hearts since her, so I've just given up on that altogether.
We were opposites in every single way. I was tall; she was short. I was fat; she was thin. I had curly hair; she had straight hair. I couldn't make this up if I wanted to. Even our zodiac signs are such that they are complete opposites - a virgo and a gemini. Imagine that.
I hang on to her for dear life. She is a symbol of my youth that I will only let go when it's time to go, but it's one of the memories that keeps me alive, if only ever so faintly.
I always said I'd find a way to be better than I'd ever been and I guess in a way, I am. I had other things in mind and while I still have time, I find myself counting the specs of sand in the hourglass sometimes.
Will I achieve an acceptable fraction of the things I set out to do?
Will I make it through another lifetime or two?
Did Marissa overcome her addictions and traumas?
Did she go to college?
Is she in prison?
Is she alive?
I hope she's alive.
I hope life didn't hit her as hard as it hit me. I hope it didn't change her as much as it changed me and I hope every change she's made has been for the better.
I wish I had something to say to her.
Girlfriend
So I was dating this human once and they were like pretty cool and they became my muse or whatever, but then they like broke my heart and ever since then, it's just been like blah, you know? Woop! Look at the time. "You might think life would be a breeze."
Then this other time, this other human was stalking me, right? I mean, there's a couple of those, but this one was doing it so silently that I didn't know they were around when this happened and so then, when they finally worked up to saying something to me, they thought everything I was saying was about them and I was like, "Oh, honey."
We have to figure out whether things really are what we think they are or if we're twisting them some sort of way based on our own past experiences and traumas and let me tell you something: Imma get this down. "Gimme just a second and I'll be alright."
Future Me
In case you have no idea where this is going, an attempt at reciprocating sentiments is in the works. And if you need it broken down, well, just hope there are puzzle pieces laying around. And if there are, hope you put the right ones together. And if you do, it'll all be clear as day. I'm so wordy today.
Rudimentary
To those who study the sky and the stars:
Why are some nights darker than others? Is it my eyes adjusting poorly? I don't think so. It's a massive difference. Tonight, although the sky isn't visible because of the smog or clouds or whatever that haze is, it's bright out. I can see outside without a light. Clearly.
Some nights like this one, where the haze isn't obstructing, the brightness doesn't seem to affect the view of the stars. In fact, that brightness seems to come from the stars themselves.
Some nights, haze or easy star gazing is irrelevant, but it's pitch black out, so dark that even a bright light seems to get lost in so much darkness. One foot in front of the other is too large a step to take when that type of darkness overtakes.
Is there a scientific reason?
I could ask google, but then I couldn't smell my own farts with the satisfaction of someone who looks at the world with endless wonder and ignorance. Could I ever come to terms with calling myself a writer if I'm not some kind of pretentious? So you see, I have an image to uphold. I didn't say it was a good one, but an image nonetheless. You are excused. <3