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Her Submission
Monday May 19, 2008
Sometimes the events that lend to the writing of them come at me in high-speed techni-color full-force action-hero sequence, and I write like the wind and yet I can not seem to come up with enough written to satisfy the necessary rehashing of all that's occurred. Other times, things are indeed happening, but they are surreal, untouchable, and I have no words to explain them, nor the drive to emit them, knowing I could not make them sparkle as they should. Then there are rare and peaceful times which have passed, time coming and going uneventfully, and I've nothing of particular note of interest to discuss. On occasion, something so stressful comes along that I refuse to acknowledge it in writing, thinking to do so would only be giving matter to an insubstantial idea, and why lend weight to a heavy topic?
Things have always happened. Which of them are consequential? How will we know? Only time will show.
I wonder what my story looks like from an outside point of view? I wonder which people know me at all? What most see can't even be the beginning edges of me; it's just shell, an exterior, an act for the world to see. Who sees deeper than that? My family--as they have witnessed my reactions, and considered actions both, for so long that I have become predictable--they know, cherish, and love me. One or two of my friends, and a handful of significant others I've loved along the way.
I'm discouraged this week. By loss. By discard. By waste. By disinterest. By the lack of commitment that has become acceptable and tolerable, in society and to me. By the attitude that it's easier to kiss someone off than to work out a disagreement that I've witnessed as a recuring theme as of late. We've all been fed shallow lies, and so our core is shallow, our roots near the surface, easily exposed and burned. Easy come, easy go, we've become a disposable society full of disposable people.
I am...disheartened.
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Monday May 12, 2008
Monday April 28, 2008
Sunshine, then snow, all at the end of April,
It confuses me, angers me, and other things that grow.
My labor in the garden turns out all for naught...
Marigolds don't like being blanketed in white at night.
Ground covers can't recouperate and I'm back to square one,
Thanking mainly the forgiving pansies, which pulled thru
with most of the primroses, though aching for the sun.
Lady called me on the phone Friday to tell me global warming is a farce, we sure aren't seeing it here.
I wasn't so sure about that, freezing nights in mid-spring indicate
global something, dontcha' think?
She wouldn't be persuaded, and guided the topic distastefully towards bad mouthing Al Gore. I had enough and hung up on the old bore.
My life is like the Spring, off kilter and amiss.
One day's outlook so significantly varied from the next days reality.
On again off again, hot and then cold,
I weary of it, it does grow old.
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Wednesday April 9, 2008
When it comes to the trees and me, sometimes we agree. It's important to rise above the common level, we agree, and to reach towards the sun, the light, the bright. Also to grow deep roots, that when pressed, will break concrete and anything else in the way, if it becomes necessary to maintain solidarity. And to have a strong core, with the flexibility to sway as life plays its course through your veins. We agree too, that the more branches you allow yourself, the fuller you become, more complete and well rounded, but... too many branches unpruned will, in the long run, cause your entire system to become taxed and tired, and the entirety of your fruit suffers for it. We agree that it's nice to be surrounded by others like ourselves, but that it's important to maintain our own structure within the grove. We agree that the sunlight is nourishing, but that the moon's forces are centrifical and undeniable, and equally impacting and valuable. We agree that it's almost impossible to have too much water on a sunny day. We agree that there are times when we must give our branches up, that others may make better use of them, but also that there are times when too much is taken from us, and we've no defense to stop it. We are both deeply wounded and bleed when this occurs. We agree that the wind makes beautiful music through the leaves of our branches, and we agree that some things were simply meant to be.
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Monday April 7, 2008
Hot wet tears slide slowly down my cheeks
my stomache turns and the ache overtakes me
sobbing choked breaths sustain me through eternity
blinding headache stabs at me, squeezing my brain
amplifying pain
I can barely pull myself together to answer the phone
and it washes right over me again the moment I hang up
I had this plan, these ideas, these hopes about the future
I had this idea of us and the memories we haven't made together yet
I had this whole magic life we ...
we ...
we ...won't be living together, I guess.
Cried over the ache of you so many times over so many years.
Said goodbye so many times.
It was never for long, never like this. So far away.
So silent. So distant. So over. So done.
So all the tears fall and just when I think I've pulled it together, then they start all over again.
You must not have known what I gave to you,
I hardly knew myself till now,
my whole heart and my whole soul,
Maybe you just didn't know?
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