White Houses

When someone lives

both near

and far

from your heart—

where do you go,

where do you start

to make sense

of that sense of loss,

that sense of time

passing like a train

past white houses

they have sat

and waited,

sat and, sat…

I see Paul in a fresh tuxedo and his bride in a gown

and I laugh:

how could this idiot get to be this “happy” before me?

Bullshit.

How’d this boy once a man cut me out of his social fabric

and still get the chance to be walked down the aisle?

Shit…

men are socialized that way:

the give and take, the call and response.

Somewhere in my heart, I missed you, Paul.

I missed all of you.

But finally, I am waving goodbye…

 

A throw back in many ways. Thank you, Vanessa Carlton: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SM3fEJyPrrg

 

February 28, 2019

Hugs

A huger

of the mind,

a huger

of the soul–

“find that out about your surroundings”

who is who?

I have a friend

who does both–

take care of yourself,

I need to connect

on that deeper level

I am grateful

to have found a match,

to find when I am not looking,

to sing when I am not sung to.

Hollywood is a trick of the eyes

tell me you are more human than the next

“She ain’t lookin’ for love”

no shit, fool– you are white as fuck

and don’t realize it, there is a difference–

watch the children run

and know that spaces are spaces

and home is home

and know it is different for everyone.

Now my friend–

they hold me,

steady me,

validate my existence

just by meeting my mind,

my soul,

right where they are.

 

A stream of consciousness reflection about my best friend who, while not big on physical hugs, supports me in the ways I really need…all while I listen to shitty rap music (and quote and complain about it) on a long car ride…

 

February 25, 2019

Assumptions

assume you’re not gonna call back —

trauma says, “Why would you?

Don’t you see my flaws?

Don’t you see my fears

written out in flowers and bulbs?”

 

Ballpoint pens do not lie

like the rest of the world,

like my mind hearing you say

I am pretty, or I am adventurous,

I am, I am…

 

How about you tell me for a change,

don’t let me give my hopes up

but chase me instead–

I know that’s problematic.

But we’re both runners.

You’re faster

(I don’t like admitting that).

 

I assume — don’t you see

and the truth is if my mastery of sound

bites is greater than your impatience

for the uncertain, maybe I have a chance…

Maybe you have a chance…

 

Because I see, too.

I do.

If you just talked out of your ass

that’s one thing — but you paused,

read your thoughts, chose your words,

and said them! To my face!

In a bed, three years of friendship

between us.

 

I will not go skiing.

I will not go see your band,

or whatever men are up to

in a year or two.

I will add you to a list of what-ifs

but fuck-yous,

and I will see you again–

in passing, not friends.

 

You can’t just lay half your heart

out on the table, my friend.

I can’t, but you can, so you did.

Because it’s easier.

Because you’re not as brave as you look.

 

Are our hearts not supposed to

break a little,

after every lost moment?

Are we supposed to minimalize them,

untethered,

dead grandma in a shack,

bury her before the police comes — run! run!*

 

At least I have a beautiful line to carry with me.

No one has ever told me I look like a painting.

Or maybe they have…but not lying on a bed.

 

Because it’s not a big deal, right?

Little lapses of judgement

where heartache dissipates,

feelings exhale, share themselves

outside their owners

what a privilege to be the one

the thoughts were about,

to be there, ready, receiving?

 

A fucking painting.

Yes.

We all are, no?

 

*Last night I saw the film Shoplifters and it was truly great. This line refers to the movie – apologies for the possible spoiler – you should still go see the movie!

 

January 11, 2019

A Song For You

To write a song for you…

I’m not sure

that would be enough

to conquer all the land mines

and droughts of ego,

to call back love and light and mystery

all in their due time.

You are an angel

from a sky I have not seen;

you are a fighter

sent to battle with the demons of our ancestors,

a capitalistic machine

that drowns us all in its own way;

you are the oxygen tank.

 

Take your place on the stage, my dear,

and I will hear your heart sing before your lungs,

will promise to throw every rose

from my garden up to you,

to let you take a bow,

to strike up a conversation with my neighbor

when he says, “God damn, that child sure does know how to sing,”

to which I will say, “And she sure does know how to live.”

 

May 6, 2018

I Don’t

I don’t want to talk about it–

all I will do is let my emotions get in the way

I don’t want to talk about it–

so let the bad blood flow, let it stay

in the same spot it stood yesterday

when I realized that I’ve been living in two worlds,

never realizing that they make up one life.

I don’t want to talk about it–

the fear of being wrong, of being imperfect

will let that dog remain a stray

I will say “I’m sorry,” and “I’m sorry,”

and “I’m sorry,” until it feels like that’s all my lips

have ever said– even if I’m really sorry

for shitty mistakes, broken masterpieces,

pretending that I can make everyone happy

at one time.

Worlds collide, because we only live in one world.

You think that I’d know that by now.

So I don’t want to talk about it–

just accept my flaws as they are

and I’ll continue to read your insecurities on the page

like you read mine so long ago.

I don’t want to talk about it–

but from looking in your eyes,

we already have.

June 13, 2015

Home

I’m not looking for The One.

I suppose I’m just looking for the one I won’t get tired of.

……

The number of betrays I have felt–

they are buried down deep

and it was not until I was ready enough to hold the shovel

that I could dig them out and start to peek

at the friends that I fell for,

the hearts that broke

a piece of mine away

and it’s like I’m still looking for the pieces.

…..

I never intend for much of anything

to happen

because once I feel like something is “home”

like someone is “home”

I want nothing more but to stay in one place

in time

and swim as the minutes swoon,

tears fall, smiles appear

…..

I don’t want them to go away;

this explains why my biggest fear is change

….

Not just any change,

like the nickels in my pocket,

the grass stain on my shirt,

my aging years, the new day coming

….

We learn lessons not from god,

but from his gifts

this world is nothing but experience

and yet all we want is not thankfulness,

but choice

between “who” and “what” and “when”

and the childhood friends that soiled your memories

or maybe just burned up the sides

of the one polaroid you have left.

..

All I want is to go home.

.

All I need is to realize, to accept,

that home is not the same place it was when I left it.

………………………………………………………………………….

May, 25, 2015