Planes and Automobiles

Walls.  Watching from the outside and waiting.  So much of life moving and going.  So many stories passing along, finite lines of infinite possibilities.  Still, I'm just small and here.  Missing.  Hoping.  Loving.  Waiting for part of my heart to return.

Broken Pieces

“All your wounds from craving love

Exist because of heroic deeds.” - Hāfez

I lay out

Pieces strewn askew,

Jagged edges

Of life.

A certain skill,

Shattering:

All has come undone.

Old become new.

The art

Of picking up

Those pieces 

On the ground -

Healing.

All is re-aligned

Along these

Jagged edges of life.

Do not cry

Burning tears,

Begging me

To forgive -

In so wishing

These pieces 

Might be

Washed clean.

Forgiveness,

Not Forgetfulness,

Is the stuff

Life is made of.

Struggle

I walk.

Climb.

Battle.

Up a steady incline.

Breathless from the beauty.

Wordless.

But for questions.

Vibrance.

Majestic.

I watch as the birds soar.

Up an ever-growing spiral of wind.

I wait.

Pause.

Beauty.

iWrite

I have so many questions.
There are still things that have not settled,
As I come in contact with the every day.
I greet the sunrise and moonlight alike -
Wondering what revelation a new day will mean.
I jump at opportunities to help, to work...
I do not wish to grow stagnant
Nor arrogant.
Those who have erred much should know -
We have no place to judge,
And we never did.
Our own illusions of how 'good' we are,
How much others should only wish
To do as we have done -
That mirror is shattered.
We must look upon ourselves and what we have done.
Knowing full well, we were never so collected.
Never so clean.
So I see, I tried to make everyone believe that
I was 'good enough',
But none of us are.

Boots

I've got my walking shoes on.
When the air shifts,
The crisp, full breath of fall
Descends on this place -
My feet itch for change.
Unknowns swirl around my shoes.
Opportunity echoes around
Corners out of sight.
And my hand is still out-stretched,
Waiting for yours.

Crumbling Walls

I wonder
How long it took
For my walls to fall.
When it took my whole life to build?

Somehow,
Only you,
You can get it.
You break down the insecurity.

Now I know
I am supposed to
Pretend like I can be ok.
Be ok without you.

I love you.

Thoughts.

"Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive." - Hafiz

Holiday

I always 

Stay close to the shallows.

Adventure is something

Much less lived

Much more dreamed.

Somehow

Though, it seems

Strange - the jump,

The plunge,

For once I took a chance.

Everyone wants

What's safe.

And everyone has

Their advice,

But they've never jumped.

What 

Answer or words

Will hold up,

Against these

Troubling times?

Loneliness

"Don't

Surrender

Your loneliness so quickly.

Let it cut more

Deep.

Let it ferment and season you

As few human

Or even divine ingredients can."

-Hafiz

<being>

Reflections on solitude: I don't know how to be still.

I mean, sure I can sit and watch an entire Netflix season and not move much; but the whole idea of inner quiet? I fucking suck at this. That's why I'm here.

Long, honest conversations. Beautiful surroundings. For all of the unpleasantness of coming out to people, I have met more beauty and kindness than I ever imagined possible.

I have experienced more reproach, shame, and repression from my own mind than from any of these my friends. Grateful.

If I could change myself, I would.

Why? Because who wants to go through all of this when you could just be "normal".

I want my deepest sentiments of love towards one person to not be called "perverse", "disgusting", and "appalling".

I long for a mutually loving and caring relationship where each person puts the other before themselves in a constant battle to overcome selfishness and self-centered desires. You need a person to help you get past yourself. Whether that's romantic or not.

I want people to understand that I didn't choose this...that it's not an expression of rebellion.

I also want people to know, I deeply love her. I cannot pretend, for all the world, that I have always done what is right. But I love her. 

Clarity

"If our love is insanity then why are you my clarity?" -Zedd

Changing of Seasons

It is funny.

One day on the calendar - but the change from August to September,

Always brings with it the realization that summer's end has come.

Though, technically, the weather will not change much

For our proximity to the sun doesn't pay attention to

The recesses and beginning of academic calendars.

Still, Autumn is on its way.

How can we go through this change of seasons apart?

I don't know.

I do know - Autumn, to me, means apple orchards.

It means picking apples while eating them,

The only time in any activity when I forgo my OCD

And don't care that I get messy and sticky.

I climb trees,

Run from bees,

Even throw an apple or two at someone...

It means the smell of a wood fire 

At the Autumn harvest festivals.

I want to take you apple-picking.

Studious?

