picture me twirling
because i’ll never let you see
picture me swirling
can you picture me?
chiming bells chiming
twinkling little toes
because if no one sees it
nobody really knows
picture my lips
right under your nose
picture my kiss
picture my eyes closed
wish it so
wish it be
wish it you
wish it me
dreamy fluttered heart
daisies rainbows butterflies
no words spoken
secret spies
just say you know
or wink your eye
hold my hand
or let me fly
picture me twirling
cold nights are colder
when you don’t miss anyone
dry lips are more solitary
when all you do is exhale
winter folds me in
into the gray skied stasis
stillness
frigid and thick
grey billowing clouds
comforting sadness
peek-a-boo sunbeams
carrying lies of lovers and flowers
to come
but February knows
all that comes…
it goes
A case could be made for the ridiculousness of my ending up back with my family, but honestly, I don’t give a shit. In order to not lose all grips with reality, I need to EMBRACE the situation, value it and accept the benefits. Is this my ideal? Hell to the no, but my energy is better spent not thinking of myself as a loser. So these are the pros.
-BILLS. Now I am fully capable of getting any and all utilities hooked up and paid for, but living here is liking living with WIZARDS! I don’t need to know how much anything costs. I don’t need to juggle and panic and do without. I have cable, netflix, wifi, central air, dish washer, washer and dryer and the electric, water or heat NEVER get turned off. EVER.
-PETS. My cat can live with me. In this day and age a lot of people won’t rent to pet owners. That’s speciesism bullshit and I don’t give my money to bigots. In the process, I also get to live with 3 dogs that are pretty much family members. 45% of the time, I loathe their existence and need for care, but the other 55% I get to be entertained and loved on the condition I have food. Which brings us to…
-FOOD. Again, WIZARDS. I do a good chunk of the shopping because I don’t want to get rickets or die from scurvy, but these wizards LOVE cake! And ice cream. And ribeyes. Nobody knows their way around a grill better than my brother and I eat the shit out of that “Home Court Advantage.” I’m never hungry. There’s always staples, spices, treats and any appliance your heart desires to heat and eat with.
-SAFETY. I’m not so sure how well my dad or brother would fare in hand to hand combat, but they are men. Men love weapons and can quickly locate or MacGuyver something if it ever went down. And we have pretty good locks, double locks and an early detection system provided by the dogs. I also live in a very low crime area full of nosy white people whom have probably all seen my naked self through a window once or twice. We’re good here.
-COMPANIONSHIP. Sadly, I am not a solitary creature. Yes I love my privacy and alone time, but not as a state of being. After the novelty of having my Independent Lady Girl House wears off, I get sad. I isolate myself even more OR fall into relationships with an exchange I can no longer afford emotionally. Do my parents make me insane? Hell to the yes. But they’re not going to be here forever. I also get to spend more time with my niece than if I was off somewhere else. I think America is a throw away society. There are plenty of cultures that maintain multi-generational households and function just fine. Even well. I’m getting an opportunity to mend some of the “shit” with my parents and I’ve been a support, in many ways, for my parents individually and collectively. They’re also getting a chance to treasure some of the things they hoped I’d end up being in adulthood: kind, giving, funny, a good conversationalist, and friend.
Living “at home” isn’t something I go tell on the mountain, but I’m not ashamed. I’m more ashamed of the time I threw away living with people I had no business doing so and missing out on things that were important to family. I’m more ashamed of the time I watched swirl down life’s toilet because I was sad or lonely or afraid and didn’t speak up. I don’t think this transition means I’ve failed. I don’t think it means my parents failed. I think it means we succeeded in maintaining a relationship where this is a workable option. I just could never wrap my head around people whose family turned their backs on them or vice versa. And I’m fortunate and grateful that I can only sympathize. I’m grateful for my family and that I know now that they’re grateful for me.
Something that I’ve learned in life is that very few people care about a struggle that doesn’t end in success or failure. Struggle is not meant to be a chronic condition. Struggle is there to end up somewhere. Whether you become the King of the World or the Princess of the Pieces of Shit. Struggle should not be a lifestyle.
