Myself Revisited (Poem)

Inspired by and while listening to Heart's "Alone."

I hear the ticking of the clock
I’m writing a poem for you in the dark

I wonder what you’re thinking about tonight
Don’t want to text you on the telephone.

And my life’s going by so slow

I hope it doesn’t end before I know myself.

‘Til now, I always got by being detached from myself.

I never really thought until I met you.

And now it chills me to the bone.

How do I reconcile my abstract concept of you with the reality?

You don’t know how long I have wished

That someone would think I was a decent and cool person (And then you did).

You don’t know how long I have waited

For someone who would listen to my song (It was probably an Elvis song).

But the secret is still my own (I don’t know what I’m doing.)
And my concept of you is still off the mark.

‘Til now I always got by thinking about myself as unworthy

I never really thought until you made me.

And now it chills me to the bone.

How do my thoughts of you reconvene into a semblance of realistic peace I once held for you?

A Good Day Disguised

On a bad day, on a really bad day

You may wish that it had never happened.

You may lament, you may regret.

"I wish this day had never happened;

I wish I hadn't said that."

Speaking in anger

Told him what you really think, not caring how much it would hurt him.

Messing up your friends' day, when you told him and her you were having a bad day

Bringing them down with you, the ones you told of your pain.

A horrible spiral of bad that wouldn't seem to end.

Also, pretending the world would end, if not just for fun.

Trying to cheer yourself up

Sending love her way.

Pretending you didn't mean what you said

When freed of the fear of caring what she thought

When really you meant it in every case.

At some points that day, it felt the sky was falling and things seemed grim,

But then you think of some good things that happened that day

Reconciliations long time coming

The emotions expressed at the end of the world.

Being wild and unruly is never a bad thing.

The laughs you had on the day you wish never happened

Would disappear, too, if those tears were gone.

You gave in to anger, and not a little, too,

But persevered and banished its influence.

Time it seems has healed the wound a bit

And morning brings the wisdom that even bad days can be good ones.

Speaking one's mind effectively

I will offer some thoughts here about speaking my mind, as it seems that's what you do when you write. I'm taking rhetorical theory this semester in school. It seems to be linked to seduction, in the sense that you are trying to change someone's mind, or alter their thinking, or maybe more specifically, align their own thought pattern s to match your own vibrations. I've read the book The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene and I've even read Neil Strauss' The Game by the Rolling Stone writer turned pick-up artist. I see a lot of rhetoric in their writing even. I took to Green's work more because he uses literary examples. (I've even read Tucker Max's book I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Max seems pretty classless in his dealings with the opposite sex to me, but he is a good writer. I enjoyed his style at least. There were times when I read it that I didn't really like him, but I kept reading it. I'm digressing...)

The point I want to make about rhetoric involves speaking your mind. Our professor had a discussion one lecture about speaking your mind. She said that there are some people who watch everything they say, because they are concerned about what other people will think of them. As has been the case many times in the semester, I felt like she was speaking directly to me. (The other time was when she said that there are people who get by as English majors by being good writers and tricking a professor into thinking you know what you are writing about.) I am very much that person she described who was concerned about what everyone thinks, or at least I was.

In my personal dealing with people, I tend to over-think everything. I am that guy who is about to send you a message on Facebook, but looks it over before he sends it. Did I spell everything right? Would this joke offend you? How will you interpret that the wrong way? Will you like me less for expressing an opinion that you do not share? The truth of this equation is that people tend to like those individuals who speak their mind better than the ones who watch everything they say. Sure, you don't want to offend everyone, or anyone I suppose, if you can avoid it. But people are going to get offended. People are going to disagree with you. If a person likes you and agrees with you because you watch everything you say, is that person really your friend?

I have tried an experiment over the last few weeks on the recommendation of a friend. She advised me to speak my mind without filters to at least one person that week. I've tried it and I've tried it a few times more as the weeks have gone by. I've yet to have someone tell me they were offended by the specific times that I consciously tried to do this. I was very afraid every time I acted without filters, but it has become easier over time. And I feel so much better.

Speaking my mind to a few select people has been freeing in many ways. (This is not meant in the way of 'telling someone off' at all, only in expressing general opinions.) I like to think that I am an honest person, but maybe I was being more deceptive than I thought that I was being. Speech, and the power of speech, is most effective when it is not filtered. Certainly there are ways to manipulate it, there are ways to mold it, adapt it, and shape it to your purposes, but if you are afraid to say something, you limit yourself and your effectiveness to convince someone to think like you are thinking.

To use an example from popular culture, I give you Raj from Big Bang Theory. If you're not familiar with the television show, Raj has trouble speaking to beautiful women unless he is intoxicated, to the point that he can't say anything to one unless he is drunk. This is mainly because his filters are down when he's drinking. Now I have sent a drunken message or two before in my time. Though mine are never rude, I can come across as a little more forward than I would be if I had not had a few drinks. Why can we not choose to act more in touch with how we really feel without the influence of alcohol? Why am I more willing to tell you that you are one of the coolest women I've ever met when I haven't had five glasses of wine? Raj and I both need to tap into that primal feeling of speaking our minds without resorting to an altered state of consciousness. I feel I can carry a conversation with a beautiful woman without turning into a babbling, stuttering mass of sweaty insecurity (most of the time), but I would strive for a more forward demeanor in specific interactions that has been lacking in my conversations in the past.

This very blog was an attempt to speak my mind. I would like to say I don't care if I've offended anyone, but I would be lying. Take it as it is, friends, and practice speaking your mind, too.

Coat of Letting Go, A Jacket for Freedom (Poem)

I once had a coat, a hoodless hoodie of sorts.

I let her wear it because it was cold.

She gladly accepted because it was cold; I could put up with the cold better than her

Though she could probably put up with life better than me.

She gave it back afterwards and thanked me for my kindness.

I loved her and held on too long.

But how do we define these things?

What's too long and what's not long enough?

When I wanted to think of her, I simply wore the coat

And I wore it often. It became my go-to jacket of choice.

When things didn't work out at first those many years ago

But only a year before I let her wear the coat, or less even,

I became lost and wanted to die.

That moment of losing the will to live was more about me than her

And it took me a long time, or so it seemed then, to learn how to want to live for me.

It's been so long since then, since that afternoon when I wanted to end it all.

Her wearing the coat seemed a beacon in the night to my young self

I was only 17 then, so long ago it seems,

A lifetime and yesterday at the same time.

I've been there since, the place of wanting to die, though not as bad, if one can measure these things,

And not for as long, or as intense or as close as I was to it then,

The pain that I felt would surface in fits, though now it's a dull memory,

A nostalgic bad memory that seems so silly now.

She was so kind and I had read her poetry; I was lost to her then.

The lines of pain and love that washed over me completely,

Her heart poured out, as if only to me, her words a testament to young love and pain,

A recipe that was new to me then and a loving memory now.

