geneology

the natural feeling takes us naturally awry

i can see only
two generations bearing down;
ciphers:
mother / sex / beat down / nothing left

let's project

rosary beads, thick glasses, thick ankles.
quiet iowan farms with white houses;
outliving the bastards -

no, outlasting.

the life left when they said "we do"
and followed suite with needys, little shitting needys
who sustained the 18 year minimum -

back to black
but hair going grey, the once-craved stomach/breasts melting into mother-flesh
another question mark once the bed's gone cold
and the growl punctuates Big Daddy's disappointment -
"bitch let herself go"
as if some beligerant God betrayed him
.
let's raise children
and let them see
that love means endurance, silence, bodies, distance, crude remarks, regret

yes let's

.
and now you
you think
you think it's easy
your patience runs short
when i fail to perform

so easy it should be
"bitch bores me"
cuts short the rope
and turn away



never mind.
your type i've known.
my mother's known, my grandmother's known, my everymother in my blood has known and
groveled before.
this blood is accustomed
but going to fucking break its heart
before it settles, acquieses, agrees

to pitiful complaints;
this conceit of "love"
complacent
and
(hollow)
cocksure

31 days stronger

that

stupid utterance / reckless mouth and hissing ego
the ugly peeled back slowly

upper cut
blocked out eyes
for a dazzled 31 days post-haste

"oh love"
no, just another idea / what love wants to be
just another coward withdrawing / words as weapons
to skirt his




fuck
that

"she finally said"

alt:vision

pursuit: choked off
feet knotted firmly

a little hysterical, little relieved

played played played out
by poor poor players
in shoddy huts which
the audience left in unease.

i stand
i collect the dimes left behind in dozens
i keep them as memories
which emerge only to hold me in the morning:
phantom arms, warmth of promises,
for a moment i remember
the warm.

but days slide by.
backs must turn to this shit.
to this empty everything behind me, sealed and sorry
the meat and bones of man
wrapped around child

logic smoothes the disentangled unjust hurts
but rarely heals them

lies begin
so that we may move on

spring, slowly

the rain falls, lacking relent -
fat coiled ropes of silver -

toes stiffen in the cold seep -
i curl hands into thin pockets.

the trees drain today; i glance out the window

"bright star were i as steadfast as you"

titters the back of neck; as the head above
lets
go -

- not -
wanted

by that
constellation;
sweet
universe

cold, gone, deaf.
i
haven't the heart
to hold but grace

as i walk
to the
north

quiet quite

slip fingers slip
we sway
1, 2, 3

the evening's hush
1, 2, 3

stone colden without
under star's white frost

yet spring arises
peeks its head
slap slap
i laugh
you in bed

night
so quiet
we walked
we walked 1,2,3

deepish feelings of swamp
within;
inexorable
leave their bruises

spiting the sun
and bright light
of star

Our similarities are superficial

Dido hovers over sword, overcome with grief -
though a Leader; loved by her people.
Twice loved by great, kind men.

Need always knew
he'd leave;
lovesick, neglected and raging - Need, not the gods.

She ended on a pyre,
foolishly melodramatic.

Enough, Dido.
Enough of the wronged queen!

I know
your situation sucks

But I will not confuse your story,
its pretty self-pity
its emotional O

With my own;
I refuse what is expected of grieving girls.

Aeneas?
Swell guy, emotionally unavailable, a daddy's boy.
Fooled himself quite a lot
Gave grieving boys the stoic excuse;
also tiresome to behold.

Myself,
I have my people to tend,
and future paths to take.

No thank you, Virgil, for your windswept vistas
and aggrandized, fucked up love.
Western civilization learned the wrong lesson.

the focus must remain here

body marking / marked by time
vessel
i treasure

mind so ocean-deep
too long letting sailors skim along
too long

golden arms gleam
as ships wrecked so long ago
rot
and finally melt

my shovel, a brute come to dig
and disrupt
the ancient sites,

handed to me
abruptly, by mistake

oxygen thin i swim

Lacking for 13 days

Today's narrative:
little things that feel good,
like new earrings dangling against the neck
and laughing; a solid laugh
in the parking lot, with a friend.

remembered you at 3:30, fondly.
had a cup of tea.

looked at pictures of other men, other prospects,
and sighed; 'none can explain the epinician ode.'
felt rather rankled
with you,
for your ill-timed theft of my heart.

anyway.
next on the agenda:
i'll dive back into bursting words
with my warmest blanket,
smelling of vanilla -

i think there's a wine-tasting tonight.

but.
still
miss you

the list of future pastimes

We will go to the beach
and I will feed you whisky,
while wrapped in a blanket and singing to the stars.

You will see me dance,
the one i've kept quiet so long,
at a proper recital with hundreds of eyes watching
but yours will be the only ones I seek,
and then we will have a nice dinner,
and then we will go to our bed.