She would roll her eyes.
Me geeking out, pouring over an argument in Semetic semantics -
(She'd count the syllables and pat me on the head)
- and asking questions about time, relevance, and sexuality.
"I know what I've been taught, but I was also taught to believe that homosexuals were somehow deviants - they knew what they were doing wrong."
We react in fear to what we do not understand.
I'm afraid because, despite how confident I sound when I am angry and swearing,
I don't even know what to do with my own sexuality.
(So I'm blogging about it instead? Classy)
I am told that God doesn't make mistakes,
That He doesn't mess up, and that no matter how much someone wants me to think otherwise -
He accepts me and loves me.
I know that the "sin of Sodom" isn't what I was raised to believe.
(Check out Ezekiel 16, if you know what I am talking about)
I have so many questions.
Mostly, I wish I could witness her smile as she rolled her eyes at me...

Quiet

The silence where your humming used to be, going from room-to-room.

The warm, safe scent you carry with you.

A smile that cheers hearts and stops mine.

I miss how you used to sing.

Do you sing anymore?

"Love is patient, Love is kind."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhqH-r7Xj0E

Things

Missing people and places seems to be a common thread throughout life. I never miss myself though - who I was. Why is that? Who I am cannot fathom going backwards internally. For all the wishes to rewind and redo something, to go back...yet I always want to go back with my present self. 

 I want to know so much. I wake up with fresh questions that I write down in letters. Not knowing is the hardest part.

 Is this forever? The next 48 days a prelude of what life will be? I don't know. I don't have the answers. 

 Only, right now, I wish Aloysious and I, and someone else could curl up and nap the rainy day away. No answers. Just being.

Always

No matter what.

Cycles

Recognizing patterns,
Between what is said and what is done.
Venturing far to one end before a swift retreat -
Back to something, you're not quite sure of.
Maybe it all is a sickness?

We never break out,
From this cycle of growth.
We only learn to progress faster
Through each stage -
Learn to keep on moving.

Every time I love you is said,
And every hypothetical whim,
My armor quivers beneath myself.
Still I know I must not be moved.
How can I stand and not be moved?

Whether shooting from the hip,
Or shooting with our lips -
Your aim is always perfect.
My heart is always hit.
And still I wouldn't have it any other way.

What stage am I at?
How long will it last?
It's different than at first,
And different from the last.
Recognizing patterns.

Open-eyed Dream

Soft summer rain, a chorus of promise

Humming a low anthem of change.

Tombstones draw shadows across the morning horizon -

The phantom of your shadow dances before my eyes.

Is it a dream? Holding you here.

Every breath, your scent and your warmth - no memory can suffice.

You, my moon - gone with the morning.

To await longer weeks ahead -

I hold on to you here and love you.

720 hours

Returning to a place with memories.

1 month. 30 days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes.

All spent "doing what's best".

And I don't even know -

What does that mean?

Even alone, this place is still beautiful.

Time has changed it and me.

We're not who we were,

But here we are.

Because I Spend My Solitude With You

This whole not talking business -- it's a fucking mess.
I spend more time fighting myself to not call, not text.
Even when I don't, it doesn't feel like a victory.
What is your fucking problem?, I wonder.
I should just stop bitching and take it, yeah?
The truth is: I want to fight for her.
Is it possible that the best I can do is stay silent?
Do you really love her? asks some voice from inside.
I do.
So I fight myself -- and I don't call her.

With What to Believe

I turn this around my finger, turning thoughts and hopes aside.
Looking past the finish - hoping for any reflection but mine.

They say it was all sickness, some addict's antics in shadows and alleys.
I was your numbing agent, the fire to light your blood.

If they're right... then what is my memory but tracks in your heart?
Some scar ill-thought out, and easily regretted.

I clutch the unbroken ring 'round my neck.
Where you once used to hold on to me.
With what to believe, the doubts whisper.
Was I no more than cocaine's blaze,
No more than an escape for your heart?
You, my beautiful angel -
But I some dark escape?

Sand scraping my ankles as I trace our names on the changing shoreline.
My hand grips your ring, and my heart longs for your healing.

Will I ever get to see, if your love for me was true?
Will there ever be a day - outside this detox,
Where our eyes can meet?
The ring reflects my eyes,
Unbroken, and unwritten.

Where life and death meet

Walking amidst well-worn earth,

Past stone and stone

Etched deep in memories now forgotten.

There is a peace in this forgetfulness.

While hearts were torn, and twisted

Like those bodies that were felled -

The earth springs up with new life

Without regard of how one felt.

Here - the battle raged on.

And there a war was begun.

"And, how many more must fall down,

Until your battles can be won?"

No, here the war has lulled,

And weary men do sleep.

Here where the blood of young boys

Ran as rivers cut too deep.

Yes, here my restless heart finds solace and reprieve.

Here amongst the gravestones 

Whose hearts also cease to beat.

"Memory," the wind's echo -

"She can come as she please.

She'll write her own accounts on your hearts as you sleep."

Who will write the truth,

Right the errors that she leaves?

Who will remember the way,

When all have gone asleep?

Withdrawals

Curled tight like an invisible cocoon.

Holding heaving ribs - 

I can't tell if it's because my heart

Continually heals only to crumble apart again or if there is something legitimately wrong.