But the coat when I wore it was a memory of her, a tangible link to the past and her life with me.

The coat had become tattered and stained in places that wouldn't wash out.

I wore it still because I couldn't let go.

I sat thinking about her again and wearing the coat.

Could it have only been four or five years since I'd seen her? It didn't seem like it then.

This all seems so silly now; it was just a coat and her just a girl.

What did it matter that she had worn it and I might never see her again?

Even now, my friends advise me that I hang on too long to things that need to be let go.

But I sat there with that coat on and looked at the blackened sleeves,

The bit of gum that wouldn't come out, the tears here and there that likely couldn't be fixed,

And I took the coat off and held it thinking of her.

Then I walked to a nearby trash can and put it inside.

I was in a public place and it seemed it wasn't quite cold enough to wear a jacket anyway.

I still like wearing jackets, coats, and hoodies, and take any occasion at all to do so,

But I thought about her a little less after that coat was disposed of and in a trash can.

Tempered Passionate Logic (Poem)

Why does love always feel like a battlefield?

To be fair, it doesn't always feel like that.

Sometimes it goes right, but often it feels I do it wrong.

Should it be easy? Should I have to fight it? Fight for it?

I make mistakes, I've made mistakes, I'm making mistakes

Every once in a while, I feel right, it felt right, I'm feeling good.

Are those moments worth the times when it doesn't feel right?

Are you even aware of what you made me feel?

But that's not fair, because you didn't really do anything

Except be you.

And it doesn't matter that you don't believe me

It doesn't matter that I was believed to be disingenuous

I asked for this battle, because apparently I don't like anything to be simple

Difficult is good; difficult is safe   Because if I fail, it's not my fault

At least not entirely.

Where's the challenge in accomplishing the possible?


I listen to that song and it reminds me of you

I remember how we laughed, or how I cried

When I realized I had hurt you.

To realize I could do that was a realization I didn't like, I didn't want.

I wanted to forget I could do that or how to do that, but maybe not,

Because then I would know how to not do it, right?

I cut myself off from that feeling and couldn't believe I could be that person,

but it seems obvious now that I was.

And how wrong I was; and how it didn't matter if you had hurt me, too, my justification for it,

My reason for being so mean, when I never wanted to be, though I was hurt.

It seems I was mean right back, though spite is never solved or answered by more of the same.

I am sorry, but it doesn't matter: the world has moved on and so have we.

 I can resolve to be a better person going forward and not lash out with angry words again.

I can promise to act with honor (and honor myself, too), act with patience,

and communicate with reasonable reason tempered with a modicum of passion,

While still burning when I need to, want to, have to...

And maybe next time the process will go a little smoother.

The Love Police (Poem)

Inspired/borrowed from Wyclef Jean and Mary J. Blige's song 911.

If Death comes for me tonight, babe,
I want you to know
That I loved you.

I would only reveal my tears to you.

Tell the authorities in the Love Police that I'm not home tonight.
Messin' around with you
Is gonna get me a life of this.

But when I look into your eyes
Girl, you're worth the sacrifice.

If this is the kind of love Mama used to warn me about
Man, I'm in trouble.
I'm in real big trouble.
If this is the kind of love the older folks used to warn me about
Man, I'm in trouble.
I'm in real big trouble.

Someone please call 9-1-1.
Tell them I've just been shot down
And the bullet's in my heart
And it's piercing through my soul
Feel my body getting cold.

Someone please call 9-1-1.
The alleged assailant is a beautiful girl
And she shot me through my soul
Feel my body getting cold.

Sometimes I feel like I'm a prisoner
I think I'm trapped here for a while
And every breath I fight to take
Is as hard as these four walls; I want to break.

I told the Love Police that you weren't here tonight
Messin' around with me
Is gonna get you a life of this.

But every time I look into your eyes
Boy, It's worth the sacrifice.

If this is the kind of love that your mom used to warn you about
Girl, you're in trouble
You're in real big trouble.

If this is the kind of love the older folks used to warn me about
Man, I'm in trouble.
I'm in real big trouble.

Someone please call 9-1-1.
Tell them I just got shot down
And it's piercing through my soul
Feel my body getting cold


Someone please call 9-1-1.
Can you do that for me?
The alleged assailant is a beautiful girl
And she shot me through my soul
And he shot through my heart
Feel my body getting cold.

Tell What We're Gonna Do Now (Poem/Lyrics)

A poem lifted from Joss Stone's "Tell Me What We're Gonna Do Now" 

You don't have to make your mind up
'Cause I just want to take my time with you
If that's all right.

Forgive me if I get too shy, but
Maybe you're the reason why, Love,
I'm feeling butterflies.

There's something about the look in your eyes
It makes me feel so right.

When my mind's void,
You're my joy,
You're the dream
When I sleep.
I adore you; you're everything
That I need.
I love how you
Love me.
If I'm made for you
Then you're made for me
It's too good to be

Tell me what we're gonna do now.

Funny how my world spinning
Sometimes you can be so silly
You always know just how to make me laugh.
Your skin is so lovely
I'm moved when you touch me;
I know that you have my back
I feel so alive when I hold you
It's like you've always known me.


When my mind's void,
You're my joy,
You're the dream
When I sleep.
I adore you; you're everything
That I need.
I love how you
Love me.
If I'm made for you
Then you're made for me
It's too good to be

Tell me what we're gonna do now.

I love how you make me smile.
Don't leave; please stay
For a while
Let's make this happen
I don't care how.


When my mind's void,
You're my joy,
You're the dream
When I sleep.
Hey, I'm for ya.
I adore you; you're everything
That I need.
I love how you
Love me.
I'm made for you
You're made for me.

Tell me what we're gonna do.
Tell me what we're gonna do now.

(Fiction) Third Planet in the Gothic Constellation of Thanatos

The planet is called Eva and it’s the third planet in what they called the Thanatos constellation. Eva is the only planet that can support life in this system. The planet has the same name as a woman in their mythology. The story reminds me of Persephone from Greek mythology as I read it. There was a young woman who had traveled to a cemetery with the intention of killing herself. She was the most beautiful woman around, as far as she knew. The beautiful young woman removed her knife to slit her wrists, but Death appeared before her before she could start. Death found her to be a striking beauty and had appeared to convince her to reconsider. The woman protested and told him she would shortly be with him in death after she killed herself. Death said she wouldn’t be the same after Death. He was in love with her and would do anything to make love to her once. Reluctantly, Eva agreed to be his lover, but made Death promise that her relatives and ancestors would have long lives free of disease. Death quickly agreed and the deal was done. Death was not omniscient, however, and he had been tricked. The woman had planned to strike the unholy deal from the beginning. Her family had an illness that was passed on through the generations and her family line was in danger of dying. The woman herself was close to succumbing to the effects of the sickness even as she arrived at the cemetery. Death and the woman did become lovers and the child’s name was Eva. Eva lived a long life, as per the agreement, but when Death learned he had been tricked, he failed to remove Eva’s illness. She lived a long life, but it was eventually full of pain from her family’s genetic illness. Rather than go mad, Eva endured, and even prospered, despite her pain. The story was a symbol for the planet and surviving through hardships.

