I went to my local hospital for a minor procedure.

The Doc asked if I wanted a local anesthetic and I said “Sure.”

I woke up groggy and confused FIVE hours later.

“Dude, I thought you were giving me a local anesthetic,” I said.

“It was a local anesthetic,” he replied.

“It was made in a factory round the corner!”

Boom! Boom!

This is something like a love letter. This is probably something like a rant. This is too many words, brain-spillage. This is not poetry. This is not prose. I am sorry if that is what you were expecting today. I’m sorry if I am not what you were expecting today. I am not what you need. I am I. I am probably not what you were expecting today. I am single-drop hemoglobin in vast, ocean-endless veins. You are type-O carrying while I am AB-incompatible, toxic. I am I. I am I, inside of I. And I tend to lack the propensity required to carry on conversations. I tend to lack the emotional drive to lend myself to others more than just temporarily. I am I, internal-searching. I am I, inward-facing. This is expulsion. Evac/Recharge. Evac/Recharge. I am lack of responsibility for you. Do not leave your feelings in my hands. Do not expect me to hold water or sand. I am sieve. I am leaking. I am not fit for holding. I am vessel of me. I am awareness-raised yet surprise-unwarranted. When I say I am inconvenient. When I say I am unreliable. When I say I am lacking. I am dissociating. I am I. Please believe me.

I missed a challenge to write something using only the left / right side of the keyboard, but thought I would have a go anyway.

You oily hoppy lump

Hop, hop, jump

Limp up on my lip

Hump hop nip

You oily hoppy lump

We all love love

Or so we say

But what is love, anyway?

I love my dog

You love your cat

What does your girlfriend think of that?

You love her when she’s in your arms

You love her body and her charms

But then you love your mum and dad

A different love, unless you’re bad.

You love your brother, sister, friend

In different ways, let’s not pretend.

Perhaps the deepest natural love

Your children who you love above

The rest, it’s true

And they have such pure love for you.

But I love singing happy songs

And drinking beer and righting wrongs

I love to play on my guitar

I love my home, I love my car

So many kinds of love it seems

Who really knows what this word means?

But as I say, some lines above

It’s true to say

We all love love.

I think the saddest word in the english language is

Almost.

We have so many words for sadness

Blue

Melancholy

Sorrowful

somber

Bitter

Weeping

Sorry

Dejected

heartbroken

Broken.

You can count them like stars until you fall asleep,

But almost is

Unfinished

Not quite

Just about

Anything.

Almost is what could have been.

What almost happened.

So close, and yet so far.

Almost is

a missed throw

Burnt toast

A flat note

Bottled tears

a candle blown out before you could pick up any more matches.

She almost lived her dream.

He almost didn’t break the lamp.

They almost had fun today.

He almost missed the train that crashed.

She almost got to the hospital in time.

I almost loved you.

Wesley Woods wore a solemn face as he ushered his wife, twin sons, and pet dog Rufus out onto the porch. Slinging the final duffle bag over his shoulder, he turned to lock the door one last time.

He’d practically built this house from the ground with his own bare hands. Solid brick. Piece by piece. It was Jo’s dream materialized. Before they married, he promised to build her the home she’d always imagined living in. A big red house with three stories; enough rooms for all the children and pets they fantasized about on hazy summer afternoons. A large green door that he would push open to carry her over the threshold. A cozy bedroom where he’d make love to her time and time again. A library (with peeling yellow paint that he’d never get around to redoing) where the couple would meet daily on the rustic red chaise until finally settling on the names Andy and Calvin. A little gray garage they would rush out of on a rainy morning, and drive back into the next night with two new bundles of joy. A quaint blue bathroom tub made just for filling up with suds while singing Six Little Ducks. A wide open living room for entertaining company, arguing, making up, and falling asleep on the couch as the television watches. A lovely nursery with cribs that would soon be replaced with bunk-beds; where little boys could play with toys, do homework or be sent away to for breaking mother’s vase. A giant yard where a tall oak would try to hold the tree house they’d build and rebuild together; where tulips and daffodils would grow, witnessing hours of tag, baseball, fetch with Rufus, and hide-and-go-seek. A tiny kitchen with a little window for calling out to the children when dinner was finally ready. Hardwood floors to mop up muddy boot and paw prints trailing from the backyard gate. A fancy dining room just a little longer than its table, under which Rufus hid to sneak bites from the evening meal.

Wesley would miss it all; the laughs, the cries, the joys, the pains, the peeling paint, and the muddy floors. But, most of all, he would miss the picket fence. That classic white all-American fence he built to assure himself and Jo that their sons were always safe and sound. They trusted it to protect the house from burglars, stray dogs, and God knows what else… If only it could protect the house from tornadoes.

As much as Wesley tried to hold out, as much as he watched, as much as he prayed, the weatherman still warned, and the evacuation notice was still in effect. Fumbling the keys from his worn jean pockets, he looked up to the sky once more as if something was going to change. As if the storm would suddenly stop. As if the clouds would miraculously clear.

Alas, the strong winds were eminent, tossing his hair into a wild mess-

As wild and messy as his heartbeats.

He saw the distant twisting funnel cloud-

As twisted as his stomach felt.

