Charles Bukowski lover.
Power Ranger historian.
Film and movie junkie
Franz Kafka fan
Home is a Feeling.
I needed to hear that;
I’m scared of being alone.
So I brew you our with liquor
and wait till I feel better and cleaner.
I’m tired of pretending I’m okay
with not being okay.
I don’t even know what I want
from love anymore.
I love me but I can’t love
enough to be whole to share.
Muscle relaxers and smoking,
boy was she wrong, you can
have your cake and eat it too;
but alone. No one eats cake that much anymore without resentment.
“What are you?” sounds just like
“fuck you” and “I love you.”
At this point, I don’t care who asks me;
because they aren’t asking truly me.
I’m not truly listening if I’m
wholeheartedly am with you.
There’s nothing else to share.
"I just want you to feel like
you can come to me for anything.”
and my mother looked at me
as if she understood, finally.
I have been the parent in this
situation but I don’t know
who else to be and have.
I’m so used of taking care of
adults who don’t know or
make enough decisions outside
of themselves that I don’t know
what reciprocity feels like but
I can recognize it.
I can see it.
I don’t know what else to do
if I’m trying my best and only surviving.
Is there a consequences for staying a woman I don’t believe in?
I’m so hungry to get out
sacrifice is just another word for value.
I’m ready to prove I can afford it;
pleasure and pain have no persuasion.
Who are you trying to fix me with now?
Did you train yourself to stop
saying my name?
Have you stopped making love
to different women and fantasies?
This doesn’t even feel right
so I know it’s not me.
I’m caught between trying to survive
and remembering why to not stop.
We even spoke about you
and how if I forgive my mother I
can begin hoping instead of waiting.
And I cannot make love to you without
feeling like parts of you are mine.
I’ve invested myself in your
confidence more than you’ll know.
I think finally accepting that I’m crazy
for you to live happily ever after; even
without me will push me over the edge.
I’m trying to understand without you.
I’m trying and that’s more than what I was.
You don’t know what fear feels like
until your mother tells you
not to use your last name.
I’ve always known and I wish you
I’m trying to understand why
I can’t have her if I’ve never had you.
I am not the victim of how I feel.
I will accept I cannot hold your hand.
You cannot forget who you were
with me even if we don’t speak.
I’ve been smoking so much
I ashed in my drink because it’s all going to the same place.
It’s all supposed to help somehow
or help me finally sleep.
When I’m finished with school
I want to live as far way from
my mistakes as possible
but I can’t keep changing who I am
with someone I’m proving it exist with.
I love me enough to know who
you’re getting is not me.
I have to leave. I have to live.
I love me, finally.
I had to leave.
Baby, let’s just make a love
song and play it every time
you won’t listen and I need to feel
you against me because
I just won’t calm down.
I know I can’t take this serious
but you can’t make a decision.
That’s low, but I’ve been lower
and I should claim myself,
or who I was but I couldn’t live
being that woman.
If what you feel is bigger than you;
you should share it— that kind
of weight creates anxiety.
I grew out of the woman I was
surviving to be. It is not predictable;
I’m here and I’m happy.
Sometimes I feel I can’t love someone without guilt and feeling stricken with weight
because I’m still holding on to
something. I simply don’t know.
And frankly, I’m afraid to discover why.
Who cares who held me at night;
they will never have what you possess.
It just fills the room
with how much I miss you.
I can’t breathe and surviving
is clearly possible if I’m still
here without you.
I cannot let go but
I am happy with failing.
Who have I been before you?
It doesn’t matter if I try
or avoid it.
Whether my phone rings;
I’m anxious for you.
Please let me hold you— in some way.
Where are you now?
Where could you be
in this world between us?
This is the truest I’ve been
to myself because I can
breathe without you and I’m alive.
I’m scared— I don’t want to
get used to not having you around.
You can’t let go making a fist—
or trying to stop them from bleeding
into your happiness because this time,
they come in the shape of words and gestures.
There’s a moment you are given
the chance to walk away;
and you take it and run.
It’s right before they explain
or chose not to.
It’s a warm, slow trail to the bottom of your face
to wipe away and to forget.
Lie about and rub on your jeans—
Love her from a distance
and forgive yourself—
I hope she ignored the moment
and stared at me instead, I did.
Both or neither. I don’t decide what I like. I like what I like and that’s it. I’ve dated and loved some of the world’s best kept secrets and some ‘hits and misses.’ And if that person happens to be you… God, help you. lol
I’m human— but I’m also me; so I’m definitely more of a bundle of nerves than profound wisdom.