Patterns
Just another collection of things I've written down lately. I've actually mustered up the guts to put this stuff online, soooo yeah.
"Here I am again. I should be used to this by now. The fear, the excitement; all bringing back memories of the days I couldn't breathe, move, or believe in myself. I'm used to running. Distance keeps me safe, keeps me sane, keeps the tears from falling. Fight or flight...which one will make me whole?"
This next one is actually a bit old...but it struck me reading it again...I called it Monster when I wrote it (late April), but I don't think I'm feeling that so much now.
"The broken chords rip-roar in that place where my dreams and my fears collide and explode, Into fragments of what could be, but won't. I stoop down under the frame of your expectations, Gingerly lifting the shards and putting them in my hand. The cracked and frayed lines of my palms are like pillows, Cradling what I have become. Broken. Shattered. Maybe even a little unrecognizable. The light that dances across the glass seems hollow, As if the fall from grace sucked out the life, And everything that used to gleam so brightly, Is only a reflection now, Projecting the shadows, What it sees in me."
And an ode to the guys, something I probably wrote after one of my bar excursions with my girls...
"They are so anxious to hunker down and bear in. No introduction, please, just straight to the sex, they say. Not the love. Not the hand-holding, kissing, cuddling. Just. the sex. None of the strings, none of the feeling, Hit it. Quit it. High-five from my buddy who worked it out with her tonight. Never mind that she was drunk. "She wanted me." I think it's just fear, no need to actually FEEL when on the prowl for your next lay. You finish. IT'S finished, But it's never actually over, Because the more you get, the more you want, And then, there's no one left to want YOU, If you even know who 'you' is these days. You're just like the other guy, and the one before that. So no, sorry, we are not hooking up tonight."
"Here I am again. I should be used to this by now. The fear, the excitement; all bringing back memories of the days I couldn't breathe, move, or believe in myself. I'm used to running. Distance keeps me safe, keeps me sane, keeps the tears from falling. Fight or flight...which one will make me whole?"
This next one is actually a bit old...but it struck me reading it again...I called it Monster when I wrote it (late April), but I don't think I'm feeling that so much now.
"The broken chords rip-roar in that place where my dreams and my fears collide and explode, Into fragments of what could be, but won't. I stoop down under the frame of your expectations, Gingerly lifting the shards and putting them in my hand. The cracked and frayed lines of my palms are like pillows, Cradling what I have become. Broken. Shattered. Maybe even a little unrecognizable. The light that dances across the glass seems hollow, As if the fall from grace sucked out the life, And everything that used to gleam so brightly, Is only a reflection now, Projecting the shadows, What it sees in me."
And an ode to the guys, something I probably wrote after one of my bar excursions with my girls...
"They are so anxious to hunker down and bear in. No introduction, please, just straight to the sex, they say. Not the love. Not the hand-holding, kissing, cuddling. Just. the sex. None of the strings, none of the feeling, Hit it. Quit it. High-five from my buddy who worked it out with her tonight. Never mind that she was drunk. "She wanted me." I think it's just fear, no need to actually FEEL when on the prowl for your next lay. You finish. IT'S finished, But it's never actually over, Because the more you get, the more you want, And then, there's no one left to want YOU, If you even know who 'you' is these days. You're just like the other guy, and the one before that. So no, sorry, we are not hooking up tonight."
posted by haze at 2:08 PM
1 Comments:
it is a privilege to finally get to see some of this writing. the distinctly different tone from a lot of your other posts.
this stuff, you can tell, you wrote for yourself.
... and to no one's surprise, it's really good.
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