            This world hardly seemed harsh to me yet, but the only place I’ve seen so far is the friendly environment of my father’s house. He was taking care of my every need, but maybe I was becoming sheltered from reality. I continue my lessons, but I think of little Eva from the story often. 

            After lunch one day, I ask my father about the story of Eva. He tried to hide his disappointment that I was asking about something I probably should have learned about ages ago.

            “Well, it is a tragic story, but inspiring at the same time. She lived a life in pain, but she tried to enjoy and cherish an existence that she had every reason to despise.”

            “Forgive me for asking . . . my memory is still a little fuzzy, you know . . . but is Eva really that bad of a place to live?”

            He hesitates before he answers. “It is no paradise at times, to be sure, but a home is what one makes it. There are many beautiful things to be found on this world, or any other, if one knows where to look.”

            “You’re doing . . . fine with your lessons. Keep up the pace and you will be your old self in no time.” 
I know he’s lying, and I feel bad that I’m not moving faster, but there is little I can do but continue to try my best. 

A little better

Reading three books in three days and starting on a fourth the fourth day, but slept mostly today.

Trying to avoid thinking about things in life, trying to get lost in the words.

Some of the books help a bit with the life thing, but they serve to remind that there are things to be solved.

Not problems, really, I don't really want to call them that, but things that need a solution

Or that I want there to be a solution to.

Maybe there are no solutions to some things, and they are just how they are.

Things only have the power you give them, whether it is a broken heart or a broken sword.

I read that in a comic book sometime about a decade ago. I've read a lot of those.

The books I read now, or at least in the last few days, have been "book" books, though.

They take a little longer to read than comic books. I can read a 22-page comic in 2 to 8 minutes, depending on the story.

You can take your time and enjoy it, and I do, but once you've read a few hundred of them, you're able to even process the information in a comic book at breakneck speed.

I tried to count the number of comic books I had read in my lifetime before. It's definitely in the hundreds and may even be in the thousands.

After I read, or after I watch a movie, those things I don't want to think about are still there. Even when I write sometimes, those issues are still there.

I'm not sure I can call them issues, but things I'm thinking about, things that even now are on the edge of my mind, but I don't want to think about.

My life is only what I've made it right now, but I'm going to make it different.

I certainly can't say that it's bad, but there are things I am going to change.

The world wasn't created overnight, though, and neither will my life be changed in a day.

There are things I can change, though, and now.

Attitude is one thing a person can change, though I've always had a great one of those.

I think I am generally happy, but there are things that have happened lately that I let make me less so.

Notice I didn't say the things that happened made me less happy, because I control that.

It's a fallacy to let yourself become upset, but humans having fallacies is what makes them human.

I don't strive for perfection; I only want to make myself a little better.

You Gotta Love Someone

"You can win the fight
You can grab a piece of the sky
You can break the rules
But before you try

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone.

You can stop the world,
Steal the face from the moon
You can beat the clock
But before high noon

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone

...

You can cheat the devil
And slice a piece of the sun
Burn up the highway
But before you run

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone.

...

You can win the fight
You can grab a piece of the sky
You can break the rules
But before you try

You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone."

From Elton John's "You Gotta Love Someone"

Optimism Renewal

I had a renewing experience today. I was having some issues in my life (the details aren't important) and I found myself complaining about the state of life in general. I felt like I couldn't be alone with my thoughts and there was no where for me to go to be in a quite place.

I was trying to read a book and I decided to go outside. I was trying to finish a book in a day, something I had done before, but I had been struggling with reading quickly lately. I'm generally a fairly fast reader, but I felt like I had been in a funk and things weren't going right lately. Some things were going right, but I felt a kind of two-steps-back syndrome of progress about the things that were going right. Sometimes realizing you are going about something wrong can be a momentarily debilitating experience.

Well, I'm reading the book, and feeling generally upset about finding a quiet place to read, and feeling generally unhappy, when I came upon a quote by Abraham Lincoln in the book I was reading. "Most people are about as happy as they make up their mind to be." I just had to smile and look at the quote. It was exactly what I needed to hear and read.

I kept reading and continued to read until the sun was going down and until I couldn't see anymore. I kept reading and thought of all the things that were right in my life, as well as the obstacles that other people faced in their life, stories that I was provided by the very book I was trying to finish. I have heard and even experienced finding exactly what you needed, but this was a cool aspect of synchronicity. It just fell into place exactly as I needed it to.

I did finish the book within 24 hours (actually I finished within 8 hours, including taking a nap even) and it was just the book I needed, too.  

GCOT

This will be an explanation of sorts of Gothic Constellation of Thanatos. I'm just getting some ideas down.


The main premise behind Gothic Constellation of Thanatos is a down on his luck retail worker who dies in a car accident and is essentially reincarnated as a young girl on a distant planet in another galaxy.

He (now she) meets his kindly scientist father who has been watching his young daughter through her coma. The man now awakens as the young girl and lives out her life.

Young Vanessa learns about her new home through the computer immersion program that her father provides. Vanessa eventually meets the chatty Susanna who lives in a nearby cottage close to the large laboratory that her father lives in.

The lab is in a secluded spot in the middle of the woods, as is Susanna's cottage.

Susanna is a seamstress and makes clothes that she sells to vendors from the closest city. Vanessa is taken on as an apprentice seamstress and learns to manipulate fabric and design clothing.

Vanessa eventually meets Susanna's son Ethan who is a law enforcement organization in the city.

GCOT

I'm jumping ahead a little bit, but this is another segment from Gothic Constellation of Thanatos.

One day at Susanna’s, she has another visitor. When this large man enters the house, she gets very excited.

“Ethan!” she screams, “Why, come in!”

“I am in, mother,” the large man says quietly. He is tall and almost as wide as the door, but not plump like his mother. Ethan looks like an athlete. He’s wearing a blue and red outfit with a badge and insignia. I quickly learn that he’s a policeman of sorts from the city.

“Oh, tell me how you’ve been! You’ve been safe haven’t you? No dangerous raids or fights? I always worry about you, but I know you can take care of yourself, but you know how I worry.” Susanna is even more talkative than usual with her son.

“Nothing much to talk about, Mom.” Ethan is quiet compared to his mother, but then almost anyone is quiet compared to her. He barely says anything to all of her many questions.

Susanna eventually runs out of questions and goes in the kitchen to prepare dinner and also to prepare Ethan a place to sleep. I’m eventually left alone with him. I take the opportunity to talk with someone who’s actually been to the nearby city I’ve heard so much about.

