Archive for September, 2012

nine.

I think this is what it was supposed to have felt like when I was sixteen – all tongue-tied and tip-toeing around words, trying not to push too far while testing the boundaries. Little faeries fluttering around in my stomach throwing pixie dust every which way and making all of my insides tingle. I never know what to say even though I want to say it all. I feel like if I let one word slip everything will come spilling out and I can’t afford what that would cost, because I feel like it would cost me you. 

Why is everyone so afraid to love me? Or why am I so afraid to let them?

The pumpkins have come out to play. The wind is blowing colder. Everything about right now is buzzing buzzing buzzing and it feels right, God it feels like everything could go right this time, but I can’t let my hope run ahead of me. I must stay rooted to the ground… but sometimes I just want to fly. I’ve never given that a try. I’ve never just sprinted ahead with reckless abandon without thinking everything out carefully and without doubting every single positive possibility and I’ve never just let myself go. 

I’m feeling better in my skin, though. I feel like I’m becoming acquainted with myself for the first time and I think I like this person. Life is so much easier when you don’t hold anything back… when you just put everything you are out there and don’t apologize for any of it. Honesty is the root of attraction. People respond to truth. I wonder if I have the guts to be honest with you?

“If only, If only,” the wood pecker sighs.

 

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eight.

I need a body to cling to.
A pair of ears to sing to.
Some hands to hold my heart, it’s heavy.
Some eyes to trust when I grow wary. 
A voice to tell me what I’m made of.
Arms to block what I’m afraid of.
I need someone to give my Sunday mornings to.

I can’t wait to meet the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.

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venting.

Some people at work were talking about how homosexuality (or as they put it, “choosing to be gay”) is like slapping God in the face and I had to be the crazy radical that said I believe in every kind of love and I just don’t understand how people can use God as an excuse to spread hate. I just don’t. Love doesn’t have a gender or a race or a religion, it just is. It exists between two people, two energies that compliment and feed off of one another.

I remember my old government professor explaining that she believed sexuality was on a spectrum, and each individual fell somewhere differently; some being more attracted to females, some being more attracted to males, some being equally attracted to both. One’s gender, however, didn’t effect where they fell on the spectrum. I thought it made total sense, and it’s a belief that I’ve adopted as my own.

I also believe that someone that is straight can fall in love with someone of the same gender. It happens all the time. Some people are born being attracted to people of the same gender and for some, it has nothing to do with gender at all – it’s just that one individual. Then they’re faced with these questions like, “Well are you or aren’t you?” and it’s like, love is not fucking black and white. Love is a constant gray area. No one can explain why they fall in love with who they fall in love with, it just happens. It happens for gay people the same way it happens for straight people.

And then you have those that think homosexuality is some sort of dramatic defiance, like they chose to have a life in which people are constantly sneering and side-eyeing them and telling them their love doesn’t matter and that they should be ashamed of who they are. It’s just so upsetting. I’m not gay or bi, but I’d like to think that if I were, the people in my life would be supportive and embrace me.

I’m so proud to be a part of a generation that is (for the most part) taking such a step forward in preaching acceptance. We are young and strong and we are the future. If we would all just take this opportunity to teach love and acceptance to our children, to show them that people are different and that it’s okay, to encourage them to try to see things from another’s perspective and to not be blinded by what society tries say is right and wrong, to be open-minded and compassionate towards other human beings regardless of their lifestyle or background… we could conquer this thing. This intolerance. This hatred. This negative energy that is being targeted at people that are just trying to figure out what the fuck they’re doing, just like everyone else. No one should have to hide who they are or feel ashamed of who they are or live in a world where they are beaten down because they are just trying to be true to themselves. Hate and intolerance are rooted in ones own insecurities. Maybe we should try being honest with ourselves before we start attacking others for already knowing the truth.

I’m not trying to sound self-righteous or smug. I don’t come from a very religious background, though I have done my fair share of studying. I know that there aren’t any easy answers to these issues, but I wish there were. Should anyone come across this, just know that my intentions here are pure, I’m speaking from a place of deep-rooted passion and emotion. I know what it’s like to not accept yourself because others don’t accept you, and I know what it’s like to hurt and feel lost and alone and uncomfortable in your own skin. I’ve seen it and I’ve lived it and I wouldn’t wish those feelings on anyone else. Everyone matters. Gay, straight, black, white, Christian, Jew, disabled, deaf, dumb, and blind – every single individual matters, and the idea that this is not a universally accepted notion just baffles and devastates me.

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seven.

I don’t want you.

You are a necessity. 

 

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six.

When do you stop needing someone? When exactly does that wall go up, when is that tether broken? Who decides the point that people enter and leave your life? It sure as hell hasn’t been me and I’m pretty pissed off about it. I’m staring at the doorway and everyone’s walking out but no one’s walking in. There aren’t very many people left. This party blows.

A friend of mine went to sleep four June’s ago and never woke up. I still see him every day, though. Then I feel guilty because I’m here and he’s not and what’s the point in that? I’m stealing someone’s spot. It’s like musical chairs – we’re all fast-footed and agile and fighting each other for a place to sit and there isn’t even a consolation prize, but it doesn’t matter. We’d trip our friends in a heartbeat. Sometimes I think this air would be of better use in someone else’s lungs.

Yesterday I watched this show on the afterlife and how atoms are reused over time and how an atom in your lip could have been an atom in Cleopatra’s hip bone and it made me wonder who I’m made of. Hopefully at least one of them was cool. 

I really think you need to get it together, little one. You’re much too young to have come undone. Stitch up your holes, show off your battle wounds. Scars don’t mean you were hurt, they mean you survived. Wear them proudly.

I’d kill for a familiar face, tonight. 

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five.

Cigarettes and October moons.
Rest stops and I’ll see you soon‘s.
I never know what to say to you.

I love everything that I shouldn’t and usually too much.

 

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four.

Cold rain reminds me of you.

Really, it reminds me of us. It reminds me of all the memories I made up in my head. Memories of days spent in bed, cozy and comfortable and never speaking, just being and breathing and knowing. Knowing that this is it, this is everything. All that matters is in this room and in this bed and streaming through the windows is a light that’s clear and foggy at the same time and makes the entire day feel like early morning, and morning is our favorite time of day. I imagine it would be, anyway.

Then there’s you, all eyelashes and skin. Softly slipping in and out of consciousness, smiling lazily when your eyes flutter open and meet mine for just a moment. Then I move closer closer closer until we’re tangled but it isn’t close enough and you laugh (like you always do) when I squirm because your prickly face is tickling my neck. 

We’d tell stories, half dressed and drinking tea, never rushing because we know we don’t have to. The minutes suddenly don’t hurt so bad and instead of counting them down I’m adding them up. I’m changed and you’re to blame.

Love boils down to specific moments. I think I could give you those moments if you let me try. 

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