I will tell you stories
by the firelight, if you'd like.
I've so many to tell,
when i know you're ready to hear

we will ride bikes by rivers when the world turns green
and make new friends
and teach each other interesting things, and remember to daily say silly things.

i was planning to be your best friend
before any of the rest occurred;

so greedy. we too eagerly demanded everything of each other
before we even knew
favorite colors

the silence now rattles with rain

longing to be filled

bedtime stories of bears, trees, and Spaniards

he is a myth-maker
a startling tongue,
a constant surprise.

i take delight
like a child awed
by her mirror

hold him closer

my singing tongue has, for once, stopped to listen
yet stopped itself too cold
he cannot hear
this song

he holds back

i understand

reverie, reverie

at night
the slipping up on wet staircases,
the moss green and wet and tapping on the window -
they benevolently hold to the ground,

the trees, black skeletons that sway against the ash sky...
city lights below, a carpet of diamonds
inverting heaven;
and we eat, and feel peace,
and hold hands as the heater clicks on.

the pleasant is good
yet
i tap at his head,
i quietly observe the flesh before me,
and marvel
at its likeness
and its distance
all together at once.

i am in no hurry.
i wait, waiting for my trembling tongue
to catch up -
to capture the heave of heart
to savour the path
to wait until i can emerge - out of this dim cave, where i keep myself with care

and the dark falls,
and fall we into bed,
and in the dark hearts race with the answers our mouths are too slow to speak

love.

to break from poetry for just a moment -

Today, it is sunny. I'm exhausted; my body aches, my heart is dragging. But I still believe in love. I believe in it, because I've seen it in action, among and between my friends, my family. It takes work, it isn't easy. It's a strange combination of head and heart, uplifting and exchanging, listening and speaking, valuing and acting.

Lifetime partners do not operate according to deadlines. Lifetime partners can lie in your arms quietly, or can pour out their dreams, and can sketch out a lifetime together with you. They can tell jokes, philosophize, be an idiot, be brilliant. They are courageous, because they trust themselves to question or challenge their beloved -- just as the best of friends gently push us to be our best, a true lover is proactive. They dance, sing, and make love to the person they have chosen to honor with their full presence, the commitment of being themselves as openly and honestly as possible - honesty and awareness breed loving energy. This kind of love recognizes that life is nothing but brief moment, both a collection of memories and the nether of future - that in between the two, it is best to gently treasure the beloved's hand. Some of those moments will be bad - bad days, weeks, months or minutes - but we get through them so that we can treasure the wonderful, incredible, amazing, ridiculous and beautiful moments, too. Soul mates can make mistakes.

Lots of people have this kind of love, but many more do not. Looking at the world in 2010, I see that so many people my age confuse love with drama, sex, or even torture - many people live their whole lives thinking that love is tied to some grotesquely beautiful need to suffer, or that enduring suffering makes them a better person - a Christ complex in the bedroom. We only think we need Romantic ideals, but they only mislead us to believe that the ideal once existed, has vanished, but may be retrieved through a mystical, magical moment of grace. Even aetheists seek a personal Paradise Lost.

I've never seen that version, that fake love, work out. I've seen it be convincing enough for people to marry and stay married; I've seen it justify the most terrible ways people can treat each other. I've seen it in movies and plays; I've heard it in songs, but its reality cancer. One partner's ideals are crushed - they punish their partner. They try to 'fix' their partner - the poison spreads. An utterly internal belief system lashes out and hurts the people we claim to love; we dessicate ourselves. Unless we become aware of ourselves, our habits, and the power of unexamined expectations - we carry them with us as a burden, a time-bomb, and repeat them all again with someone new.

He's the first one I couldn't fool. I really can't blame him for not falling in love with a series of defenses. I knew it as the weeks went on; I was scared and slipped them on - the Perfect Girlfriend, the Happy Woman, the Cheerful Partner. Maybe I don't love myself throughly yet; at least, not all the time. I have a collected lifetime of joy, travel, family, friends, learning, and beauty - but nothing is worse than allowing someone see to that its also riddled with imperfections, humiliations, disappointments, depression. I even occasionally fart. Better to keep myself special by virtue of being alone - the incomprehensible artist... it always seemed like a safe role to play in a postmodern world. I'm an equally misguided Romantic.

He can't fix me. I can't fix him. But: is there someone who can 'fix' us at all? Is there really someone out there for whom all my neuroses will suddenly heal over --someone who I'll just subconsciously "let in" and forever end the act of second-guessing myself? He seems to think so, but I think he's wrong. I think that's too convenient, and misses the point of what genuine love is. Love takes energy, but it creates it, too. It dies when the energy consists of nothing but bodies, because sex without intimacy is just a series of motions.

Intimacy is built on the words we exchange, the moments that take quality time to build, the events we share together and the hopes we have for ourselves and for each other... isn't it? A lack of words - or an overabundance of the accidentally dishonest variety - provide no fuel needed for the heart to properly burn. Therefore, is he right to believe that love needs no words - no work? I can't accept that.

