Archive for the ‘confusion’ Category

do ya?

Posted: October 9, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, lonliness, love, me, poetry, sex

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?!

addendum

Posted: September 24, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, destiny, facts, hope, lonliness, love, me, poetry, repetition

don’t hold my hand, i don’t want it to mean something

don’t kiss my lips, i don’t want it to mean something

don’t press your bare skin up against mine, i don’t want it to mean something

don’t tell me i’m beautiful

don’t tell me i’m smart

or witty

or charming

or full of insight

or moxy

i don’t want it to mean something

don’t come swooping into my life

consuming me

wrapping my wholeness in glitter and glitz

and warmth and optimism

and titillating promises of futures

i don’t want it to mean something

don’t insult me

don’t neglect me

don’t take me for granted

don’t stop seeing who i AM

don’t make me leave with less than i came in with

i don’t want it to mean something

10k

Posted: August 27, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, destiny, hope, lonliness, love, me, poetry, repetition

evicted and evacuated

panic my companion and leader

traversing the same road

blindfolded by the thickness

attempting escape of the round rubber room

i fall and fail

staying down hopes for dissipation

breathing

fearing

resting

centered

standing

walking

forward

role

Posted: August 26, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, destiny, lonliness, love, me, poetry, repetition

well travelled
from verbose to morose
nothing found in empty arms
again
and still

life breathing
heart beating
earth spinning
unaffected and unrejected

walk about as i was born
comfortable and secure
longing only in weakness
knowing my appalling calling

between life’s tread and dead
i do not blink or sink
no surprise or sunrise
just more breathing and deceiving

blame

Posted: July 30, 2012 in alone, confusion, destiny, facts, insomnia, James, karma, lonliness, love, me

like a vase once rested in beauty
wobbling from the magician’s trick
cloth ripped from underneath
i teeter i totter
fearing the fall
or do i fear resting once again?

Have you ever wondered about the origin of words? We can research their evolution, but not the human element of choice in their inception. Imagine I hand you a fork as a child and teach you that it’s a “gun.” Something so simple would turn tales of family dinners into something unimaginable. And spectacular.

This makes me consider a word that, in its intention seems benign, I believe cannot be taught. Cannot be defined. Cannot mean in adulthood what it meant to us as children. “FAMILY.” This isn’t where I insert my recollections of creepy uncles and dark familial betrayal. I’m instead weighing my vocabulary against my sensibilities.

Your “mother.” In a dictionary we’re told it is a female parent, the woman who birthed us, or raised us. Your “father” is the male counterpart, sans birthing. Your “family” is the coupling of mother, father, their offspring and extended relatives. Sounds simple enough, but it isn’t.

Many times in my life, I’ve felt alien, neglected, misunderstood, abandoned and look upon with incredulous horror by those people. Granted, a majority of my Freudian damage is very First World and influenced by childhood perception, but to me those feelings and memories are real. They sometimes have weight, substance, texture, color, odors and temperature. Under oath, the defendants of my self-indulgence would enter my plea of insanity on my behalf.

My childhood trek and often dastardly adulthood have given cause to these questions and skewed redefinitions. I look back to kind hands of a friends mother when I suffered scrapes more heartfelt than knee-felt. A father of my boyfriend who ALWAYS laughed at my jokes, told me I was beautiful and had endless rolls of film on those days. The coworkers who appreciated my development and constantly reassured me that I was real, valid and worthwhile. The boyfriend’s mother who housed, fed & clothed me in the weeks before beauty school in exchange for pouring her single glass of wine at dinner.

My memory bank is full of far more recollections of my Mom and Dad. Events very often more significant. But in my lowest times, my personal victories, and most importantly, the transitional valleys, there were “others.” These “others” were the glue that kept me together when I felt shattered by “family.” These “others” taught me that I can take all the splintery shards bequeathed to me by “family”, and fashion a mirror that reflects the human being I am. I was. That is the obvious destiny.

In the past I may have lacked gratitude for my family. In the past I neglected to realize my misunderstandings that lead to me abandoning my family like aliens with incredulous horror. In the past, others from outside my family taught me gratitude for them by showing me that regardless of their intentions, my family molded a person who was witty, intelligent, creative, cultured, open minded and open hearted that’s well worth more than “A DAMN.” So as I prodigly return home, time and time again…”Home.” Home. Yes, home. That word has always been accurate.

To this day, I’ve never known what I’ve wanted to be when I grew up. Sure, I can drop some wonderful answer or answers that make me sound driven and focused, but those answers are just like my mind, dreamy. I have babysat children until they no longer needed supervision. At the movies, I was your ticket girl. Copy, collate, bind, laminate and things of these ilk saw me from Illinois to North Carolina. I’ve convinced you of how great you looked in over priced and under styled clothing. My day was filled with checking yourself and your mistress, dealer, gay lover or lonely soul into hotel rooms, no questions asked. Drink mixer, personal counselor, girl with the rack and bitch for hire blanketed my eyes for a few years from the giving end of the bar. I’ve help children stand straight, walk correctly, recover from injuries and colic as your friendly desk girl at your Chiropractor. None of these things, are who I am.

