On Censorship

There are some things perhaps better left unsaid. But then, I promised myself once that I wasn't going to bend, I wasn't going to change anything for anyone. So here is the truth, the whole (partial) truth.

"You wouldn't look at someone like that if you didn't actually like them. You care a lot about me, why don't you just admit it?" He made it too easy, they all made it too easy...practiced words slipping off her tongue and forming meaningless sentences that appeased. Meanwhile, her mind traveling at warped speed, realizing and rationalizing. Meridith was cold this night. And who's to say that she did not deserve to be cozy? It's not like he wasn't enjoying himself...if he wanted more he had a phone full of names he could try. She knew this, and somehow it made her feel better. Being used was infinitely easier then using people.

Admittedly written years ago, decades it seems. In time my mind has altered these things, changed them and made them somehow perfect; flawless. And these cold lonely nights I re-read and remember emotion. I make no apologies. Now, full circle. I'm back to screaming into pillows. And I can't write a damned thing that's real.

Delight

There is nothing left to do but love you like you deserve. Someday I'll be able to write the happy as well as I write the morose, and then I'll show you. Until that day just know that I

unequivocally

limitlessly

and

emphatically love you.

Waiting

I'm imagining all the things that could have happened.

A crash,

A fight,

Anything and everything that could cause me to lose you on some twisting turning back road.

And then I would be begging for money, if only to see you one last time. Flying away for the very last time. Trying to understand everything, and understanding nothing at all.

And I would kiss you, the sting of formaldehyde taking away the sweet sensations of memories.

Black is not my color. So please please please.

Come home tonight.

Home Alone

Tonight I'm home alone. Somewhere someone is making you laugh, making your eyes spark bright in that brilliantly beautiful way. I sip my tea and imagine the taste of your lips, soured by beer.

I remember the days when we were young and stupid and you would take me in your arms and the world would screech to a stop. You taught me so much in those hot dark hours, and then sometimes we would stop breathing and let life go. One night I looked in your eyes and I knew somehow that you would be with me forever, long after I scuttled out the door and down the hall in the early morning light.

Somewhere a girl is looking at you and wondering who you are. Your easy smile is intoxicating, women want to drown in it; I drowned in it. Sliding off your seat you will flip a comment back and make people laugh. Once those comments were directed at me; I would bush past you and flick my hair so the mix of my perfume and shampoo would tantalize you. I haven't showered in days now, I pull my hair back into a sensible poof that explodes at the back of my head.

Once I was exciting and fresh.

Here I am, black and white and two dimensional. Why would anyone want this when they can have beautiful, vibrant color?

So tonight, I'm home alone.

Running away

A part of me is ready to walk away.

I'm good at that, when the going gets rough I turn tail and flee.

I want to sleep through tomorrow, never seeing the light of day.

I want to throw my things haphazardly in my trunk and go

go

go.

Maybe when I see you you'll be mad. You'll get sour and displeased that I threw so much away with both hands. You'll look at me with those deep wonderful browns and you'll sigh and finally take me into your arms.

I want to go.

In five years, ten years, it will all be the same. Who needs a Higher Education to work retail, anyway. Who needs any of this? Without another being to share existence with life is pointless. We will be uncomfortably happy, but that is better then comfortably bitter. And there will be a dog and two cats (yes, I will win that argument) and a few messy children to add volume to life. And I will look back on today and perhaps I will sigh at the illusions of youth, but I will know I chose correctly.

I want to go.

My secret is my suitcase, still packed. I refuse to redistribute the articles inside to a room which feels nothing like home. Cliche or not, my home is with my heart and you are currently my heart's keeper. So it's there, a little bent and beaten and waiting for any excuse I can come up with to fly.

I want to go.

And then I remember your voice, telling me no. Telling me I have to do this, I have to be here now. And I wonder; if I go will you welcome me? Will you smile and tell me you love me? Or will you turn away and point a finger back north.

I want to go.

Here I stay.

Deja Vu

Things discovered in the cracked white plastic of my personal time machine; an old laptop computer. I thought I knew everything. Turns out I knew nothing at all. And when exactly did I think attempting poetry at 3 am was a good idea?

From Erin
This is what I think: I think that we are pretty enough,
& likable enough…
and if even that’s not enough to win
by coloring within the lines- then
we’re smart enough
that we should be able to figure out how
to cheat this whole game!
So, where are the boys?
Where have all the cowboys
gone? Where is My
John Wayne?
Where is my
prairie son?
I’ll do the dishes,
if you pay all
the bills.

Sneaking
Awkward limbs
cramped into a twin bed,
arms tucked beneath stomachs
thrown over backs
legs tangled in sheets.
Existing separately,
Side by side.
Turning,
A stroking finger finds a
Back
Leg
Chest.
Hands sweep hair aside
From the neck
Hot air against a cool ear.
Mouths pressing
Almost painfully
Searching for something
Lacking in this existence…
Hours.
Two,
Three,
Six.
Dimly aware of sunlight creeping in
Through dirty windows
And half drawn blinds.
Gathering clothes-
Searching in the half-light.
A parting squeeze
And creeping down a hall
Stairs
Back to a room-
A roommate.
Wondering when,
Exactly,
This is the person that you became.
I became.

Home Life
Wind
Spray
Ocean
Hair in disarray
True feelings
True life.
Now,
Halogen lights
Razor burn in shared showers
Upstairs,
Sneaking home
2 am.
This is not love.
Life here,
Made of cardboard.
Love exists
Without shame
Without fear
And I have
Fallen
Out of it.

Warning
You told me
Many times in fact,
You warned me fully.
Of my own encouragement I continued.
And now I have fallen
Fallen
Fallen
And still I blame you.
Wolf in sheep’s discarded garments
(aware of that cliché)
To catch me through such means.
I hope my veal is as succulent as it is painful-
My bleats are silenced nightly
In my pillow.

3 am
Coffee is warm and forgotten-
Papers creep across the table
Slyly trying to lose themselves among the chaos
A computer,
Open,
Lingers nearby on the desk.

Please?

I miss you.

Come home to me?

Broken

It's four am and I can't breath. It's too late or too early- you are asleep as you should be. The moon is in my soul and I'm restless. A year ago I wanted this, and while you found ecstasy I left wet imprints on my pillow. I love you I love you I love you. So why am I sitting on a crumbling staircase in my oversized jacket and my bare feet? My darling, please believe me. I love you so much it hurts. But I'm restless and crazy. Maybe it's just the full moon and the jazz in my soul; or maybe it's me.
For my part I'm sorry that I put you through this. I will fix it, someday.
I'm sorry I'm broken.