I live my life through the words I write
Funny, the irony,
in having ink etched permanently
on my skin
of the very thing
keeping us disconnected
and breaking,
a picture of the very thing
I strive to do,
but am not.
All I need to do
is look at my arm
and do
what the picture shows.
It would be all to easy to cast blame,
deflect this on to you,
say it’s your fault, you started this.
If I had not met you
this would not be happening.
Easy,
but unjustified.
No, it’s more than that.
This beast had been hibernating out of sight
for some time,
and chose to show its face
when you were there.
I knew of its existence
and shudder at my naivete
in believing it could hibernate forever.
But all that doesn’t matter now,
all that back story
and circumstances.
What matters is now,
it is awake, and here.
I either find a way to tame it,
or get eaten alive.
I understand the need to look
for happiness
and that choosing it
is just that: a choice.
Despite this,
I cannot choose it easily
when all I see in front of me
is its opposite.
I settle in on the darkness
it seems,
before I even make a choice.
The darkness chooses for me,
and will not let me go.
You stay through it all
and say you love me.
My mouth knows not what to say,
my ears carefully select what they hear,
my eyes see things that are not there
and my hands remain close to me,
my body all disjointed
and confused.
Still processing
you.
Embrace the space
which has come between us,
growing wider and deeper each day
until now,
our reunion.
Tell me of you, and I’ll you of me,
learning of new and remembering of old
until the space disappears.
Back to the way we were,
two peas back into our pod.
I was lost,
tangled in the seaweed of the deep, dark waters,
praying for a chance
to gasp in oxygen until my lungs burst,
yearning for someone to extend a hand,
until today.
Chase the spaces
that seem too far away,
then observe with wonder
how you can expand
to fill them.
Trying to find the words
I want to say to you,
and nothing but the raw,
honest truth can capture
my thoughts appropriately.
Except,
to say the raw and honest
might destroy both of us.
So instead,
I toss around a few safe and
common words,
but mostly say nothing at all.
I tell myself, ‘it’s better this way’,
but my ruminating thoughts of you
lead me to believe otherwise.
Like a flower trapped in dry soil
yearning for either a rainstorm
or a watering can,
you came to me
as a watering can,
in a rainstorm,
all at once.
Only you have no idea.
When I wrote about you
I hardly had to think at all.
Words appeared on the paper
as if from nowhere,
or a power higher and stronger than myself.
Flowing like a river downstream
I had no choice but to follow it,
with words to describe you, us,
in hundreds of ways
sweeping me with the current.
I am out of the current now.
There may be peace in calm, cool water
but also discomfort.
I wish not to write of you any longer,
but I cannot find words for anything else.
Words repeated over and over,
laced with pure intention
but lacking follow-up action.
Phrased a dozen different ways,
but all meaning the same:
nothing,
when never acted upon.
Lose the mask, the facade of purity
and good intentions,
it’s time to break this pattern.
Dawning Words 