It's not that I'm selfish.
Really.
It's not like I'm trying to fall in love with you all over again.
It just so happens, that every time we talk, you're the same person.
Go figure.
You've still got that laugh.
You've still got all our history just sitting there in your voice.
All of my late night phone calls.
All our fights.
All my wishes for our future.
And it's not even my fault it went bad in the first place, you know?
YOU were the one that got...needy.
YOU were the one who suddenly placed me on this pedestal.
And I'm a strong, independent woman. That is shit I just won't take.
But even though I know what happened last time I went down this road,
And even though I know it ended badly,
And even though I know it would end the same way,
That don't stop me from wanting it back.
And wanting you back.
Because when I was with you, I was happy. And, sure, I went through my phases.
I had my bad days.
Everyone has bad days.
But you were always on my telephone that night.
And I guess I miss that.
You were always the rational one.
(it was to counteract my vibrant rashness)
So when I tell you, in a month like I will,
That I still love you, and I'll make things turn out different this time.
You tell me, 'No.'
Even though I know you want it, too.
Cause, the truth is...
You're the same man I fell in love with.
You haven't changed.
But the real important thing is:
Neither have I.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
dream about me and everything bad that I ever did.
don’t you dare remember how much you loved me.
never think for one moment that our relationship was good.
because if you do, then i have to, too.
and heaven forbid me to ever remember how beautiful you were.
how kind, patient and nearly perfect you were.
i never want to think again about all the things you taught me,
or about how you changed me for the better in too many ways to count.
i don’t want to ever hear our songs,
or see a candle flame and remember the first time you made love to me.
if i had it my way, i wouldn’t remember the dip in your hips,
the smooth skin on your belly, or the line of your jaw.
and i wouldn’t see those things in every man I fuck now.
i wouldn’t remember how much i love you,
if i could erase memories at will.
because then i wouldn’t hurt so much to see you gone.
don’t you dare remember how much you loved me.
never think for one moment that our relationship was good.
because if you do, then i have to, too.
and heaven forbid me to ever remember how beautiful you were.
how kind, patient and nearly perfect you were.
i never want to think again about all the things you taught me,
or about how you changed me for the better in too many ways to count.
i don’t want to ever hear our songs,
or see a candle flame and remember the first time you made love to me.
if i had it my way, i wouldn’t remember the dip in your hips,
the smooth skin on your belly, or the line of your jaw.
and i wouldn’t see those things in every man I fuck now.
i wouldn’t remember how much i love you,
if i could erase memories at will.
because then i wouldn’t hurt so much to see you gone.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
He'll fight with me, tease me, but smile at me and kiss me in the end.
He will live with me, but will, occasionally, go to bed mad.
He will never sleep on the couch.
He will cook me dinner when I get home, because, lets face it,
He does not want to eat my charred mush.
He will never understand some parts of my life.
I will frustrate, amaze, confuse, dazzle, stun, craze,
Drive-him-to-drink, light his passion, and emotionally punch him in the face.
He will race my 90-mile and hour mind and will, on occasion, win.
He will be so angry with me.
He will take me seriously, even when I run down the street
In a sundress with his favorite hat so he chases me
Like a child,
And even when I'm naked in our bed staring at him over the pillow.
He will be fucking me for my mind.
He will be dark haired, tall, smooth in the skin,
With the complexion of a model and the body of a Greek.
He will not look like what I imagine.
He will be jealous, but not possessive.
He is a Man, not a boy who likes to play pretend.
He will NEVER fuck me like I am a toy,
But it'll still be the best I have ever had.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will see me like a quilt,
Made of a zillion little pieces, not all of them pleasing,
But he will love that blanket.
It will cover him in the cold night,
It will comfort him when he misses home,
He will wrap it around his children to hide them
From the monsters under their bed before he tucks them in.
Just like my Daddy did for me.
He will pick and fray the edges of each patch,
Picking and picking and picking and picking,
Till all of my weaknesses are opened,
And I have come undone.