“What’s it like in the city?” I ask casually.

“What does a little girl like you care for the city?” He seems unusually cruel compared to the way he was acting around his mother. “It’s dangerous,” he continues, “Criminals own the streets and little girls like you are prey for monsters. The stores and houses are locked tight at night and no one goes out after dark if they don’t have to.” He must see the fear in my eyes, because he adds an explanation to his warning. “I hide the truth from mother, but there’s no sense in lying to you. The city is not a place you want to go to.”

            Of course, after this conversation, I want to go the city even more. It’s a forbidden place now that I had been warned against it. Ethan visits every once in a while after our first meeting. I’m hanging clothes outside one day and he approaches quietly. I’m startled as he starts talking. “What are they teaching you? You’ll be a matron in the woods like my mother. Can you even take care of yourself at all?” His cruelty seems out of place. As far as I knew, he hardly knew me at all. I’ve stopped what I’m doing and he is standing in front of me now.

            “Just try to hit me,” he commands. “Go ahead.” I hesitate, thinking him to be a bit of a bully at this point, but then I do as he asks and try to hit him. He easily dodges the blow and simultaneously trips me to the ground.

“Pathetic,” he says. “And you think you would survive in the city. You have to strike with speed and force, like this!” He hits me in the stomach before I can move. I fall over out of breath and near tears. I’m a third his size, but he doesn’t seem to be holding back.

            “Stand up, now!” he says. He seems to soften for a second. “Don’t be afraid, but get up and try again.” After I catch my breath, I get up and try to hit him again, but he simply moves out of the way again. “Ha! That was better, though. Maybe there is fight in you.”

            “Ethan, what are you doing?!?” Susanna screams as she discovers us sparring. “Stop roughhousing with Vanessa and let her work.” Ethan turns to go inside, but whispers to me as he leaves.

“You’re soft now, but there is hope. If you really do want to go the city, you’ll need a lot more lessons in taking care of yourself.”

            At home in my room, I practice trying to punch quickly like I had seen Ethan doing. I really did want to go into the city and maybe I was soft like he said. I imagine his cruel, quiet voice as I fall to sleep.

. . .

When I see Ethan a few days later, I had not forgotten our talk. “Hey, little domestic girl,” he says walking up to me.

            “I’m not a little girl!” I object. I try to hit him again right where he’s standing, but I still couldn’t touch him as he trips me again.

“Ha ha!” he laughs at me. “You have to plant your feet.” This time I get right back up, though, and manage to hit him in the stomach, though he barely reacts.

            “Better!” he admits, “but try hitting a little harder than that if you can.” Before I can manage to celebrate this small victory, he trips me again and I’m on the ground. I’m almost crying again, but more from frustration than pain.

            “Oh, don’t cry! Who’s not a little girl now? If you really want to learn, I will teach you.”

            After our first few brief meetings, I start taking fighting lessons from him. We always tell his mother we’re going into the woods on a hike. Apparently, Ethan’s a hunter and naturalist, too, so this is a good cover story.

            As for the lessons themselves, I’m falling down more than I’m not. Ethan’s not very patient either, really.

            “Get up!” he yells. “That’s not going to cut it!” He usually only raises his voice when he’s away from his mother. It’s as if her constant chatter replaced his voice when he was around her. Maybe he was used to not being able to get a word in growing up with her.

            “I’m trying,” I say, “but you keep knocking me down!”

            “Then evade me,” he says, as if it’s as simple as breathing. For him I guess it is. I finally manage to dodge one of his blows and even manage a weak counterstrike.

            “You’ll have to do better than that, little girl.”

            I get mad at that and punch him on his hip as hard as I can.

            “Huh. Not bad.” I can tell he really is surprised and I’m happy for some small progress.

Sit down, old friend

I know what you're going to say before you say it.
You may be right this time as you have been before.
I don't want to listen to you, though.

Then a weird thing happens:
I split into two sides of myself and start giving myself advice.
It's often easier to give advice than follow it
Or so I try to tell myself.

He sits me down, myself does,
"Sit down," he says...
"You might not be ready to hear this," he begins,
"But you're going about it all wrong."

I give him a frowning look like he doesn't know what he's talking about.
"Don't look at me like that," he says.
"You've got to give this up, son. It's just not good.
All this poetry you're writing, all these thoughts you're having, all this time you're spending
And what's going to happen of it. Give it up."

Son? But you're the same age as me, I tell him.
"No, not really. I'm smarter so I figure that makes me older.
I'm your sensible side it seems and someone needs to talk some sense into you.
These thoughts you're having, trying to be hopeful, trying to see the positive.
Some times you do just have to accept that the world's not all candy and summer storms."

Well, I don't really like candy all that much, but I don't see your point, I say.
"Look you're not getting the point: All these optimistic thoughts you have, they're just not healthy. It's just not going to happen the way you imagine. I know. Trust me, I know."
I give him an odd look: Are you from the future? I venture to ask.

"No, no, no, you idiot. Not really. But trust me, I know. You'll be better if you just accept reality."
He grabs some pages and roughly taps them on his other hand.
"Look at this: It's just bad, really. What were you thinking?
Fire and burning and plays, computer programs that no one wants to read about."

Well, I was going to rewrite some of it, yes. The story, though, not the poetry.
I think it might be romantic if it was books and not a computer, yes?
"Romantic," he scoffs. "You and your romance. You make me sick."
I stand up at this.

Now listen here, I start, my romance that you make so much fun of has got me where I am in life.
You know I used to be like you, cynical and hopeless, thinking the worst,
And sometimes I still am, but I don't want to be like that all the time.
Being insecure doesn't feel too good, even though I am sometimes.

"You're insecure all the time," he says laughing. "You think I'm not in there with you, chum?
You second guess everything and think the worst as your first choice of possibility."
I'm silent at that and try to come up with a response.
Yeah, maybe that's my natural tendency, but I compensate with this optimism and romance that you seem to think is so useless.

Yes, I'm insecure, but I control my thoughts, buster.
I decide if I want to let something bother me, I decide to see the glass half full, and I decide when I'm going to give up on something, got it?

"Yeah, yeah," he says, "Don't get bent outta shape about it. Man, you worked yourself up. See, there is anger in you."
He had me at that, but I knew I was right, too.

I took the pages from his hand.
I can fix it, I said. I can make it better.

"Maybe you can, kid. Maybe you can."

I knew you were right in a way, and that he was trying to help just like you were, but I couldn't do the things I was being advised to.
I wanted to burn a little longer.
Or a lot longer, really.
I don't know why I keep choosing that metaphor, or word or whatever, but it seems right.
That month of poems seems like a blur and I was honest in a way that I hadn't been in a while.
Poetry is a way to write exactly what you're feeling without coming out and saying it.

