I need very little
and desire?
Even less.
We…
We are the closest thing I’ve found;
My underwater cacophony
that quiets it all…
The outside drowned
A roaring quiet-
I desire this.
To be:
buoyed;
anchored;
and asea.
I’ve been in a lot of relationships where things have been broken…
Things that I’ve bought; things that I’ve earned;
been given, gifted-
…learned.
But bones often heal and time-
Well time, it blurs the edges…
Now I’m finding myself in a lot of situations where things are being restructured…
Things I’ve been taught;
things that I’ve chosen;
been given, gifted-
…learned.
But hearts often heal and experience-
Well experience, it sharpens focus.
I always knew…
“Home” was a concept.
A prompt for activating
our programmed roles;
encouraging participation
in self-fulfilling prophecies (of doom).
Leaving me homesick
for a dream I’ve never dreamt.
Home.
Home is now known to me-
Known to be a feeling-
An intangible worry stone,
Now carried with me-
At all times;
Anchored by plasmic goo.
I thought of something nice to say at my mother’s funeral.
Spoiler alert:
She’s not dying (no quicker than you or I technically am…)
But my dad is…
So I was thinking about all of the things that I would say about him at his funeral;
and that made me sad. So to cope, I decided to try and think of something nice to say…at my mother’s.
I know, I know… BUT!
I thought that would make me mad-
You know:
when I couldn’t find one (but knowingly looked)?
And…
Well then I found one; which in turn… made me mad.
Huzzah!
Isn’t it exquisite-
how my broken and gold;
They fuse together in kintsugi rhythm?
Knowing both paths to the desired result- consciously mitigated and yet…
Gestures vaguely at everything,
and nothing.
I’ve already began the process
Of grieving the products of my own imagination.
Recently implemented new rules of engagement;
Limiting all talks with friends,
all of them.
To under 5 minute long interactions.
Unless they’re my exes…
I figure I’ve dibs.
(I know! I knoooow.)
I know it makes me selfish;
Realizing more each day-
I want to be “chosen”
I NEED to be “chosen”
whatever that means…
I think I always have.
Reflecting on all the times
Situations…
I felt I needed to be…
Should have been…
Chosen…
by anyone-
Chosen…
over others;
over addictions
Chosen for me
Who I am
Not what I could be.
Not what I could provide.
Services I could render.
What I could become.
Just the real and authentic me.
Most only saw the mes
making the choices…
To leave
To make them
Sooner…
Later…
My choice.
Used to be…
I’d come across them-
Confetti strewn caches-
drawers of forgotten notes…
I felt sad, and missed them.
Question everything.
Then it changed…
I’d find them and realize-
I don’t know the writer-
Ghostwritten manifestos of complacency…
I’d feel disgust, and miss me.
Question everything.
Today I found more…
I read them and noted-
It really was a version of me-
Just a me adapted to them…
I feel nothing, and am missing nothing.
Question everything.
Lately I’ve been “nesting.”
Chasing serotonin and conviction- reclaiming my own curtilage.
And yet, entertaining;
Fellini-esque fantasies.
While balancing the romantic…
with the absurd.
Still, fantasies indeed are dangerous things.
Particularly;
when one feels unchallenged or complacent…
It’s easy to believe that things mean more-
Connections or kismet or fated-
too often just a novel distraction
They would soon grow bored of…
He gave her his heart,
she gave him a pen.
Is it ever real?
Too often oxytocin fueled.
And hypervigilance gives way
To resolute avoidance and/or
The altruistic conundrum-
there is no unselfish deed…
And like she said, “perhaps…”
I’ve already had my chance for that type of happiness.
Nonetheless, a growth mindset.
Endeavor to be present.
Stay the course.
Self actualize myself.
Alone is not so bad.
Lonely is much worse.
Photo from: www.shopstudiosisters.com
Few can see eternity while standing in humble awe,
Under an illuminated galaxy.
Stargazers over lifetimes,
Recognizing kindred spirits whilst acknowledging divergent paths…
Hopeless romantics, becoming fewer and farther between…
Stifled by noise and light pollution;
Subconsciously choosing to experience the taste of duty-
An assumption of desire to participate in the conditioned path.
Following breadcrumbs to the witch’s sanctum;
Below the vastness of time…
Like a homing beacon- they await a conjunction in a retrograde.
Guided only by energy and the moon;
Moths drawn to the undying light-
Second star to the right, and straight on til morning.
It’s funny
“The shift”
The shift from thinking anyone older
Just looked like an old person.
You see pictures of them young..
Can see it if you look for it-
But as you get get older-
Know more people, longer, older…
Should start with our family-
some fairy glamour prevents it.
It’s when you see someone age,
Someone you’ve known; intimately-
their younger selves-
And perhaps- you do not see again
until you are both- old…older.
*that’s the shift.
Unfamiliar briefly-
Then you see them.
Not them with wrinkles, more skin, less hair…
but just…
them.
In a worn vehicle…
“There you are Peter!”
Now- you’ve leveled up.
At the shift.
And it comes to pass,
With time and understanding-
The “reconciliation”
Of cause, and effect;
Actions… reactions.
The interplay…
The neuropathways.
And you’re standing alone-
In your room
By yourself
AND LAUGH
BELLYLAUGH
Catching your reflections-
Just fleetingly seen-
Your “SUPERMANPETERPANHYBRID” pose.
Then you begin to wonder.
Ponder why you never noticed-
Why you never could.
Until right now.
Maybe it’s my Aquarius-Pisces cusp
But… I am a fickle bitch.
I want my cake and to eat it too-
But only when I order it
And have it delivered
To my door.
I love being alone
Resent a constant presence
Reductively- I’m an Introvert playing house
With myself- I wanna be mama
I wanna be daddy
I wanna be cool aunt Jackie
Dependent on no one
Ish
And still…
I hate playing house
I don’t wanna be home
I want to travel
Explore
Create
All the things others have already done
I live it through word
See it on film
Feel it in song
Saved and trapped in my own mind
And so it goes-
Filling in the grooves
Forty years worth of trail
Diverting energy into other paths
Finding comfort…
And yet-
Still aching for the familiar
Just like any addiction
Trying to recognize triggers
Slippery slopes
Of thoughts
And experience
Both imagined and endured-
Blowing up my siblings’ phones
To discuss a season’s tears
Lament each other’s losses
Never sharing joy
Leaning towards each other
Each other’s external hard drives
Fact checking my memories
Offering observed insight
Spoiler alerts.
I hate the unknowing.
I Google you.
I Google me.
I Google what season do they die?
I like to test myself
Create:
challenges to survive;
Patterns to predict;
Chances to trust myself
And fail
But in ways most cannot see.
It’s funny to me.
All things I want(ed) to be-
A singer
A plumber
A poet
A mom
A lawyer
A wife
A woman
An archaeologist
A detective…
And here I am.
Alone- but not really.
Just…
Mercurially Me.