He will sit down, and take that quilt in his lap,
And he will sew me up.
He will sit there, and sit there, and sit there.
For as long as it takes to complete me again.
And ya'll know, I could do it myself.
But I like it more when he do it.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will get me flowers just cause he wanted to,
But he won't always buy them.
He will look at everything I write and call it 'art',
But he won't always call it good.
He will speak with conviction,
But he might not know what he's talking about.
He will take me out to fancy dinners,
And if he checks out the waitress, you can be damn certain,
I'm looking too, cause my man has good taste.
He has eyes that tell me everything I want to hear,
Even as his mouth calls me a bad name.
He will be hurt by my words.
Because he knows that opening himself to me is
The best gift he could ever give me.
He will say my name, all of it,
Because even if I hate it, he thinks it's beautiful.
And even if I hate me he still thinks I'm beautiful.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will, at 2 AM, continue to fight with me,
Cause we're still too angry to go to bed.
He will understand that I REBEL against a stress-free environment.
He will have the guts to tell me that I am doing it wrong.
He knows that nothing is important enough to stop a kiss.
He will always hate that a small part of me will resent trusting him.
He won't need photographs to remember our time together.
The chemistry between us would destroy this place!
He will be passionate,
He will admire me,
And he will respect me!
And it's like William Wharton said, man.
If you have all three, you don't need to die to go to heaven.
He will live with me, but will, occasionally, go to bed mad.
He will never sleep on the couch.
He will cook me dinner when I get home, because, lets face it,
He does not want to eat my charred mush.
He will never understand some parts of my life.
I will frustrate, amaze, confuse, dazzle, stun, craze,
Drive-him-to-drink, light his passion, and emotionally punch him in the face.
He will race my 90-mile and hour mind and will, on occasion, win.
He will be so angry with me.
He will take me seriously, even when I run down the street
In a sundress with his favorite hat so he chases me
Like a child,
And even when I'm naked in our bed staring at him over the pillow.
He will be fucking me for my mind.
He will be dark haired, tall, smooth in the skin,
With the complexion of a model and the body of a Greek.
He will not look like what I imagine.
He will be jealous, but not possessive.
He is a Man, not a boy who likes to play pretend.
He will NEVER fuck me like I am a toy,
But it'll still be the best I have ever had.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will see me like a quilt,
Made of a zillion little pieces, not all of them pleasing,
But he will love that blanket.
It will cover him in the cold night,
It will comfort him when he misses home,
He will wrap it around his children to hide them
From the monsters under their bed before he tucks them in.
Just like my Daddy did for me.
He will pick and fray the edges of each patch,
Picking and picking and picking and picking,
Till all of my weaknesses are opened,
And I have come undone.
He will sit down, and take that quilt in his lap,
And he will sew me up.
He will sit there, and sit there, and sit there.
For as long as it takes to complete me again.
And ya'll know, I could do it myself.
But I like it more when he do it.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will get me flowers just cause he wanted to,
But he won't always buy them.
He will look at everything I write and call it 'art',
But he won't always call it good.
He will speak with conviction,
But he might not know what he's talking about.
He will take me out to fancy dinners,
And if he checks out the waitress, you can be damn certain,
I'm looking too, cause my man has good taste.
He has eyes that tell me everything I want to hear,
Even as his mouth calls me a bad name.
He will be hurt by my words.
Because he knows that opening himself to me is
The best gift he could ever give me.
He will say my name, all of it,
Because even if I hate it, he thinks it's beautiful.
And even if I hate me he still thinks I'm beautiful.
The perfect boyfriend is not perfect.
He will, at 2 AM, continue to fight with me,
Cause we're still too angry to go to bed.
He will understand that I REBEL against a stress-free environment.
He will have the guts to tell me that I am doing it wrong.
He knows that nothing is important enough to stop a kiss.
He will always hate that a small part of me will resent trusting him.
He won't need photographs to remember our time together.
