I'm not angry--just disappointed.

Ok, that's a lie. I'm both. But "it" is partly my fault. Quelle grande surprise!

I need to vent. It's begging to come out like the aliens in well...Alien. I didn't feel that my friends and sister should be burdened with my stupid anecdotes, so, Cyberworld: here you go!

For once, could someone please just grow some kahonas (sp?...do I really care about the spelling?) and be upfront/honest/truthful/brave/thoughtful/see Thesaurus for more? I was ... notified/reminded recently that I really mean nothing to someone who meant something to me. Even though said person deserves no more of my attention than a fruit fly. I kid not. In Logicverse, said person has a negative score in being tolerable and compatible with me. In Feelingverse, whenever said person used to walk in a room, my heart would stop. (Well, there's a sign right there.... he's more likely to kill me than to make me happy....I digress.)

I realized that after 3-4 years of torture and emotional abuse by the brat, that I need to stop letting him into my life to fester like a virus. Yet, I saw him recently. I told myself and was convinced that my feelings had vanished. When ...."interacting".... with him, I did manage to separate my feelings. We were just having fun, and I knew that. I knew that I'm not his dreamgirl, but I thought I had at least a little bit of respect cut out for me from his moldy cake of selective respect.

However, the crash cart needed to be brought in once I found out just how little I mean to him.

I shouldn't care.

But I do, so deal with it. Yes, I'm angry.

Yes, I'll get over it.

There are others like him--not with the same history, but with similar tendencies. Sweet words, amazing chemistry...I know deep down that all the he's probably just want something to wink about, but be straight about it, you know? Just say that's all you want. Enough with the top hat and fog and mirrors. I'm a big girl, I CAN handle the truth (contrary to what Jack Nicholson might think!).

Enough is enough! (I say that to the universe and to myself.)

I banish all of you cowards to suck on your own poison and spit it out once it becomes too strong to bear--once it becomes a memory that haunts you and humbles you. Humility, for crying out loud. Get some.

I'm not unhappy, but I'm also not a brick wall, or made of steel. I'm a strong girl, and really don't have it bad at all, but let's face it: I care about people, and I care about how people affect my life. So sue me. I've been used enough, and done enough to myself, so all I'm asking of the great thing called the universe/God/Buddha/Yoda/whoever/whatever, is for a breath of fresh air--for peace.

NOT someone who cares about me and I don't feel the same way about,
NOT someone I adore and who thinks me nothing more than another girl in another city on another weekend filled with cigarettes and booze.

"Patience, young one." (I know.)
My frustrations are just building and eating away at my composure at night when I'm supposed to be dreaming. *sigh*

With all of these stupid little nothings piling up, there better be something fantabulous on the way. Someone "upstairs" is teaching me a lesson, I think.

For once, can I please be the frigging teacher? Or is this all supposed to help me build my résumé?

Clarity-poem

I need to see it all
The first glance of the glittering, luring face
distracting from the darkness
lurking inside
that hidden place you yearn to explore but
lampposts pull you away

I need to see it all
so I can claim I’ve missed nothing
and find you watching me all along
while I absorb the night,
absorb the sun,
burning my mind with memories
of missing you

I need to see it all
your danger and your armour—
you’re my labyrinth, and my gravity,
my bridge of cognitive dissonance—
you give less than you take then carry me across
dropping me off then siphoning my life
from my lusting veins

I need to see it all
before it’s too late
before the palpable ecstasy of finding you, waiting for me on the precipice
evolves into a numb
imagination

will you jump? carry me again? beckon me? run?

I need to see the possibilities
before my heart bursts out of my chest
or my mind implodes from road-runner what ifs

I need to see it all
for my dreams are insatiated,
unsaturated with memories,
but drowning in fables of how you reached out—
I saw the effort—

I need to see it all
to ease the pain of blood droning through my limbs,
urging me on through the darkness of your pathways
feeling my way, feeling your walls closing in—
clear my eyes of the frigid dew settling in after a night spent with you—
I need to see—to reach you,
I need to see

Demon--poem

It’s coming from the inside,
needing a release, clawing at my skin
to let it all out-
burning the tissue to weaken
my armour

It tickles as it gropes
for a way out into the light
or the dark—I doubt it really cares
so I laugh in spite of myself
in spite of the logic that should be
alarmed

It’s into me—
and it has me wishing I was into you
like this thing inside of me
taking over my sanity
taking over my vision

So all I see is you and scenes of us
and what we could be
when the lights go out, and day has fled
to let the moon usurp the sky
shed its glow upon my deeds
desperately waiting to unfold

It wants to spread like a disease,
Bursting from my core to enter yours—
but wait, this isn’t a nauseous process—
though it sways me like vertigo with a pleasant,
drunken wave

Is this my demon
waiting to possess my reason,
my flesh and yours?

Will I fall, condemned in the pit
of endless tunnel vision of lust
in love’s clothing?

Or could this Force give me wings,
fly me to sanctioned bliss
so I can meet the sun, and never burn,
never lose my flight despite the pull of
sin’s gravity on my tired frame?

Is the answer worth knowing?
For knowledge can strip what dignity,
shelter, and armour I have left—

keep me in the dark,
keep me in the light,
I don’t really care
as long as it’s inside,
and willing to knock logic down
to let sweet anticipation rise
and commence your release.

The Game-poem

Your move;
Your immobility.
Your silence.
My abyss.
Our precipice on our table with all the cards
laid out.

The hourglass is gone-
my fingernails scream, raw from the sands
that should have flowed from me to you-
instead, they fled far and wide-

I think I got some in my eye,
‘cause there’s a puddle on the table
and it won’t dry.

I gave you time
though it was only a second,
it was more than sufficient
‘cause I’ve heard the parable
that life’s full of moments,
and moments make life
worth living-

living, loving, silence, puddles-
I can’t connect the four.

our life moments are trapped in the continuum,
the infuriating snakes-and-ladders board
in the game of you and I-
I want to watch the corners curl
in the flames of forgetting memories
while I play my turn,
sit in fury,
waiting for your chip to be bet,
to slide, or better yet to climb-
just to move!

so this moment can die

and you’ll live as You
without the I

Civil War-poem

my stomach feels what my heart should:
the aftermath of
my insides revolutioning unendingly-
Us argues that I’m good at heart,
Them argues my heart’s a mess-
We can’t agree so I’m left
feeling sick
over what I did to
You and Me

my gut that aches is the same that
persuaded me to halt whatever
waltz we were in the middle of
so on a break, I tried to drown my
confused brain in hops and poison,
trying to kill Our memory
but I resurrected it tenfold,
in the form of this dizzying disease

my eyes are pinned to the screen of
Me and You
mercilessly replaying the scene
when I cut the cord and demanded
these feet
to move
away

my eyes sting, my core burns, my feet tire, my brain is nauseous-
no wait: I’m confusing mySelf with my Parts-
my body’s at war
with the soul it imprisons
striving for solace, for peace

but will the silence, the stillness be the End
of a Battle
or the War?