Friday, September 25, 2009

you're not a freak

I want a baby. I was reiterating this all day. Later I realized this particular feeling was a link to my desire to birth a new creation of myself. I have been at such a loss this year, wandering aimlessly with my heart exposed like some wounded sparrow. I am abuzz with the idea of traveling again staying in New York this long has been unhealthy especially with no goal or destination. I love this city, the way it breathes, eats, swallows but occasionally I found myself contemplating its suicide inside of me. The memories that swarm all over me everywhere my feet walked, my legs scratched, my hands touched. I suppose once you feel love you can’t help but keep its memory alive. I expect life will change dramatically and for the better in 2010. I need some stability that does not drive me mad. I’ve decided without much thought just a simple twist of fate that I will dedicate myself full time to a volunteer program that pays (not a lot but enough) to work with Arab families in New York city. Maybe this will fulfill all those hearty desires I have for love. I know there is some synchronicity in it coming to this but I cannot model forever, and be happy. I wish it were possible but I feel my love for it wanes. It has a way of reawakening and this destined trip to a little down the east coast may win my heart over again but I cannot depend on its awakening. These things happen or they don’t. I only know I need more to satisfy my heart and soul.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

one last night

The beach behind her is one I’m familiar with, and my heart skips a thousand beats. My own engine begins to rev, my bones breaking open. I’m suddenly sobbing in front of this computer screen where her smile is so wide and bright that I’m not sure what I long for more the beach or her. I thought I was over this, but I suppose I reopened the wound myself. It probably is that she seems so unaffected by our departure from one another’s lives that brings this rush of stabbing pain in my heart. I want so desperately to be over it, to forget this longing I feel for her. That distinct pining that waves between me like the ocean she just left behind. Those moments of happiness were just dreams, weren’t they? My body in bright wool colors pressed against her, shoving her along a wall with my lips at the forefront - leaning over to kiss her before we parted. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. What a fool I feel like for falling for this woman who will never desire me as I have desired her. The pain she has caused has already been so deep, and yet I can’t seem to entirely cut the cord. I am addicted to the moments of awareness, even our last encounter brought strange feelings of loss for each of us. I haven’t cried over her many times, maybe because I understood early on this would hurt me and so I kept myself together tightly by yarn and needles. I crawl back into bed, with my knees to my chest and sob some more for what I’ve lost, for what never was and for never being able to share my feelings for her - with her. One day I may consider the idea of writing it all down for her eyes to see, but only when I know I am strong enough that any response would not drive a stealthy stake into my already broken heart.

It would be better if I thought that she did not care for me at all, that I never crossed her mind. It is worse when you know for sure that you do encounter this persons mind even as a memory at some point even if briefly. Oddly enough on a day where I would stumble across my undead feelings for her she would text message me then try to engage in a conversation, even if we were both short and stand offish in our responses it was something that shook me. If only she understood all the pain she had caused me. Jae. Jae. Jae. I used to say her name with an edge of beauty, temptation now whenever I utter it - it feels so brittle against my tongue, my lips pouring out with a shade of ugliness.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

beating like a hammer

I bury my heart in the ground, not forever and only romantically. It simply does not suit me in that sense anymore. I’ve decided I can be romantic in other areas of my life, with my work and writing especially but with lovers it just doesn’t sit right. Everything I wrote in the past few days were about a lover I’d recently taken who despite both our obvious efforts not to get serious quickly ended up in several abrupt sexual encounters – that emerged as more as time wore on. I even met her children oddly enough, and found myself in her sons bedroom talking about cars, and having a blanket strewn over me. She already knew how easily I attach to children but subjected me to this involvement anyway. Her desire for me distorted her responsibilities and my desire to be wanted reflected my mistakes.

I still lust for Jae a little even though our last encounter was brief, and she saw me with this new lover. Her eyes stung with a distinct misery. I wasn’t sure though, as I kept looking at her through the crowd wondering, and waiting for something magical even mysterious to happen. In my heart I know I wanted her to declare some undying love for me. It has been said I carry my emotions in my eyes, and I shouldn’t have been surprised that my lover tugged at me saying “you two had a thing.” I suppose this wouldn’t have been obvious were my heart not still pining for something surprising to happen. I hope she thinks of me in that far away place, if only because it is where I have always felt at home. I imagine her dusting sand off her legs at night, the shimmer of the moon caressing her tan brown skin. The sound of the waves dancing in her ears, while she thinks. She is always thinking, and for a moment I cannot help but hope that she is not so cruel as to not think of me. I haven’t let myself think of this too much but tonight the thoughts come in and out if only because I have disconnected from the lover in my life who will most likely reconnect. They can never stay away for too long, even if she is stuck on finding something wrong with me.