The chemistry between us would destroy this place!
He will be passionate,
He will admire me,
And he will respect me!
And it's like William Wharton said, man.
If you have all three, you don't need to die to go to heaven.
Monday, February 23, 2009
I am eternal. I don’t do very much. I mean, I’ve been doing it for...well, forever now. I’ve been doing it for forever. And I like it, it’s just...not much anymore. At least, not to me. The novelty’s worn off, I guess. People love me, people hate me. Everyone knows me. But I just do the same thing, every day, all over the world, and I change people’s lives. At this point, I don’t really care anymore. I do it now because I should, not because I enjoy it.
I’m more than what I do. Who isn’t more than their job? I’m not my job. I speak over one million languages. Well, I understand over one million languages. I only speak one. And I’m the only one who knows it. I love to watch people. Learn about them, who they are, what they do. I collect people that way. Once my job stopped being enjoyable, I looked for other entertainment. Eternity is a long time to be bored, you know.
I love your languages! You humans have the most interesting ways of speaking to each other. I can never make out this thing called ‘body language’ though. I know from watching. When she moves like this, you move like this, and when he does that, you say this…
But only from watching. I don’t understand you, not really. I guess that’s why I feel so alone all the time, watching you, never really knowing you or being able to interact with you. I try, sometimes, but you always get hurt. I always hurt the ones I love. Isn’t that the definition of humanity? So why can’t I be you?
I do take pride in one of my duties. I love being the one you look up to. You look up to me and pray. You wish to me, as though I had power to grant your heart’s desires. Oh, how I would love to! I would give my last breath to grant your wishes. I burn for you, and you alone! Longing! The most painful of your emotions, and yet, it’s the one I feel most often.
The only solace I get is what I do for you! And oh, how I wished you appreciated me! I am everything you need. Without me you would be powerless, dead. So why is it that you do not praise me, long for me like I long for you? Why do you not try to be me, understand me? You shy away from me when I try to touch you! You can’t even look at me! I look at you, from so many angles, all of my eyes, all of me, I stare at you, I watch your love, your hate!
You are beautiful, with your beautiful bodies. Your beautiful voices. If only I had tears, I would never stop shedding them. I would never stop shedding them for you. But I have no tears. None. I will never cry for you.
Oh, but I will burn!
I’m more than what I do. Who isn’t more than their job? I’m not my job. I speak over one million languages. Well, I understand over one million languages. I only speak one. And I’m the only one who knows it. I love to watch people. Learn about them, who they are, what they do. I collect people that way. Once my job stopped being enjoyable, I looked for other entertainment. Eternity is a long time to be bored, you know.
I love your languages! You humans have the most interesting ways of speaking to each other. I can never make out this thing called ‘body language’ though. I know from watching. When she moves like this, you move like this, and when he does that, you say this…
But only from watching. I don’t understand you, not really. I guess that’s why I feel so alone all the time, watching you, never really knowing you or being able to interact with you. I try, sometimes, but you always get hurt. I always hurt the ones I love. Isn’t that the definition of humanity? So why can’t I be you?
I do take pride in one of my duties. I love being the one you look up to. You look up to me and pray. You wish to me, as though I had power to grant your heart’s desires. Oh, how I would love to! I would give my last breath to grant your wishes. I burn for you, and you alone! Longing! The most painful of your emotions, and yet, it’s the one I feel most often.
The only solace I get is what I do for you! And oh, how I wished you appreciated me! I am everything you need. Without me you would be powerless, dead. So why is it that you do not praise me, long for me like I long for you? Why do you not try to be me, understand me? You shy away from me when I try to touch you! You can’t even look at me! I look at you, from so many angles, all of my eyes, all of me, I stare at you, I watch your love, your hate!
You are beautiful, with your beautiful bodies. Your beautiful voices. If only I had tears, I would never stop shedding them. I would never stop shedding them for you. But I have no tears. None. I will never cry for you.
Oh, but I will burn!
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