The raindrops touched his pale skin and he was slightly relieved because, this way, his boys wouldn’t see that their invincible father was shedding a few tears. Starting towards his worried wife and children inside the little blue car that was packed with as much luggage as it could hold, he tried to smile at them. He wanted to be strong and ease their fears. He tried to smile, but his lips were too heavy. He was carrying the weight of sixteen years worth of life that was about to be ripped apart in sixteen seconds. He climbed into the driver’s seat as quickly as his burdened soul would allow. He wanted to tell them that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn’t going to lie. Instead, he whispered goodbye to his pride and joy as he turned the key into the ignition.

A piece of him would die today.

Wesley would never be the same.

Mitchel. Six years my senior. Dark brown, shoulder length, silky, flowing hair, with a brilliant bang combed perfectly to the left, just above smooth eyebrows. Bright, white smile of incandescent pearls gleaming behind warm, inviting lips. Deep ebony eyes, specially crafted to entice me. Soft, sweet voice, literally music to my ears, lulling me to sleep with his soothing song. Every evening, I closed my eyes, to hear his breaths, and feel his warm embrace. My heart swelled with emotions I had never felt before in my life. How could he feel so close but be so far away? Why couldn’t I bring myself to forget him when I knew deep inside that we would never be? I longingly gazed at him running his ivory fingers through his lustrous locks whenever I got the chance. My heart beat faster. My heart beat for him. I wanted him. I needed him. A boy who didn’t even know that I existed. I collapsed on the couch and cried. Night after night, I stared into heaven, wishing upon the brightest star for a golden opportunity. Praying that someday we would touch, hold hands, or lock lips, though I knew that we would never be. Maybe for my own good, so that I could find Mr. Right. Was there really such thing? Back then, I thought there was. His name was Mitchel. I still cannot fathom how my heart pined intensely after this enigma. Was the mystery enthralling? His looks charming? He often hid behind the curtain, but his tender heart seemed to glow through. I gathered glimpses of his unique personality, but voices in the back of my mind warned me that he was trouble. He couldn’t have been as perfect as I portrayed him. He was too good to be true. I held my breath, lending my ear, overhearing gossip, hoping nothing bad would be said of him, but I just knew that there would be. There wasn’t. Maybe there was, but I just didn’t hear it. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it. He was just too good and I wanted him to stay that way. He was an image I couldn’t reach. That perfect apple at the top of the tree. My heart pounded, gulping, gaping, drooling, staring in awe at the tantalizing perfection. My conscience nagged at me, warning for me not to taste, in worries it would be bitter. I wanted to keep him right up there, to dance through my dreams in bed at night. To kiss me on cloud nine. I imagined he was my husband. My perfect soul mate. I whispered out to him as I tossed and turned in bed, hoping my parents in the other room wouldn’t hear, or my brother in the room below me. Finally. I heard he would be at a party. I decided that I would face my fears. I wanted to go. I needed to go. I at least needed to be in the same crowd with him, as speakers blast the same heavy base sound waves through both our ears. We’d breathe the same air, maybe I’d accidentally brush past him through the thick throng. I’d never wash my shirt again. But, my dreams were crushed. My heart stopped. I almost died when my mom said no. I begged and begged to no avail. I thought of sneaking out, but I was too good of a child. I cried in bed as I pictured him dancing, lights flashing upon his face, hugging up to someone else. I shuddered at the nightmare. Soon after, he moved away. I knew for sure then that we would never be. I still stalk him on social media to this day. Some things he says and does are still beautiful, but he is no longer perfect. I still have feelings for him, but I must move on.

Would he have been different if he ever met me?

Would I have been different if I’d ever met him?

I’ll never know. We were never meant to be.

Show me the rain

and teach me survival

to make te dream again

to bring me home once more

Roads are overgrown

where will I sleep tonight though

cause every single hope

is a stranger to my core

So hurt me

keep hurting me

make everything go wrong

so hurt me

keep hurting me

stop me from holding on

So guiding star

show me blue horizons

I'm in the darkest part

what made us right that day

Keep me close and carry me dazed

make all your doubts erase

with all your might

it's useless to fight

and now it's getting late

So hurt me

keep hurting me

as long as you are strong

till it's all lost and gone

So hurt me

keep hurting me

tell me I'm not the one

keep hurting me

leave all the love undone

Across my heart

There is a memory

Even in the dark

It is blinding me

There's nothing I can feel

And it's so unreal

Because of you

When the dragonflies

Bring the summer strong

And with all it's light

Makes my heart so raw

It's a lost affair

Now that you are not there

Because of you

All the small talk hurts

And the voices drown

My thoughts in empty words

They just kick me down

And I miss your face

Life's lost all it's grace

Because of you

Life just an empty space

I lie awke at night

No rescue in sight

I should call from help

But all the lines are dead

Loving words you said

Are running through my head

Bittersweet souvenirs

Are all that's left

No other eyes shine

So pure and bright

And without a smile

It all fades to white

Now the telephone

Leaves me on my own

Because of you

All the dreams

Have overflown

All is said and gone

Because of you

Across my heart

There is a memory

Even in the dark

It is blinding me

And the flame you freed

Is always with me

Because of you

And the tender flame you free

Is always with me

Because of you