I burn=I can't stop thinking about you.
You're a star=I like you
You think this poem is about you=This poem is about you.

There are times when all a poet really wishes he could do is give the poem he wrote to the person he wrote it about and let her read it.

There are other times he wants to lock them up in a casket and let them collect dust for a few decades.

But you see, this poem really isn't about you, and though I burn from the star that got a little too close
I think perhaps I'll remain a hopeless romantic 'til my dying day.
"Dawn died a tiny thousand deaths for you and she's till alive
So the least you can do is keep going.
Things only have the power you give them: a broken sword or a broken heart..."

(Poem) Fire Burn Hope Faith

I.
For you I write this poem
But you may never read it.
Should it remain trapped on the pages of a book
Forever buried in the dust of the past?
Or should I let the world see it and laugh at my dramatics?
To never lose my passion is my only wish
To never lose the fire that keeps me burning at night
Thought it may burn me up, it lets me know I'm alive.
Fire indeed consumes me; I know little else but fever dreams
Of a time and a place when everything made sense.
What logic is this that once enthralled my boring part on the world's stage?

II.
The stage is a charred husk of its former self.
The light of day reveals the reality of the scene.
The world cannot contain these lines it seems and lets the ashes blow in the wind
For you it seems these verses were written; for you the pen has bled itself of ink.
The player cries because her scene is unfulfilled
The magic is gone it seems, if it was ever really there.
This emotion seemed real enough and the heat felt hot and seems to hurt still
For me my coals burn as much, though the embers flicker duller a little
But a spark of hope remains.    The fire does burn still.
Optimism is my only friend and a willingness to accept the possibilities is a gift I treasure.
Burn a little longer, love, and my inferno will be renewed as if it never stopped.

Can Let Go (Poem)

Well I think I may have finally
Learned how to forget you
When it was pointed out to me
That you might not be the one for me
That I only knew you for a short space of time
And maybe I didn't know you that well.

I will move on tonight
I will endeavor to forget
But it doesn't seem any less special
To admit that it wasn't meant to be
And that you are not meant for me
And I'm not meant for you.

The heartache I thought I may have felt
May have been an illusion
A sentimental thing
That I held on to for too long
A phantom thing that blows away with the wind
And doesn't come back.

So, it doesn't really hurt you see
Though maybe I thought it did
Logic it seems has saved me for once
With its rigid adherence to reality
And its true face of sobriety
A wake up call to sanity.

I face tomorrow and stop looking for you
Because you don't exist
Except as the romantic ideal that I held of you then
And the romanticized past
That I've learned to let go
And forget you as easily as a yesterday.

Understanding (Poem)

How many people for the rest of my life
Will truly understand me and what I'm about?
How many people will get what I think about life
And what I hate about it
And what I love about it?
Maybe you don't get everything, but some of the things
For some of the time
Is a compromise I'm willing to settle on.
They don't understand me
And sometimes you don't either
But I will settle for laughter
And mutual admiration
For a unique world view
If not exactly the same
Then differently the same
In that we are different
And they don't get us.
You understand at least
That no one else understands
And I thank you for that
And wish that others could
Understand for a moment at least
That beauty has value
And that little things do mean a lot
And that we're right there
If only for a moment
We are there together
And the world seems to make sense for that brief moment of time.

Quiet Again (Poem)

Walking when it threatens to rain
Trying to walk away from it all, but it all remains the same.
The problems I try to leave behind are there went I get home.
The worries I try to escape from
Don't go away because I travel
They stay with me and my world unravels.
To truly leave behind the turmoil myself
Into this quagmire to delve
I must learn to solve the mystery all on my own
I must harbor peace and try to be alone
Alone with my thoughts, that's where we were at first
Consider the situation, and it really could be worse
Travel the world in quiet and meet the quiet here
Stop thinking so much and just learn to hear.

Tribute to a Book (Poem)

Oh beautiful book, if that's what I should call you.
You're really more like an experience that I had one lifetime
'Cause it seems like another age ago since before I read your truth.
Your delicate pages that I pored through
Your pretty words that touched my soul
Fragile pages, or so they seemed
I never wanted the experience to cease.
Begin anew I can and read you again
Even though I already know how you end.
Don't we know how life ends though?
With the end of it, though we don't know how.
Like a book that you don't want to finish
Life should be that way, too
A pleasure to be enjoyed.
But you do know that the last page will come eventually
But who is to say if another book won't be started when my book ends
And the paper that makes me up becomes another book that just happening to begin?
Oh wonderful piece of literature, you,
With your writing so charming and wit to spare
How should I enjoy another book after you
And how pale they should seem when compared to your frame?
Even your binding and cover seem perfect
You're the perfect size, the perfect type set, the perfect number of pages
How then shall a summer reading compare to you?
You've ruined me it seems and I hate you for that
But that's not true either because I'll never forget you.
Marvelous marvel of words and verse
How poetic you seem and not just at first.
I long to experience your lot again
But I fear you are unique, just like a good friend.
I'll cherish you then, like I might this chum
And hope that to the charms of another book I succumb.
I'll search the rest of my life for another you
But I fear it is a search that shall never be through.

Ode to a Poem (Poem)

I give myself to you
I give it all,
My poem, I give to you, personified in verse,
I give to you, poem,
My anguish, my love, my pain, and my pleasure
It's all the same to you
It blurs together like paints on a canvas
I paint my life with color
I paint these pains and triumphs with the ease of a skilled artist
Where once I made the instrument sing
And the paint talk
I tell the words what to do now
I command them as best I can
I tell you all my secrets
I tell you about her and her
Only her, but then another one
Until you learn to suspect that I only love love
And what it does to me
And no one person.
Maybe this is true
And they're all the same
And I've never really loved.
But it feels real doesn't it?
You know that, poem,
Because you've felt it, too,
The pain and the joy
The love that feels real
The pleasures of it happening again as if for the first time
And the illusion that it wasn't like this before.
I lie to you, poem,
And say this is the one,
But you know me too well
And that this is but the latest
In a series of loves
In a row of lovers
And a dream of originality
That may not exist.
It seems real enough and maybe it is.
I do love poem and I love you, too
Let's be true to each other
And share our secrets like friends
Who give their love to each other because the world doesn't understand them
And only we two do.