Which means maybe I'm better off, being let go. He didn't fall for my act, but he also never gave me a fair shot - his worldview doesn't seem to allow for me, or anyone else, to live up to his expectations, anyway. It aches today. I was beginning to know him, and I have always admired, respected and adored him. Yet there was something lurking in the background, and I couldn't name it before last week - ironically, it has been the End that best illustrated his character, his values, his actions. He's a good person who was reckless with both his heart and mine - but I'm nonetheless honored that he did. I'm a good person who needs to voice her legitimate needs, project her beautiful voice. I let myself down, but it was the best I could be, and I'll be a stronger person for it in the end - a mis-step in the right direction, I have to believe. I'll be ready, one day, to be someone's lifetime partner. Somewhere out in the world, someone is preparing himself.

summary

i want, crave;
i tumble over rocks in my dash
i close my eyes
to his averted eyes
and also his fear

he pulls me in
and i want to love him
"right";
consequently
i vanish before our eyes.

so, now
forced to awake from that dream of pursuits attained...
the peace we had:
real yet
the ideal we tried to be:
was not (sustainable)



My life without his hidden struggles was/is too alone; vibrates with loss
the face i watched
as he left was not a mask - he too wore grief.

so, now
all i can do
is fight the battle in which he's left me -
to be a better person,
whether for him or the next

with whomever i will love again
that i can try to be a lucid, gleaming, Hector.

good day

i've held off on the black till just now
when a waiter made me sigh
because he was proud of his baby
and wanted to show me her picture -- Mae Rose.

it unwound me,
despite an otherwise very good day.

i wonder if
i had some other face
i'd be a mother by now;
the same brain
but less temptation.

less to woo.

that would trim down the insincere suitors
and their devastating insinuations - I begin to think:

dumped, duped, dammit.
despite the depth of trenches,
something about it pierces me.

already my skin is thickening up, nonchalant, unsurprised
and somewhat relieved

daily aphorisms...

Recovered from diary, this morning:

"All we are are people with a lifetime of experience behind us, and a lifetime of experience ahead of us. So, it's best, between the two, to enjoy the present as much as you can, and try your best, and do what you love. Preferably, with who you love, and surrounded by those who love you."

Valerie Egan copyright 2010, bitches!

time and wounds

a frightened, fickle person
is still a person

and so i am, relentlessly in love with my little weaknesses

whatsoever proof they give him
that i do not deserve
a place
by his
side

henceforth all disingenuous invaders
with their Scantron responses,
their background questionnaires,
their black and white brains,

can go to hell.

i'll keep my beautiful self
and all this mess of blood, emotion, fear and love
broiling
for the mad man unafraid
of me

for my part

I've constructed my dream
and believed its illusion

I myself wove the skein and tangled myself within
so that you might see
something beautiful
instead of just me

and my cherished/ugly fears:
that which little white girls don't learn to show.

i know my part.
i'll admit the role i've played.

i loved you the more for rejecting it all.

trenches

to writhe in anger gives me no joy.

i'd rather we used real words,
to name the walls
which have so suddenly sprung from your feet;

1,000 clay warriors named Doubt and Fear and Excuse
Have clawed from you
so early
so mercilessly
such a waste.

thus, ever the pacifist,
i doubt your compassion.

mouth bleeds out; this time in anger

so, finally - some truth.
the awkward fit of pleasant inside my mouth
it never has suited me.

i have tried to wear the mantle of happy girlfriend girl
but he is too clever
and sensed it fit ill

his ever-constant pleasant
abruptly turned three-dimensional
yesterday morning

i'm sorry i've lied
and tried to be better than i am
i can't really blame him
for feeling so gypped

though i can now at least account for
his pre-conditioned timelines and templates
and otherwise anal-retentive need to neatly fit

no wonder; my blood is a sweet mess
that i've bottled too lightly

tragedy of the 8th week

whatisincomprehensibleISwhether he means
whathesaid as he said it; no returns:
a convenientlylackingselectionofwords
"Feelings have not developed"
andirealizediwas a failedtesttube

andinterallyi SPLITmy heart in two
onehalfformyself; the particanlovelovelove
and cannotblameblameblame
but feel onlysuchsad, suchloss, sosudden
mymouthfrozeinobedience
(force of habit)
as mysweetness FEEBLYjustifiedhisdoubts,
drank a glass of water,
andpatientlyallowedmydesolateembrace

insomnia

the wretched thud
awoke me,
and very next the thought
of unlucky, of alone

of wanting you here tonight
of wanting you here tonight

of wanting to amend, to hope, to hear
words with less sad meaning -

but can i do anything now,
before an inflexible fate

my brightest star
aloft in his cold sky

does not permit souls to make their mistakes

alcyone, briefly

good morning, hours
good morning to me
good mourning i've born
since the edge of the sea

aloft in the wind
the streaking white gull
circles and cries
for the capsized hull

within my beloved
within my heart
within were the seeds
now never to start

oh gods! that delight to burst
stones of the sea
grant me your mercy
and dissipate me