Obsolete.

He had been for so long:
speaking to me;
through hesitancy…
hands in his pockets,
perpetually…
his own needs,
self-rendered obsolete;
and so, frustratingly,
he’d come see,
unfailingly…
so uncertain of himself,
so unstable in his health;
what can I say?
The man enchanted me…
entirely…
his essence,
never left me
anything…
besides on my knees;
his touch was,
thunderous…
always slow and steady,
his hands were,
always on the ready;
to touch me,
to reach my inner-being,
his fingertips,
still haunt me,
when I dream,
he says he wants me…
it’s a thing,
wedged somewhere,
eternally in between…
a lasting love shared,
through an average mean;
and still,
when I think…
that it’s possibly,
him – HIS voice,
calling out from behind me,
it stops me from,
continuing on…
without at least…
…a glance behind to see.

Bad Seed.

What were you expecting
by reaching out to me?
a disapproving stranger
without any sympathy;

I have nothing left to give you
you’ve stripped my being clean
Put that red hand back in your pocket
when you’re in my vicinity;

Your struggles and your sadness
are not lost on what I perceive
The creature you’ve turned into
was somehow born to me;

Yet, in spite of such genetics
you remain a foreign entity
I may be your mother
but my daughter is deceased;

People blame and name me
pass judgment cruelly
And perhaps, I am a failure
I don’t deny these things;

Whatever I stand up for
in the end of such tragedy
I will not be standing
for what you’ve grown up to be.

The Empath and The Opportunist – Continued.

He is carrying on about the business; about profit and loss…I am sitting here across the table from him, wondering why the Hell I even have anything, much less such a co-dependent kinda thing, with this fucking guy of all people.

His father just died, after a long and trying illness, he is sad and needy right now; yet, he only wants to talk business, as usual. Whatever dude…let me print out a P & L and we will comb the fucking books then, fine with me.

Men are so puzzling this way: so likened to a fucking light switch when it comes to using the experiences we have in life as a means of enriching our relationships with each other. They don’t know how to approach it, they just kill the whole operation; they can’t figure it out, they just tune it out; they can’t accurately compartmentalize it, they simply pretend it isn’t there.

Men seem just as happy (or so they like to believe) with stuffing it all down until they are no longer capable of stuffing. And then: Ka-Boom. Right?

This particular man has the capacity to say the right things and do them too, when it might suit his fancy for whatever reasons…but, those times hardly ever overlap with my own times of receptiveness these days, after all that’s passed between us. He has that shit-eating smile that can stop traffic from across the street; but he also happens to be one of the very last people I would ever lean on for any reason – as I have learned the lesson in his case that I will fall the fuck over, should I lean even the slightest bit on him. He always said he loved me because I am “built with so much substance” and am “so deep of a person”, and the reason he thinks he “loves” this about me is because he lacks these things completely. He sings such horseshit as “stability” and “security” (please note: he straight the fuck up tossed me like last week’s milk like two years ago and badly broke my heart), while sporting me on an arm that he can detach from his shoulder at any time via some hidden release mechanism. I am honest with him about how I can’t and never could again – trust him on the levels that matter (to me, at least)…he seems to care less. I don’t sleep with him any more either, and haven’t for almost two years, so he knows that I’m not just talking shit. Whatever, let’s file a tax voucher instead.

Gone.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to start listening?

Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
your odd eccentricities?

Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
lay it down on your table,
where the other parts lie?

I suppose you’d prefer,
if I acted just like her:
if I loved co-dependently,
full-time, live-in “fluffer”;

If I leaned on you, heavily,
with intentions only pure?
a dead weight weighing down,
the coat-tails in your future;

Would you choose to diffuse again?
if I checked my levels of estrogen,
had my words been better chosen,
would I have someday been forgiven?

What if, instead of,
this twisted notion of “love”,
I recognized one evening,
the ill fit of your glove;

and the day soon arrives,
with my wide open eyes,
seeing things the way that I,
should’ve seen them, by and by;

all you’ll find is my trust,
blindly choking on my dust,
as you see me get smaller,
in the distance between us.

Unfillable.

Unfillable 2016

I know that more than most like you,

you do what you mean,

you mean what you do,

I see you’ve proven tried and true

how your presence hangs

over empty work boots

I see only YOU can fill those shoes

nobody else,

no one, but you.

I know that more than most like me,

I fall down harder,

I heal more slowly,

you see what resembles, vaguely,

that maybe I’m just,

behaving protectively,

you see the way that I’m sinking,

desperate thrusts uppercut,

to kick you free from me,

The truth is much harder to loose,

it can fly like an arrow,

or choke like a noose,

til nothing is left to solve or deduce,

high like the sparrow,

left singing the blues.

 

Just.

Haven’t you noticed?
There’s no light on inside;
Just a pirated, drifting vessel…
On a map that is preoccupied.
Doesn’t it occur to you?
That the twinkle is gone from my eyes;
Just two dulled down, blue marbles…
Attached to nothing on their’ other sides.
Has it never bothered you?
When it’s so quiet where I once sat;
Just an empty, overstuffed recliner…
You don’t even think twice about that.
Aren’t there days when you resurface?
To realize you never left the shallow end;
Just the guilt eating, gnawing away…
And you’re too overcome to pretend.
Don’t you feel sorry every day?
That you see me without my smile;
Just an empty expression, hollow eyed…
Can’t forget the pain for even a little while.
Aren’t you aware on some level?
Of the ways that you’ve crossed over me;
Just a self-absorbed, oblivious mutant…
So clueless to the ways of TRUE humanity.
Haven’t you already seen me?
For the woman I actually am;
Just dimes of dozens, dingbat ‘play things’…
Tell me that you are, after all – no REAL man.
Didn’t you hear my warnings?
And didn’t choose to take heed to my cries;
Just stood there pretending, ignoring…
The Fucking Truth gouging out both your eyes.

Understanding

kiss011

Life often throws curve-balls at me when it comes to the stupid choices I make in regard to ‘trust’ and ‘the wrong people’; and so the story goes.

The older I get, the more able I am to take responsibility for my own parts in the bullshit that goes down between myself and others – and the older I get, the less willing I become to even involve the others at all in my existence.

Being online with so many diverse personalities has helped me to learn a lot about the unwillingness I have cultivated over the years; and it has also been my experiences with people online that have helped reaffirm a longstanding sentiment I’ve held when it comes to the people around me:

  1. I do not have to love them.
  2. I do not have to understand them.
  3. I do not even have to give a shit about them.

But my not giving a shit about somebody in whom I foster no love or understanding for should not impede my own sense of morality and/or humanity as a result; and I should never allow it to.