Postcard (poem)

I wonder why after all this time
I still think of her though it's been too many years now
We really only met a time or two
And there was him to consider
His specter was there
I never met him really but he was there
And you were here.
You were on the phone with him
And I felt so wrong
We had talked
Your love was explained
Explained away or that's how it sounded to me.
A comfort quickly gained that felt so right.
I talked to myself even then,
"Don't fall too quick," I said,
"She probably buys all the men she just met today a hamburger dinner.
Don't look into her eyes and don't notice her smile;
Named after a singer (You'll forget in a while)"
She'd been wearing a cap and her face was hidden then.
"She's not so good looking and she looks rather plain."
I lied to myself and it was all just the same.
But then it happened: a moment not to forget.
You took down your hair and took off your cap.
Your wavy hair fell and I knew I was done.
Plain was a name that I could not call you
Boring was a description that a liar only would give you.
You offered me a postcard and gave it as a gift
You asked why I picked that one
And I said it would remind me of you.
I've lost that postcard or perhaps thrown it away
Trying to forget, it had too much to say
I was undone by the twirl or your hair
My fate was sealed then and there wasn't much to do
I called you beautiful to your face as a matter of fact
Would you even remember me now?
Or are you even still around?
All the others after you are just an attempt by me to rebound
To try to forget about you
And your lovely face too.
It starts to work
I've almost forgotten your face now
And I don't know what I'd do if we were face to face again.
I wouldn't know what to say or where to begin.
So I'll just continue to try to forget you
Though I fear there's little hope for that
If only I had kept that postcard
And you hadn't took off your hat.

You Don't Have to be Sad (Poem)

I know the rain is pouring into your life
I know I caused a few storms for you in my time
I know I wish that I could make it all go away
But all I can do is listen and then I'll say:
"You don't have to be sad, it'll all be okay
There are people that love you and care that you are here
I'll be there for you always, from year to year
'Cause friends are what I live for and that's what you are."

I listen to you cry and I want to cry too
But I feel I should be strong and just be there for you
You are so special and it really breaks my heart
That you can't see right now just how special you are.
"You don't have to be sad, it'll all be okay
There are people that love you and care that you are here
I'll be there for you always, from year to year
'Cause friends are what I live for and that's what you are."

I wish that you could see how I see you now
Just a sad young girl that doesn't understand how
The world can be so cruel, especially to someone like you
Who's the best the world has to offer. What can we mortals do?
"You don't have to be sad, it'll all be okay
There are people that love you and care that you are here
I'll be there for you always, from year to year
'Cause friends are what I live for and that's what you are."

One More Poem Before I Sleep

One more poem before I sleep 


 To bury myself in slumber deep 


If I should die before I wake 


I hope that it's not for lack of love's sake 


I hope that I have adventures in my dreams 


I wish my dreaming world could be all that it seems 


I hope and pray that my dreams become real 

I bargain with creation, I beg and I deal 


To have the borders of the dream world fall back like a drawn curtain  


My dreams are still there Of that I am certain 


Sleep comes soon now and the real world waits until tomorrow 


A bit of hope for the future from my dreams I will borrow.

Still (Poem)

Still    tonight
My thoughts in flight.
A quiet contradiction.
My mind at peace.
I lie and rest   my thoughts ever changing
The more they stay the same the more it changes still.
Between the space of thought only two things exist
Whether one for the other and their respective places on Earth.
I hope for a resolution  I hope for the best still
I hope for the end of the storm   I hope for still
I strive for still but if I run it gets away
Still is the place I want to be.
Still is the calm I wish would envelop me.
Peace, it finds me, though a little the worse for wear
The storm it's nearly destroyed me, but I am still mostly there.
Hope I cling to   in the middle of the night
Hope I embrace you   And you smile a little too.
I wink and you laugh, hope,   that I haven't abandoned you yet.
The still is your friend    and we are all associates at last.
I was stupid then, and maybe more so now
Because I know the pitfalls of your pathways now
And walk down the hallway still.
Still will happen again, I steel myself for the onset
Of doubt that I steal    From insecurity I learn
From bitterness I burn   A lack of doubt is a poverty for which I yearn.
Doubt that I stamp out   Pride and joy that I earn.
Finally faced with peace I hardly know what to do
So I only start to hope again   And my troubles again are through.  

Libra Disney Spirit (Blog?)

I enjoy a wide variety of genres of music, movies, and comic books, but the ones I enjoy the most are the ones that have heart to them, regardless of where I find them. I'm way too old to have a full appreciation of Lizzie McGuire, but I went to see the movie with a friend way back when and I have some good memories associated with it. The soundtrack was pretty good and the title track has some stirring lyrics. It's a beautiful love song. Simple lyrics, yes. It's a Disney movie, yes. But if I read this as a poem, I would be moved, as I am by the song every time I hear it. Hillary Duff is a fellow Libra who I share a birthday with, too, though not the same year.
Have you ever seen such a beautiful night?
I could almost kiss the stars
They're shining so bright.
When I see you smiling I go
Oh oh oh
I would never want to miss this
In my heart I know what this is
This is what dreams are made of.

I've got somewhere I belong
I've got somebody to love
This is what dreams are made of.

Have you ever wondered what life is about?
You could search the world and never figure it out.
You don't have to sail the ocean

Happiness is no mystery
It's here and now
It's you and me.

(Poem) I Think of You When I Hear a Song

Another poem from forever ago. I think I actually quote a Bobby Brown song in here. Not sure if I can back up that choice 5-year younger Jeremy, but I like the rest of it.
I think of you when I hear a song...

I think of you when I breathe...

How could it have been so long ago when it seems like yesterday?


When you call my name it's like a little prayer...


So close to me still after the years have passed. My thoughts drift to you though it seems absurd.


Just like a prayer I'll take you there...


The absurdity of love is the purity of its conviction.


I'm down on my knees...


Call my name, ask me if I love you, tell me that you know I do. 

Be the cool that I know you are and always have been.
Melt my heart with your voice.
Burn my blood with your eyes.


Someone please call 911



I love you so much but I could let you go, cause there's a lot of girls out there who won't say no...


I'm in so much trouble with you, but I always wanted to be. 


Always has been, always will be, never going to change.

If this is the kind of love that my mom used to warn me about...I'm in trouble.

In the Space of Infinity (Poem)

This is a poem I wrote close to 5 years ago that I recently unearthed from the vaults of Livejournal. I don't exactly know where I was at, but it's fun looking back on it. I actually really like it.
In the space of infinity I think of you again and I know I miss you so much even though it doesn't make sense.

In the space between moments I know I want to hear your voice again.

In the space between thoughts I know I think of you.

It's like a little prayer...

God let me stop...even though I know I can't. The space of moments is the curse of infinity.

I want to say you don't mean anything at all, but I know it's not true...

In the space it takes me to write about I could have written to you, but that doesn't matter because I don't want to do it.

There is no time or so it seems, 'cause how it could be when that seems like yesterday.

I give you everything that I am
I give you everything that I got
How can yesterday and today but so far apart when I can still remember that everything you said sounded like you had that sly smile on your face?

Time and Books of Plenty (Poem)

Time:
I have as much as I want,
though I would have more everyday.
Friends:
I have as many as I need,
though more than I can tolerate.
Books:
As much more time as I could have
 to read more of these.
Writing:
A chore at times,
but always a part of me.
Learning:
Something I'm good at
but can never get enough of.

