Saturday, August 31, 2013

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...

Thursday, August 29, 2013

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?

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

"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.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

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.

Friday, August 23, 2013

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.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

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.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

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.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

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.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

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?


Monday, August 12, 2013

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.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

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.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

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.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

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."