#spilled self

[beneaththeblur]

I’m anchored by the same things that give me the wings to fly.

That’s why I stay still.

Floating, neither drowning nor swimming.

[beneaththeblur]

Kindness is the most overrated thing in life.

[beneaththeblur]

This is good for us.

We’re going to be brilliant.

Let the pain sink in.

We’re going to be invincible.

— A note to my own other self.

[roughertumbledwords]

General or universal- Sometimes it doesn’t seem to matter so much when you’re ever the exception How much is too much? Only you can say for only you, Relationships are relative What works for one might not for two And oh yes- Don’t forget, That wonderful elusive balance, an element Of wanting and who wants who But that’s the easy part really, It’s after one wants but not the other Enough or as much, what does it matter when imbalanced indifference dooms the dynamic? Do you read me loud and clear yet? Ok, so tell me why is it That so many seem to find and at least for the lifetime of a relationship Can manage to attain some taste of it, When compromise dooms others to short term or long term frustrations with managing the trick, When I know what I’m looking for and it seems come anywhere close to finding hope of it- Disappears abruptly with the loss of interest of others Speaking of the few showing promise worthwhile considering Always looking for more than what’s easily seen Well aware that appearances are prone to deceive Of course seeking and finding better makes sense But why- Why can’t I find anyone who’s right & ready both to try to make something of pursuing something more than a figment of ‘what if..?’ Why is it that those I can’t stand try harder to persist But those I love always leave because they’re ‘Just not that into’ making the attempt? Or worse, what if I’m missing something of significance While looking for something different? Who cares anymore- I confess I do, still, too much to learn to feel inured, or accept resignation to self-sufficient lore; Yes, tell me again how much I need to love myself, And how my worth’s not measured by anyone else or their arbitrary opinions or valuation of 'odd goods’ stuck on the shelf- Everyone knows the broccoli’s better for your waistline & health, But Twinkies and ice cream will always sell Oh well… The thing is that to them I’m not even as good as cruciferous; Some will take broccoli if there’s dip Though of course most want the chips I’m more like the personified abstraction of a person, Always on the verge but never quite there enough to make it 'in’ Who really wants the mystery meat, especially if it’s alive, looks or acts weird and has large bare feet? I guess when labels don’t fit you and nothing fits because you won’t conform to torture-porn hobbling heeled shoes When you won’t stay in a dictated category Maybe they don’t want what doesn’t appear as or appeal to a set confined neatly defined ideal of identity Or maybe I’m just not anyone’s cup of tea- But that’s ok because it matters more that I can live with & stomach who I’m becoming Besides, I’m not willing to settle for less than what works best for everybody as far as I can see or wield influence positively! Good thing then that I won’t (or shouldn’t!) stand or sit waiting around for some romantic myth There’s more to life than relationships Though- if you would kindly do me a solid & please let me know if you discover what the purpose of this so-called life is…

Alone is a clearer cold reflection of self as popularly perceived (Rejects’ experience might know better what or why things won’t be favourably seen than those accepted without question on willingness & the choice made to conform to dictates of majorities)

[poetryismyweapon]

3 Years Off

After midnight cloaks me in rooms absent of other pulses I often find myself gripped by a desire to swallow words And envelope myself in the warmth of people unknown to me, Not strangers, but love interests worth knowing. Worth being with. Someone who would bandage my flayed outline. Loneliness has drunk of my skin often enough to leave Cracks. This drought of caress, this withering Of romance never realized, is a sink hole and my spirit, Which I thought to be on solid ground, falls into darkness Like a solitary creature into its unmarked grave.

[poetryismyweapon]

Made

I am made to live. Grains of sand in an hourglass are too numerous to count. Each tick on a clock, an anticipation of what happens in the next minute. I have lived so many years in expectation of time passing That I never listened to the concerto of each fraction of earth’s movement. My body is a concert hall. My words are notes. The way people interact with me is what allows me chords. Memories are held dear because moments have the capability Of playing out in harmony with your surroundings. The most melodious of times are those in which friendship Leans into your ear as a soft breeze; wind chimes record experiences And nothing stills the chaos of life like distinct bells Of which we can never lose focus. I may not always remember speech or appointments But I will recall how people made me feel One thousand times out of every one thousand pondered. I will remember who hugged me, who hurt me, who healed me. I am made for tears. When my cheeks dance in my own rain, I am blessed. When I have joy my twitch is tango. When I have sorrow my scrunch is salsa. Every time I cry I at least know that I am alive, so let’s celebrate. I’ve left so many people behind. No one lives forever But until a person passes I can let them know they matter. Every invitation is a thank you. Every phone call a proposal To engage in a marriage of your voice and my ear. Happiness is in the eye of those you behold and call friend. Joy is a team exercise and mourning is definitely a group sport; Let us play our hands face up and face up to our obligations. I don’t want to lose people who matter. I want everyone to feel they matter to me. I want everyone to matter to the universe. I want our matter to disperse into clouds of the infinite. Our smiles will be constellations, Our bonds will be solar systems. We’ll sink all worries into black holes And leave everything behind that brings pain. Maybe God was born from a good idea And the will and strength to treat others well. My hope is borne from my realization That my inclusion with people who listen Means so much to my soul. I can be a better listener. I can be a better communicator. I can be to others what others have been to me; The only thing left to do Is to bring others to where I stand and see How important each of us are. How important you all are to me. I am made to speak. What are you made for?

[poetryismyweapon]

Twisted, vile predator. Twisted smile creditor. When the time comes To collect dues My soul owes for its sins, I’ll be left bankrupt. I’ll be bereft skin crop. Empty suit, no harvest - Character reaped long Before the season came, Before the reason left. Sugar coated shell Held rotting sour still. Take a drink of your darkness, Just a shot will end your pain. Who needs a conscience anyway?

[toomanywordsnotenoughink]

He didn't know me long enough to love me

He didn’t know her long enough to love her

He didn’t know her darkest secrets. Or why “smoke gets in her eyes” He never heard the story of the girl and of what she loved. God. And her family. And chamomile tea. He never got to hear her sing. He never got to see her dance lightly on her feet. He never got to feel her touch long enough to move him He didn’t know how lighthearted she can seem but how profoundly enthralling she really is. He never saw the batting of the eyelashes that stopped the tears from flowing. He never heard the cricking of the door to her heart. Tattered from being mistreated. All he saw was a girl. The one he met unexpectedly and walked away from carelessly. He didn’t know that he left. But she stayed. And she remained. The girl he never got to know long enough to love her. Like she loved him.