Shared life.

That was what it was.

Everything and anything,

Nothing was too much or unimportant.

I reach for the phone countless times a day just to tell you stories and hear yours.

I wonder, Does Aloycious still love sunshine?

Wondering.

This is the hardest. 

Not knowing.

When my heart aches most -

People have asked if I'm angry.

If I have some grievance to share...

All that I can say, balled-up in my cocoon

All of my answers and thoughts...

Absence is your greatest betrayal.

A Farewell to a Place and the Open Road

It seems just yesterday that it all began here in this room. 

In me grew the seed of independence and hope -

That a future was something possible.

I looked in those eyes, the deep color spoke truths to me you never could.

I know those weren't lies.

The only lies were words and promises.

Still, for all that is royally fucked, 

We were both begun here.

Whatever we may say in days to come -

Our story was shaped here.

You've gone.

Where, I never bothered to find.

I told you I wouldn't.

I never left these walls which still echo the stories.

You were gone so fast to leave heart and mind behind, not realizing both will catch you wherever you go.

I wanted the same, but memory is not escape-able.

So I made peace with these walls.

Only now, I tell them, I too must go.

I won't come back here.

Where I first learned to make a home.

I won't return 

To the place where we first kissed.

I choose to leave,

Though I know I grew up in this very house.

A road and worlds call.

You will not hold me here or anywhere,

So I tell these floors, it's time that I go.

As I look last, I still see us.

Because memory is not out-run.

Torrents

Today, it just feels like a storm on the inside.
And I am a spectator wondering where it will land.

Everything That's Left

12:49 AM: My hand cannot fathom not having yours to hold.

I try to translate my feeble understanding of what's happened to the rest of myself - breaking the news, I guess. One more group to come out to. Maybe it's that I still cannot understand - but my hands and arms certainly do not and they continue to feel restless, hoping.

11:54 AM: I know what I said. I know lying is wrong. I know I would say anything to help her move on. I know my heart judges me with each beat - and I can only answer it: I lied and it must be so.

1:00 AM: you're not coming back. And still, I sleep as though you were. Memory is a cruel bedfellow.

Where and who we are

I remember Sunday mornings -
The first stream of unbroken sunlight, mingled with the sounds of nearby traffic. (I remember some mornings with ducks and frogs replacing automobiles...)
The smell of fresh coffee.
Startling realization that I was not alone.
Really, being startled was more like being pleasantly surprised (and, surprise only last for picoseconds before giving way to a deep sigh of contentment).
Nothing seemed "special".
And EVERYTHING was special.
Morning eyes, morning breath, the fact that a word beyond 1 syllable is unpronounceable until either a shower or coffee (or both).
I learned the value of a moment.
Seconds can linger - and I know I have a degree to disprove this - but sometimes, time really did slow down.
And yet, to make up for this, it sped up - what seemed like a moment's conversation became hours.
Days spent.

In my darker moments, when asked "How are you doing?",
I am tempted to answer: "I remember everything."
But, of course, that would not mean anything to anyone else.
"How are you doing?"
---------------------------------------
I wonder how long people will ask.
And when they have forgotten, and I still remember,
What will I say?
When time and space comes.
I don't know.

Maybe, I'll say:

Look, a lot has happened -
And I don't have all the answers.
Under the circumstances,
Really, I guess I am doing ok.
Even my best attempts to be angry seem to be foiled at every turn.
Nothing is easy.

I can't pretend this didn't happen - and I can't live here either.

Living is harder.
One moment seems easy, the next - impossible.
Very little is routine.
Except, maybe, tears and laughter (because we need both).

You can't live your life pretending you didn't make mistakes.
One way or another, there is a time to get back up and learn.
Under no circumstances am I going to stay down.

Maybe I'll say that. Maybe you should read whatever you want into it.
Maybe, I'll say: "I'm fine".
But right now, I think I'll just say: "I remember."

Does any light look in to my hollow eyes without,
Some ocean of affection to salve the throbbing from this doubt?

Does light exist just for shadows, for a home to house despair...
Do we learn to say "I love you" just to easily ensnare?

Do we ever stop to wonder, as we butcher through our love,
How much can one heart take before the beating is enough?

The Brighter Side of Empty

Waking up was never so hard,
When there was someone to wake up to.
Routines were always comforting
Until they only raise memories toward
The mind's eye like empty hands gripping
Heaving sides.

Don't ask me when I knew.
I could never ask
We could never play that part.
But if you're wond'ring,
Yes I am and I always will.

I'll always smile,
At the way you fill a room.
You never tried, no you never do.
Still can't erase this silly smile
Off my face -
Loving my love for you.

But we'll keep moving, moving on.
I'll keep looking over others' shoulders
Hoping it'll be your eyes I'm meeting.
One day, when we've aged
And time takes off the edge of the sting -
You'll see that same smile.