Success is a tenuous line. It can be considered a success by you or by the world. That is up to you. Who are you? Do you need an audience? Or do you just want to sleep peacefully at night? Or do you want both? I can’t answer that. Neither can your mom who didn’t hug you enough or the boyfriend who refuses to stop treating you like shit. YOU CAN.
Failure has merit that people often neglect to credit. Failure holds a lesson. There can be honor in death and falling flat on your face. There can be greater lessons from failure than success. Failure will make you stop, regroup, rethink, regress, start over, go another way. Failure will make you succeed. At worst, failure shows us “what NOT to do.”
A few years ago I decided to stop portraying myself as part of the struggle. I still have my struggle. I still need my struggle. I embrace my struggle. I offer my tales of adversity to those WHO ASK FOR THEM. But, I no longer identify myself as part of the problem. I am part of the solution. This is MY struggle. MY time. My LIFE. I will never refuse to share my lessons with a person in pain or in their own struggle. I’ve just learned that my lessons are a means to an end. I don’t want to BE them. I don’t want your pity. I will not pity you. But I will understand. And I will give you the map I used if you need it. I will use yours if I need it. But I will not give in to the struggle until I succeed. Or fail.
-Don’t let anyone cry. If they do, woof at their face til they laugh.
-Cats & dogs can be friends. If you protect the cat & wag your tail, he’ll let you sniff his butt. Then you can watch the sunrise together.
- Little kids will jump on you. Be nice to them, they always have snacks.
-Use your age to your advantage. When you’re a puppy & when you’re an old man, they’ll just laugh if you eat off their plate or climb on the couch.
-Spend a lot of time with nature. Birds are better than TV & you never know when you might see that standard poodle you hate.
-Have a big comfortable bed. Or lay on 3 small ones at the same time.
- Sometimes it’s okay to eat a whole cake or a whole briskett. If you can get it off the counter & choke it down before somebody sees you.
-When you get out of your yard, run with reckless abandon.
-Ultimately, nobody likes their face licked because it’s gross. But if you only do it like every 3 years, it becomes “special.”
-Protect your home & family.
- Sometimes all people need is something soft, kind & constant. Be gentle with your people.
-Dogs totally know English.
I’ve been thinking about the whole ordeal of dating lately. Where I think I fit into it. If I miss it. If I don’t. Why I’d want it. Why I wouldn’t. What I’d look for. What I’d pass up. Mistakes of the past. The valuable memories. And lessons. The whole schebang. I’m not romanticizing it, nor am I beating it to death like a well deserving jaded bitch. Thoughts. Just thoughts.
The thing I realized today, is I miss being a girlfriend. I have this emotional energy that has level backed up recently. Maybe in a new way. A way that’s pretty foreign and far from where I was when I cut myself off from that experience. There’s no way I can possibly defend myself as being “Best Girlfriend Ever” up until this point, so I won’t. But I miss considering somebody. I miss doing little things. I miss understanding. I miss being a confidante. I miss being the girl your mom tells to take care of you. The girl she sometimes tells deserves better than her son can do right now. I miss making your lunch. I miss “tucking you in at night.” I miss being alone knowing you’re doing the stuff you do alone so you can tell me later on. I miss playing you a song I just found that you’ll love. I miss making you dinner. I miss seeing you ripped to shreds from stress and the evils of the world and being able to be that small with me. I miss being quiet when you’re that way too, just glad my presence is a comfort.
I have a track record of attracting and picking people with amazing potential. Because that’s all I was, potential. I picked people who needed fixing or to fix. I attracted the guys who I knew would let me be a mess. This wasn’t the case every time, but it was very close at best. So I’m not exactly sure what I want to be on the receiving end of. I think having a laundry list of expectations may just close me off from the most amazing thing that could ever happen to me. It’s one of those situations where I’ve learned, the hard way, what I DO NOT want. And that list is reasonable. If I continue to ignore life’s lessons, my life loses it’s meaning. So I guess the thing I do want, is to be seen. To be valid. To be considered. That’s what the person I love always gets from me, because they’re important to me. I just needed some time to become important to myself.