Before an age even the most egregious sweat shop would hire me, I have written. I have sang. I have crafted. I have loved clothing. I have gazed into distinctive windows of kitschy houses. I have strained my neck grasping for glimpses of the apex of sky scrapers. I have instinctively changed diapers, fed soft milky lips and patted soft spined backs. Is this who I am? My bank account would argue that, “No ma’am all evidence states to the contrary.” It kinda feels like me, left to my own inner thoughts, but does that matter?

Ever since I was a little girl I never understood why I felt directed to be something other than what I felt. I should want dolls, not Han Solos. My toys should reflect a future dictated by television reruns from a past that truly never existed. Likewise, so should my career and self-image. Wouldn’t it be great to be a teacher? Or a nurse? Or a softball player? Or thinner? Or have a bigger ass? Or the girl who makes boys fight for her affections? Or drunk? Or high? Or miserable to the point of being incapacitated for days? Wouldn’t it be grand? Think of the possibilities! And when you find yourself legally adulted, you’ll have no idea who you were, are, and will be. Instead, you’ll have a carpet bag of failures, diagnoses and vertigo. My name is Jennifer, and I am a…an uncertainty.

The funny thing is, if I look back, I can be resentful and angry and enraged that I was passed along from one person’s ideal to another. The momentum started before I realized my voice, opinion or self-knowledge had merit. Yet here I am, fine. Not “fine” in the teeth clenched, white knuckled grip of adult denial, fine like okay. I made it through all that topsy turvy undirected, yet pushed and pulled life. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I have no regrets. I do have something all that made me aware of. I have a survival instinct that should instill fear in the black soul of my oppressors. Inside of me, there is a voice that will stay quiet as I bumble through life gathering lessons and scars and debt and vices, until it is time to go. And when that time arrives, I am a force of reckoning. There will be no discussion. I will not issue you a receipt. Exit stage left.

Rest, recovery time, reconstruction, reparations will follow, some times quickly, some times slow and laboriously. Then I stand. I resume my universal walk about. Looking back is only to recall the origin of my acute  inconvenient pains and use those memories positively, usually to make you laugh at my jokes or wallow in my poetry. With my constantly evolving and patched up soul, I glide through my days gazing into distinctive windows of kitschy houses, strain my neck grasping for glimpses of the apex of sky scrapers, I  instinctively change diapers, feed soft milky lips and pat soft spined backs. Then I write it all down, in some way shape or form. As only a person who has lived is capable of.

itd be a lie to say i never lie
i lie to myself
i lie with men who lie to me
my heart upon a shelf

i yearn for the honesty
though it scares my soul to death
unsure id even handle it
and manage the management of breath

seems odd to brace off truth
seems odd to run from fact
but run i have and run i will
never looking back

true truth is self created
self truths the elusive dream
unfrequented often foreign
uncomfortably tearing seems

can i fault you for who you are
can i ever trust your word
lies from self & others
the only things ive heard

tenuous tedious time tried & tired
i haven’t seen the mountain top
i’ve just heard it exists
slippery sliding stranded & sucked dry
crying out to the echoes & the ether
looking for a new path in my old grooved & worn road
eyes dry distracted divided & dumb
resistance is as futile as lies
heart educated by repetitive madness
crushed cracked crazy & checked out
no longer tethered by hopes stone
the little red balloon departs my heart
exhaustion of excuses explanations & eternity
i float in the linear streams of truth
sinking, all the while strapped to your back

sinking before you learn to swim
crashing before you learn to fly
defying reality in hopes to control
or prayer to be swept away
outer body out of your mind
delicious sleep just never comes
forced to instinct you sink
how could you know anything else?
eyes and heart battle scarred
you disappear
inside of you
no longer in me
its death a wilting
no pomp just circumstance
distance perceived as shrinking
all is heavy
all is dark
truth evident in the temperature
cold and invisible it consumes you
you are not here
youve faded
slipping through the hand extended
fingers missing that touch of life
as blackness grows strong
the light now extinct
memories
hopes
givens
promises
sunrises
smiles
faith
truth
gone
all gone
without explanation or justice
eyes turned to the away i must walk to
drowned in their own tears
i am not here

Have you ever felt compelled to thank somebody for loving you? A secret, dark part of me always felt that everyone should just DO that love me thing. Yet, somewhere deeper and even darker, I’ve always felt that no one has.

These aren’t the inner pinings of a narcissistic teen, twenty-something or a panicked thirty-something making a last futile attempt at figuring out who she wants to be when she grows up. It’s a desire older than baby teeth and the capability to physically produce the sound of simple phonics.

