Sunday, September 9

Me, an Isle

With the windows down and sitting directly behind your seat in the car, my head leans on the window sill and through the side mirror, I smile at you. This isn’t a foreign feeling. I get like this sometimes, totally and utterly beguiled. It's very comforting, and, at the same time, very intimidating and paralyzing knowing that you could somehow possibly love someone wholeheartedly. Even if temporary, I’d like to think you could be that person. You're awfully alluring. With similar cadence and excitement, you remind me of jazz. You make me feel privileged, usually for more reasons than one, on almost all occasions. You're refreshing nature makes me feel refurbished, not quite new, but working again and maybe worth something. I'd like to get to know as much about you without being classified as a phishing scam. However, I wouldn’t want to offset my longing by asking the wrong question or speaking the wrong exaggeration. So, I’m caught in a bind of using suggestive hints that are implicit enough, but not too obvious and repulsive. There’s a certain kind of difficulty to say that you're the equivalence of an emotional defibrillator. You are my second wind, and I’ve been weary on this journey. Your laugh is actively undoing years of programmed disbelief in the possibility of loving. However long idle, your smile makes you someone to wait for. I wish my rules and morals didn’t forced me into this passiveness. I can't seem too interested like there’s isn't so much interesting. I just hope that my patience doesn't remove your enamor and effectiveness. It’s difficult when today I found another flaw of yours to love. How do I show you your strengths, without exposing my weaknesses? I feel embarrassed when I know too much and speak too soon. I wish I could verbalize the things that make me gravitate to you. Then, I wouldn’t transgress from the laws of attraction. The same ones that say my interests shouldn’t shifted so quickly to those of yours. Now sifting through my ambitions, I can’t think of any more important now than things involving you. I can’t let you know it. You have me wagering my independence for a blanket, wine, and a night’s worth conversation. This newfound vulnerability is the byproduct of your placid disposition. If it were not only my eyes that were mesmerized. The way you move has my brain running to document footnotes of your nuances. You bring color to music. I listen to songs and imagining you dancing. I listen in on your body language for the slightest invitation to a nonverbal agreement, some form of reciprocating desire. Until then, I’m saving some of my best memories for you. I want to hold your hands and spin us around vigorously until the background became unrecognizable. That way there'd be no distractions keeping me from focusing on you. My vision is blurry, but the bokeh is beautiful. I’m feeling too much, doing too much, and now writing too much. This has becomes less about who you are and more about who I become when I'm around you. I feel less like an isle when surrounded by you.

Tuesday, August 21

My business isn't the company that misery loves

I get it. Today wasn't your day. You were probably already having a bad day to begin with. Maybe with the way the day played out, all the "Good Mornings" that were said to you were in vain. Someone probably made you do something you didn't want to do because another person passed it onto you. This, most likely, repeated itself until it put a damper on your day's outlook. You've had it; I get it. When you felt vengeful, I was an easy target. You've yet to see me become ill-tempered, at least not together or while inhibiting the same space. I understand that the best, not the next best thing, but the very best thing, to do was to take me down. If misery loves company, you'd like me to be your best friend, your associate in discontentment. See, I would've joined you. I actually did for a few hours when I questioned my character and if my habits, which you probably deemed undisciplined, were disruptive. You had me going. I was quiet and remorseful, completely out of character. I've had time to think about it, and I've made a decision. Misery doesn't want me so much today, so I can't accompany you. However, I'll still be your friend. I know you chose me because I wouldn't make a big deal out of it. It was purposeful, and it made you feel better about yourself. I've done it; I'm guilty of it, but not anymore. I'd love to be the scapegoat of why your day went horribly wrong.The people who know me well will defend me. They're probably in a better place, maybe not every day, than you are today. Worrisome doesn't look good on me. Thank you for putting my business out there, which, in my opinion, is thriving. Guess there's really no such thing as bad publicity. I've invested too many hours today in your disgruntled spasm. I hope you know how strong I am. Your attempt to marginalize my strength has failed, and my need to prove that to you is nonexistent. I'm utterly sure that the worst day of my life is already behind me. I've survive way worse things than someone saying that: I'm too outgoing, too charismatic, and too easy to converse with. Because I'm sure that's what you meant to say. Is that a bad habit? To me? No. Did I think so today? Maybe. Will I spend anymore time on it after this post? Probably not. I don't need your apology if/when your conscience kicks in. I've already apologized to myself, for thinking that I should be a lesser self than I am. Somehow, I thought maybe I did something my moms wouldn't be proud of. I did no harm today, and thought not of revenge. She'd be proud. She taught me how to carry others' burdens, and you knew that to be true. I get it. I'll carry you, I'll forgive you, and I'll love you, as I do everyone. You get it? Always.

Monday, July 23

Deforestation

I'm afraid of this newfound numbness
It brings upon this fearlessness
the one that allows me to prematurely accept losing meaningful relationships
I've become rather hasty in that department
To disregard another's worth, because I won't accept mine
My intent is not to make you feel unwanted
from, what would seem like, pride, but is really indicative of self-loathing
and self-harm
It shouldn't be this easy to want to feel alone
Years of investments replaced with "okay" and "fine"
Since when did everyone and everything become a depreciating commodity?
I wonder if there are tax exemptions to write off my losses
because they seem to be accumulating
which should put me in a lower tax bracket
almost to the point of homelessness
burning bridges to a remote island
leaving everything unavailable to me
Just a foreword,
Don't take a page out of my book
My cover is blown
My spine has scoliosis
and I'm caught in a bind
of forfeiting my library of memories
at the hands of depression
I want to turn this around and rebuild
but I'm afraid that the resources that I've once gather
have already abandoned me
and I'll soon have to be "okay" and "fine" with that
on my remote island.