remembering moments
where he tells you to spin in your skirt
and leave your shoes on
his head thrown back
laughter familiar and fresh
my face glowing by stereo light
and candles
that moment that never stays
and that comes less & less
no longer wanting love
or forevers
or hellos
just that exact moment
in the grayscaled middle
Since the day my niece has taken her first breath, I have not expected a Christmas gift. Yes, I expected them before that. Even in my 30s. Her being here taught me that lesson. Now it’s learned. That lesson has trickled to the other holidays. And my birthday. And Tuesdays. Slow, surely. I’ve given up my role in my family. I’ve stopped acting like the helpless one or weak one or the lost little lamb in order for them to focus on somebody who showed up with a clean slate. That’s what you do for kids. Or should.
At Christmas, disgusting as it may be at times, I enjoy watching her tastes change. Her excitement levels increase and decrease with certain types of gifts based on her stage of development. I also enjoy those moments that she’ll stop and dig under the tree so “Somebody else can open one!” And there always is one. That’s my mom. And that is how we all got to those moments. My mom. The woman who can make glorious celebrations out of the most financially stressful times. With CASH. And heart. And sacrifice. And planning. And I still don’t want a present, but I accept them. For her.
And now here we are. The Christmas of 2012. My niece’s 7th Christmas. It will be a Tuesday. And that’s all. Because she won’t be here. So I am sad. No, I am devastated. So devastated I can barely see the monitor as I type. I cannot lie and say I’m not sad for myself. I am. But I’m sad for my mom. I’m sad for that little girl. Sad she won’t get to have that day of memories with us. Not even an hour. Or a minute. There is nothing more painful than genuine love which cannot be expressed.
I don’t understand adults. I don’t understand relationships. I don’t understand family. I don’t understand addiction. I don’t understand divorce. I don’t understand this. I don’t. The only thing I do understand, is she taught me what true love is. I just don’t know how. But I do. And I hurt. I HURT. My eyes, throat, body, heart & soul. So I’m not excited about Christmas. I’m not excited for Tuesday. Yet all of me hopes she is. And that this year’s lesson for her, will be different from mine.
i often wonder
if something that’s always been
will disappear
but no single broken heart
no single lonely tear
has made that yearning in my soul
stop
or shrivel
or travel far
or be less crystal clear
I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about humanity. And god. And what type of person I am. And what type of person I want to be. What I’m willing to do for self. What I can no longer tolerate. What I can. My self truths. My beliefs about others in general. And specifically.
Today, my friend died. She was in her mid 60s, recently retired, divorced, mother of 3, a good cook, a dedicated worker, a holder of faith, a nurturer, a fun person to get all mad or happy. She was also a recovering alcoholic. She was sober when I knew her, but I knew that about her. I’d cook for her sometimes & vice versa. She pretended to hate my food for months. But she loved it. Eventually she told me. I got flowers from a boy one time when I lived by her. I always kill those damn things, so I asked her to look after them. She did. She put them in a window I could always pass by, look up & see her showing me they were alive & she enjoyed them. She pretended to hate my cat. She’d sneak the cat nibbles of salmon croquettes. She’d give me a ride to the dollar store. I’d walk her mail up.
Today, my friend died. Alone. Drunk. her heart gave out. Home. Alone. So here’s where I always seem to get lost. Do I find comfort in knowing that we all die? Do I find comfort in knowing that she’ll be put in a box? Do I find comfort in knowing the rate and stages of decay? Do I get upset she drank? Do I get furious at alcoholism? Do I pray? Do I cry? Do I feel? Do I do nothing? Where do I turn? To a god that is supposed to be just? And forgiving? And protective? And comforting? Who do I talk to? I really only want to talk to her. But, why now? I wasn’t good at staying in touch when I moved back down here. I didn’t do all I could. Neither did her family. Neither did she. Where is the answer? Where is the comfort?
Today, my friend died. In a few days people will gather and cry and act sad and say safe and comforting things. Then what? A guy will surely get up there and have everyone pray and say the stuff we should’ve all been saying these last 6 months while she drank herself to death, home alone, until her heart gave out and somebody finally found her. Dead. There won’t be a scientist there to walk us through her breaking down to dust in the cold winter earth as a comfort. There won’t be a man of god that will say anything different that what we expect him to say and have heard a million times.