I can remember the void left “where love goes” far more easily than my first memory or experience of love. The fact remains, as a child, despite my best efforts to turn off the plain, obvious, total envelopment of love my life was, I passed it by or tuned it out like an Autistic Vulcan.

In aging, developing and coming into my own, my life’s trail is paved with the carcasses of self- inflicted denial, rejection and failure in the implementation of love. Like an amoeba, designed to live off as little as possible in the temporal world’s physical chaos, I existed and flapped my arms, at best.

Now here I am, ravaged, compromised, contused and stripped bare, and somebody loves me. Whether or not I was the heiress of a loving culture, family and inner worth, I now am left feeling begat of love, born of love and clueless. There’s another living, breathing, thinking, human being who voluntarily loves me. And, I’m more than okay with that.

My past inclinations to run, sabotage, victimized myself or manipulate have disappeared from my bag of tricks. I don’t even WANT him to love me. I simply have to accept it. Raw, simple, genuine, uncontingent, not even offered, just there for the taking, LOVE. And somehow, I’m functioning, in the stillness of it all.

In the wee hours of the night, I dissect it, carving it into tiny, emotionless, lifeless pieces of things “not-me.” Every morning, I wake to it fully assembled, fully functioning, smiling at me and reminding me it loves me. And, though I think it would look fetching in a straight jacket, it’s there. It’s real. And smiling.

Whether my thirty-something years of loveless childhood are fancied or real doesn’t matter. The reality I live in, this state of lovedom is thick, warm, and as safe as the womb, legend has it, I once escaped from. How in the world am I expected to handle that?! It appears, by just being what I was designed for: love. Much to my scowling chagrin, all the accoutrements of my survival are blessed little attributes. So, I give up. He wins. I guess that means I win too. Hopefully he’ll help me figure it all out, or  remind me I don’t have to.

prayers of 3s and 7s

Posted: April 16, 2012 in alone, confusion, lonliness, me, poetry

fearful that what i’ve become
is the thing i started out as
more cleverly disguised
surrounded by the nothingness

i beg see through my craft
grip tight my flailing hands
slipping through the cracks
life i walled up and chipped away

the glass fogged slowly
refracted reflection of tomorrow
dark circled eyes and empty respiration
this cannot be me

hold fast my slippery mind
capture my sliding memory
freeze me till it passes
i didn’t end up here to end

chanced chances

Posted: February 13, 2012 in confusion, hope, love, me, poetry

banging my head upon your heart
i begged you’d let me in

nobody answered, nobody stirred
i lost you, my friend

i saw your photo mentally
every night you’d maraude my dreams

pressed by skewed reality
my tender heart’s midnight screams

i moved my lips in silent words
my eyes looking to the core

smells of resignation
my truths shredded ever more

a flick, a glimmer, elusive hope
i catch your reflection in my mirror

so tangible, so concrete
as if you were right here

and you were, inside my heart
banging on my mind

i needed to step out, and so did you
escaping the closeness inside

now here we stand, on blank canvas
white washed, weak & thread bare

one deep breath, a thousand heart beats
simultaneous uttering “i care”

realize the realism

Posted: January 27, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, facts, lonliness, love, me, rant

I’m NOT in love right now. I. AM. NOT. IN. LOVE. RIGHT. NOW. I’m unable to grok that. But I accept it. And oddly have a spring in my step.

The majority of my adult life, I’ve been in love with someone. Shit! Sometimes, it’s just ANYONE. Yet here I am, breathing.

In order to fill the space where my mind would wander, I’d like to list what makes me…. feel.

– the sound of thunder
– sad songs
-a child’s voice
– hugs
– the silence only found during winter
– new socks
– getting somebody’s voice mail recording
– an old sweatshirt
– sleeping alone
– the resignation just before sleep
– poetry
-a brush of skin
– flaws
-Buddhism
– cold air
– having a door held open for me
– good morning
– goodnight
– being alone

All the while, LIFE is happening. It’s detailed simplicity. But LIFE…. well, life, is IN the details.

fort nots

Posted: January 21, 2012 in alone, clarity, confusion, destiny, hope, love, me, rant

I’ve never been good at waiting. I’ve never been patient. Often times, I give up. Even if it’s important. Just that easily. I quit.

My new found tenacity is part shocking, part surprising. There has been a shift in what I find “important” and in what I want. So here I am… just being here. And I’m actually okay with it.

the space you had is not filled
but it is occupied
by me

i miss you every day
it’s often hard
but i breathe

when i hear your voice, see your face
im back to then
even if i see

my hearts still pounding, and i still pine
for today, each day
i can just….be

seconds
minutes
days
weeks
weak
indifferent
lies
missing
building
hoping
waiting
waiting
waiting
foolish?