My hearts still feels quite fragile and I am working on breathing new life into it but working through the extremity of this summer will take time for all these women began to mingle as one in my memory. It is as if I have loved them all, over and over again. I weaved a wicked web for myself, and unweaving its decline is the hardest thing of all. There are so many things I wish to forget such as my ex exclaiming that I am a cold hearted bitch. She is crazy though and I never did in fact love her, even though she desperately wanted me to. I cannot believe I had to swat her away at a party, nearly punching her in the face. The number three is a charm isn’t it? That must mean my dating misery is over. I cannot wait to runaway to California and I’m not afraid to call it running away, sometimes your heart needs to escape everything you know in order to build a new heart to sustain you for a little while – till you let that heart open again.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

it's always the same

The full moon is wide and awake, and like an animal I feel as if I should howl at it. Admire its coming but wish away its madness. I always feel like a bubbling up balloon when the moon is wrung with that fiery glow in the evenings. I am already feeling restless, but this seems to be a common theme with me lately. The bright stretch of sky doesn’t ignite its usual existence of pleasure on my soul. I do actually feel an ugly sickening desire for this moons warped gaze. I am stepping on gravel with four inch heels, my hands wavering against my sides. The evening is cool, crisp with the demise of summer and the start of fall. No I want to scream do not take those brief humid skin bleeding days away from me just yet. Led Zeppelin plays on my ipod and my hips sway to Robert Plant’s voice and Jimmy Page’s guitar. She is sitting on a stool at the bar and I am late. I already recognize her stance, the way she bows her head while playing with her phone but I suppose this is not so uncommon when I am sleeping with someone – their motions become almost like a second nature to my own. Our bodies have come together in moments of desire but tonight I know I will not sleep with her.

I’m so consciously aware of how and when her feelings for me change over dinner that I draw in a quick breath as if I am drowning. My words get stung in the back of my throat, hard to come up in between my lips and finish the story of my lost love. I trickle down the years of Christi and I like reciting some descriptive poem. I even later break into short words of a poem I once wrote after we’d been separated for months but she came back to claim me as her own. I can tell my date is fascinated by this, by how strong willed my love is when it is alive and well. Unfortunately not everyone loves like me. I’ve learned this in all the hard old fashioned ways by having my heart ripped, and gutted for my loved ones to see. It is not my lovers fault in some ways as they never quite had the capacity in them to love as much as I can even though in the end I always feel as if I have just been had, or fooled. I can roll into the story of Christi and I so easily that I only later realize the candle at the dinner table has gone out when before I found my hand roaming near its heated blaze. I was intrigued by its ambiance.

She grips my hand in hers, her caramel skin contrasting with my snow white skin. I can’t tell if our hands fit as I am even more unwilling to give anything about me away right now – in this moment. It is only because I can see in her eyes that she desires me more than she had even an hour ago. Women especially crave the reckoning of love (even if it later drives them mad), and this one is so jaded and cynical about it that in some way I almost feel she has fallen under my spell when that switch goes off in her brain. She has never been loved as I love this is obvious by the descriptive emotions on her face. It is not that I was trying to reel her in – in fact the evening before I was trying to spin her out. I am turned off that she cheated in her last relationship, and it does not seem uncommon that these women exist but I could never betray someone I loved in such a demonic way. I would rather scrape my own heart out and feed it to the dogs. I say this in less words so that she knows I cannot condone such behavior even if she can. It seems silly to me what made her fall out of love with her ex because as an adult I still feel that love should be coveted when it appears in ones life.

Later while fastened to her hip, her big brown eyes fluttering to look at me she asks me ‘will you hurt me?’ and I catch my breath again. Who is this before me? She appears the same stoic, rational woman I first engaged with on that wild evening of longing for me (for my other lost love) but she is different inside. I almost want to explode, swing myself away from her and never look back but I’m fascinated by this change in her. It is just this about me that keeps me there, other peoples emotions have always cast an alarming interest to me, perhaps because I feel so different from everyone else. I’m obnoxious and cruel because I know I cannot love her even if this isn’t what she is questioning. I know that my love and affection take more time than others. As my best friend and I say we are not serial lovers. I do not give my heart away without a grand fight to keep it stored inside my chest. Yes I am a romantic fool but only when it comes to that, when it comes to a hammer slowly breaking down those most glorious walls I have built so high. She does not know me, and least of all understand me. I am not even sure she wants to. There is a part of me that wants to protect her even though she is years, and years older than me she strikes me as a vulnerable bird caught in a nest that is slowly unraveling.