Combine all of these and there is time enough
and friends aplenty to learn all I can
about half of the things that I          
want to know everything about,
though I'll never understand
as much as I want to
nor should I
comprehend all that I want to.

Past Serendipity (Poem)

I wonder where you are right now.
I was drawing a picture on a newspaper when I met you
You literally rode into my life
You asked me what time it was
But it wasn't the right time
Or you were late
But just on time for me.
You showed some of your art and asked me if I liked it
I would have lied and said I did
But I liked it anyway.
I wondered if you really drew the post card you gave me
But I've lost it since then.
You bought me dinner and laughed at me a little
Though I didn't mind as much because you had a right to laugh at me some.
I tried to impress you a little, but didn't do a very good job.
When you took off your cap, your hair was so beautiful.
You said you didn't want anyone to recognize you and I was intrigued,
Your face was gorgeous, too, of course.
You mentioned some other things too that I didn't like too much.
We talked about some things that people who were more than friends might talk about
Like kids' names and stuff like that
And I started to feel like I had known you for a lot longer than I had.
I've gone over this in my head so many times and I've even written about it before
But it never stops being special
Though I've likely built it up in my mind.
I don't know what I would say to you if I saw you again.
It doesn't seem sane to say you might have been the love of my life
'Cause we barely knew each other long
And it was years ago now
But I still think about you so there must have been something to it.

Center of the Storm (Poem)

Left out in the cold
But the world has been generally warm.
Faced with the onset of a storm
I learned to enjoy the thunder.
Faced with a monsoon of doubt
I learned that there was something other than sadness.
Laugh at my doubting self
Make my more confident self vomit in revulsion.
Confidence might be an illusion
But it feels better than real pity.
Learn to stand on my own
Though the wind is blowing strongly.
Laugh at the falling branches
Lose them because I need myself.
Find my own calm now
Because I am the center of the storm.
The center that knows
That the storm will pass.
The center that knows
That this too shall pass.
The forest that will not burn
Though I may a little longer.
Find that quiet center
And let the peace take over the calamity.

Worry (Poem)

There are things I shouldn't worry about
And things that I should.
I can't help worrying about you
And if you're doing good.
I can't help but think
There are thing that I should say
And things that I shouldn't have
Although it's all kind of gray.
I try to be my own best friend
But I'm not sure I really am
I worry too much for that
And I give too much of a damn.
I worry that I'm funny
I worry that I'm smart
I worry that people like me
I've made it into an art.
My worry threatens to consume me
In a fire of insecurity
And I worry about that even
And it all comes to naught.
My worry is senseless
As many things are
I worry that I can't let it go
And do what I ought.
Worry, I leave you behind tonight
To burn yourself up for once.
I concentrate on now this day
And let things fall as they may.

Forget the Senses of the Past (Poem)

Memory is imperfect, so I can hardly rely on that.
I only have now and what I sense today.
I feel the keys as I type in the now
I seem to remember the day as more chill than the day before, but I can't trust that you see
Because what if today was the same and I just don't remember yesterday right?
What if all the yesterdays are the same and I just forgot all of them wrong?
Some things you would like to forget
How they looked
How they felt
How they smelled
The noise you heard
The noise you made
It's all the same
It doesn't hurt
If I forget.
Forget it now, that's all I can do.
Remember it then, but maybe I can't
Or choose not to.
I refuse to believe that yesterday is the same
And maybe that's all that matters.
If I can't compare now and then
Then I'll just feel and remember now
Be happy or sad as the day calls for it
Smile, laugh, or cry
As I deem appropriate.
Cry because I'm touched, I hope,
And not because I'm sad.
Feel the now
And forget the senses of the past.

Inferno (Poem)

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
I endure with myself and find love where I can.
I learn to love me and it all falls into place.
I'm in love with myself and I think that's okay.
Let the world call me a fool and maybe I am
But I won't abandon love or let it die with a whimper
I continue to let it burn like the fire of a thousand suns
The light of a brilliant star
Or the heat of a warm body.
You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm definitely not the only one
And my waking dream continues
To find an Inferno of passion
In a seemingly ordinary world.

Looking for Another You (poem)

You never thought I loved you
Though I know I did.
I may not have understood quite what love is
But I think I felt it still.
You played with me
And I didn't mean as much to you
Though I could have been more kind to you too
And I regret it everyday.
You are still there for me
And I think I truly love you now
And I understand real love I think
Though you have moved on
And I think about you still.

(Fiction) The Third Planet of The Gothic Constellation of Thanatos Part 6

Everything so far in this story was written a few years ago, but I'm rewriting a little as I go along. I think I started this story as long ago as 6 years ago. For one difference, I've changed everything to present tense as it feels more personal for the experience. Parts of this story are surprising me with how dark they are and this section seems somewhat depressing with the suicidal woman at the cemetery, but I've left it mostly the same as I originally wrote it. 

The planet is called Eva and it’s the third planet in what they called the Thanatos constellation. Eva is the only planet that can support life in this system. The planet has the same name as a woman in their mythology. The story reminds me of Persephone from Greek mythology as I read it. There was a young woman who had traveled to a cemetery with the intention of killing herself. She was the most beautiful woman around, as far as she knew. The beautiful young woman removed her knife to slit her wrists, but Death appeared before her before she could start. Death found her to be a striking beauty and had appeared to convince her to reconsider. The woman protested and told him she would shortly be with him in death after she killed herself. Death said she wouldn’t be the same after Death. He was in love with her and would do anything to make love to her once. Reluctantly, Eva agreed to be his lover, but made Death promise that her relatives and ancestors would have long lives free of disease. Death quickly agreed and the deal was done. Death was not omniscient, however, and he had been tricked. The woman had planned to strike the unholy deal from the beginning. Her family had an illness that was passed on through the generations and her family line was in danger of dying. The woman herself was close to succumbing to the effects of the sickness even as she arrived at the cemetery. Death and the woman did become lovers and the child’s name was Eva. Eva lived a long life, as per the agreement, but when Death learned he had been tricked, he failed to remove Eva’s illness. She lived a long life, but it was eventually full of pain from her family’s genetic illness. Rather than go mad, Eva endured, and even prospered, despite her pain. The story was a symbol for the planet and surviving through hardships.

This world hardly seemed harsh to me yet, but the only place I’ve seen so far is the friendly environment of my father’s house. He was taking care of my every need, but maybe I was becoming sheltered from reality. I continue my lessons, but I think of little Eva from the story often. 

            After lunch one day, I ask my father about the story of Eva. He tried to hide his disappointment that I was asking about something I probably should have learned about ages ago.

            “Well, it is a tragic story, but inspiring at the same time. She lived a life in pain, but she tried to enjoy and cherish an existence that she had every reason to despise.”

            “Forgive me for asking . . . my memory is still a little fuzzy, you know . . . but is Eva really that bad of a place to live?”

