Friday, July 11, 2014

life and thoughts inspired by words of others

I don't like it.  What John left me with.  I don't like it.  It's too big and too confusing and too fucking hard.  I try to write poetry to understand it.  To hide it.  When I do not drink, the nights are quieter, longer.  When I do drink, I am forced to look at the loss.  I feel like an emotional scientist, carrying an accidental microscope through which I am forced to study this thing called "me".

I know many things about myself, about this life.  I do not know far more things.  Life is a riddle and a mystery.

Mother of god I look to words to save me, and they do not have the arms or laughs or help that I need.

What do I want?  Hell knows.  So I keep walking, a step at a time, on and on, hoping to get to some place I recognize, a foothold strong enough.

I hope beyond belief that I am more cool than I am fucked up.  But that is a relative comparison.

I've seen trees as sheathed, crackling.  I've seen sun dreams, cradling my crazy thoughts and shushing them to quiet

I spent my own time in the house of the dead.  I put needles in, gave pills so poisonous you could not touch them.  it was my own new beginning, but not one I can share.  It's like something that happened to someone far away, long ago, something I cannot pull up and something I cannot hide.

How can I face my life's rude slapstick?  The slapstick of the universe?  In some game my dreams made?  But dreams fade as the dark fades...and when the dark is gone, whose game do I play then?

I want to let smoke blur the edges of things...of pain, of love, of hope, and life, even.  With blurred edges, how can you ever find your way??

Worrying, hoping, trying, yearning...all side effects of dying.  But believing in true love...what is that?  Story books.  True love should last as long as your life does...yes.  I gave that to John.  I gave the greatest gift, because that is what he deserved.  But what do I deserve?  Apparently, not that.  Not much.  His love was true, and I cannot be done with my life.  I have too many responsibilities.  Do I have any more adventures?

I'm left on the shore with waves washing up around me, some crashing, some caressing, all passing over me...all leaving me unable to drown.

If it is true that grief does not change you, but reveals you, what does that leave me with?  A longing to be loved, to feel supported, to connect, to help and be helped.  A tiny little break, but on a regular basis.  Tired.  Scared.  Sad.  Lost.

I miss our future.

**inspired by favorite sections of The Fault In Our Stars, Slapstick, and American God: The Tenth Anniversary Edition.