Today, my friend died. I’m not going to the service. I will not visit her grave. I know this about myself. Just like I didn’t maintain that connection the last 6 months. I won’t be angry. I won’t look for answers. Not from science. Not from the heavens. Not from my old roommates that knew her too. I’ll stop being a shitty friend. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll find a way to stay on my path without keeping up my aloof detachment of late. I’ll call somebody I miss. I’ll send a letter. I’ll remember the night we rushed her house & danced to Aretha Franklin & James Brown. I’ll remember the night I made a whole spread and how much she loved my pumpkin cornbread & a bunch of us ate at her dining room table like we were fancy. I’ll remember her pineapple upside down cake. I’ll remember her garden. How she welcomed me. I’ll remember those flowers in the window.
Today, my friend died. Nothing will change that. Nothing. But I can change. And that will be the thing I’ll remind myself of. And I’ll never ever feel better about it. When people die, it’s sad. That’s universal.
My friend died today. And my biggest question is if I am entitled to use that word.
I descended the stairs
Hopes of warming bones with tea
Bones ravaged
Bones soft
Bones hardened
Bones buried
He lay there close eyed
Ridged finger that once held love
My favorite thing indeed
Wrestling with the pain
He tossed
Face gnarled
Face oranged
Face writhing in dreams
Face facing reality
I was too late
Frozen and cold
I watched
Hoping to see something new
Or different
Begging for the ended indifference
Begging to feel
Begging to stop
Begging for an introduction
I ran double steps
Silencing the screeching kettle
My own finger burned smooth
From lessons forgotten
I wasted what took years
In seconds
I became small
Small
So very small
So very small
So very small
So very small
WHO am i now
who AM i now
who am I now
who am i NOW
now
in this place i know so well
doors never opening
doors only closing
doors as walls
doors so many doors
and im weeping
i weep for him
i weep for the ridge in his finger
i weep for the smoothness of mine
i weep
and weep
and weep
and weep
then i sip
then i swallow my forgotten pills
swearing never to be them
Like the joy found in coagulating blood
Upon a wound healing seemed impossible
I see the fresh pinky shine of beginnings
My heart was handed back to me By the one who loved
So it would one day beat
you tell me im cute
hold my hand
curl my curls around your finger
but do you SEE me?
you say im funny
laugh at my jokes
wrinkling your nose & the corners of your eyes
but do you HEAR me?
you tell me im smart
deeply pondering my musings
sharing your reactions to my lifes journey
but do you UNDERSTAND me?
you know my middle name
you know the story behind every tattoo and scar
you can trace my curves with your eyes closed
but do you KNOW me?
if you do
SEE me
HEAR
UNDERSTAND and KNOW me
why am i invisible
alone
cold
and frustrated
is it because
maybe
i dont let you
or me
KNOW
me?!
They say there is truth in comedy, and comedy in truth. The truth is that I haven’t been having sex since my last break-up. There is one basic reason for this: I want to be taken seriously. If I just wanted to feel like a pussy with a mouth and what goes into my mouth is more important than what comes out, well, I get enough of that on that on the internet. My sense of humor didn’t develop because I was shitting rainbows & having unicorns as guests for high tea. My life was shitty. My relationships were shitty. I.WAS.SHITTY. I offer no apology for my sense of humor, nor the fact I can see things from a mannish perspective. But none of that means I accept anyone missing me as a being once they’re given the opportunity. And since I cannot surgically remove my pussy, I’m keeping my pussy out of the equation. That I can do. And it has been easy as well as effortless. I don’t want to be touched by somebody I don’t touch. I’m not holding out on some type of game board power trip. I’m taking myself serious in hopes that energy will attract a situation where I’ll consider changing my feelings. This stage of my life is mind over body. I can control my use of intoxicants, food, bad habits etc, so I can control myself sexually. I am focused on being the best me I can be for myself in the world. Somebody will fit into that equation. And when they do, so will their dick. Or at least that’s what I believe. Until then, I’m happier, more clear headed and at a level of peace I’ve ever been. I’m ALIVE and in good company.