            He hesitates before he answers. “It is no paradise at times, to be sure, but a home is what one makes it. There are many beautiful things to be found on this world, or any other, if one knows where to look.”

            “You’re doing . . . fine with your lessons. Keep up the pace and you will be your old self in no time.” I know he’s lying, and I feel bad that I’m not moving faster, but there is little I can do but continue to try my best.
            I keep reading from the computer, trying to advance as quickly as I can. I can read and speak the language obviously, but the context of history and news seems strange to me. Mathematics I pick up pretty well, but I don’t enjoy it. I wonder if the stereotypes about girls and math exist on this planet, though I didn't enjoy math much as a boy either. I don’t think about it long, though, I just concentrate on learning all I can.

            After one particularly long session, I remove my helmet and rub my eyes.
            “Long day?” my father asks. “You’re doing great.” I actually believe him this time, or he’s getting better about lying. “Time for bed for you, I’d say.”

            I go to my room and get ready for bed. By now I’m used to the strange animals that decorate the room, but I’d still hate to see the real-life version of this circus. I fall asleep quickly.

Fade Away, My Fear (Poem)

Sadness came to me like an old comfortable friend.
This feeling enveloped me, but I wanted it to end.
I shed it faster now though because I understand its pull.
Twin emotions of love and fear did have a grueling duel.
I looked around and saw happiness in the faces of strangers and friends
But I just felt a little numb and wondered why I wasn't like them.
I feel happy now, but the feeling had crept in again...

I was short with you then though I think you knew why
It was all about this or that and I didn't want to talk about it or even try
But eventually I told you and released it with a sigh.
Happiness fits better and flows over me like a warm blanket of sunshine
Several years ago I wouldn't have thought this life could be mine
But now I'm happy being me and though I do still get sad
I know it will go away and that it's all not so bad.
Peace has found me, though for long it alluded my grasp
I had to learn to stop chasing my tail and to stop being such an ass.
I had to learn to relax and find a bit of Heaven on Earth
I had to learn to love for real and give fear a wide birth.
I'm not afraid to love now; I'm not afraid of pain.
I'm more afraid of not trying now than of being hurt again.

In Dreaming I Remember You (Poem)

One day I was sleeping and I dreamed that I lost you.
In the dream I had never met you and we had never shared a moment or laughed about anything.
It was a nightmare really when I start to consider it.
I felt so lost then like I was in the dark of the woods
I must have been foolish to have dreamed up someone like you
I must have been dreaming in the first place to imagine someone like that.
You weren't perfect, but you were my not perfect.
And then I woke up and it was all better then.
The stars were realigned and we had been in the same world
And I didn't dream you up or write you in a story
I really had met you and shared some time together
I really had stumbled into you and my world was better still.
If I'm dreaming now I hope I don't wake up again
If I'm dreaming then I hope I find you there.

No Regrets (Poem)

I may be bad at getting over you
But I'm perfectly good at the falling into you part
I may get hurt again, but at this point I'm caring less and less.
I think I just like the high of feeling like this again
I got addicted to love at a young age
And you're just the next in a long line of addictions
That I seem to be into
I may be wrong
But I think I'll get over you
I may be bad about forgetting sometimes
But I'm good at getting hurt in a brilliant way.
The feeling again of worrying about you
Of caring what happens to you
And what you think of me
It seems old but new again at the same time
This feeling that I'm addicted to
Happens again and again it seems
And I don't think I would change it if I could.
I know I can get hurt
I know the passion will fade in time
But it feels so damn good at times that it's worth all the pain.

All of the You's (Poem)

Don't go for second best, baby
I don't think that I will.
I've been waiting a long time for you it seems
But you might not exist.

I thought that I had met you a few times
But you were just a ephemeral dream that faded away in a summer whisper.
I thought it was going to happen with you on that long road
But you just rode your bike into the distance and back to him.

You made me feel the heat it's true
Yes, you really did.
I wanted it to be you so bad it was hurting me
But our ideas of what would work seemed to be as different as night and day
Or as separate as January and December are from each other.

I know it will take someone unique
To put up with the problem that is me.
Her patience may have to exceed my own to deal with me on a daily basis
We may have to figure me out together
And it may not be an equation that's solved overnight.

I will have to figure how to find you
Though I've been around the world and I can't find my baby
Did I already meet you maybe and ignore you?
Did I overlook you thinking it could never work?
Did I tell myself it could never work and make it happen like that?

When I asked you if it would be always be like this
And you looked me in the eyes and said it would pass in time
And let me kiss you to make it fade away a little
I really believed it would get better
And miraculously it really did.

When I touched you for the first time
And I was shaking like a leaf in a blustering storm
And you didn't laugh
I think I loved you then
It didn't work with you either, but it felt right at the time.

When you told me you wished it was me and not him
I wanted to believe you
But really I just cried
'Cause you knew how I felt
And you did it anyway
And I had to watch you with him, kissing and all that
Like I wanted to with you.

And then there were the you's that I introduced someone to
"You guys would be great together," I might have said
When really I realized I wanted it to be you and me
But I wasn't brave enough to say
And by the time I realized it, it was too late.

All the times I realized it wasn't you
All the times I had to move on.
I feel like I'm going have to write a novel to get over it
Get over not finding you
Get over missing you
Get over hurting you
Get over you hurting me
And solve the little problem of me and you.

Love Endures All Things (Poem)

I sit here again pining for you
And all that you do is think about him
What is he to me, but more importantly to you?
You've made your choice and I am left with regret.
What should I have done or changed or said?
How many years would I have to go back
To make it all right again?
How many things should I not have said?
How many times should I have said more?
How many times was I but a quiet fool
And how many times did I try too hard?
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
My insecurities are laid here before you in all their improper glory
I know that I'm wrong to feel this way
I know it's not right that I should harbor regret
I know it's not healthy to hold on this long,
And some day I know it won't hurt so much.
Someday I know this will all be a dream
Instead of the nightmare it seems to be.
Hold a place in your heart for me
As I surely do for you
And maybe someday I'll be happier still.

End of Logic (Poem)

I remember you like it was yesterday
How it felt to touch and how it made me feel
I want to feel it again; I want to be that way again.
I never thought you would make me feel the way that you do
My logic abandoned me when it came to you
This feeling didn't make sense, but then it did
It made perfect sense in that it didn't make sense
If that makes sense.
My thoughts drift to you again, as they often do
And I feel sad that I can't move on
Even though it's clear that I should
My life needs to move on
My heart needs to heal.
But I can't give up quite yet
Even though it feels like I should
It makes sense that I should
But then the start and the middle and the end of this never made much sense either
So maybe sense is out the window
Maybe all that's left is love
And that's all I'm left with
My now unrequited love
And my now senseless world that lacks the logic I grasped so tightly to.