silent.dance

I hate this.
This back-and-forth,
two-stepping,
silent,
music-less
dance.
The simple
refusal
to mark time
as we ought,
to step
together
and make our
own music. 

I hate this.
This pressure,
building and
crushing and
cracking.
My inability
to discover
"what's wrong",
much less express it.

I hate this.
  I just want to breathe,
        and believe,
           and be.
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Growing Pains

If only.
If only they knew
and could see
and had felt
it.

The growing pains.

A tumultuous
and irrepressible
growth
accompanied by
exact and
excruciating
pains.

We had
tried.
Tried in every
which-way
and that-way
and slant-way,
even.

Tried to make
wonderful,
ourselves.

Having poked
and prodded
and plucked
and painted
and faked.

A thousand smiles
for a lifetime.
Faked.

We did try,
those times.
To make wonderful,
ourselves.

But they did
not feel the
growing pains
rising in the
abdomen like
molten rock,
threatening to
burst the
lies.

They did not
see the cracks
and fissures of
each false face
threatening to
break and
expose.
They did not
know.
They did not
understand,
that is.

How to learn,
how to cave,
how to heal.

They could not
break away
from their old
habits and
silly pretenses.

The pains
did not sway
them;
they could not
become themselves.

They had not
known that,
to make wonderful,
they must first
have
wonder.

Mon cher.

Please don't go.
I could not bear it,
to see you leave.

My heart, you tear it.

Please don't go.
I'd shout, I'd cry.
"Fine, go on!"

My words, my lie.

Please don't go.
I could not live,
and have you gone.

My world, I give.

Please don't go.
I could not be,
not a day alone.

My hurt, you see.

Please don't go.
I'd try to say,
"Je t'aime, mon cher."

My plea, "please stay".

Sharp.

I want you.

I want you
To understand,
To feel,
To wish
And hope
And dream.

I want to
Encase you
With care,
Protecting,
Separating.
Keeping you
All
Closed
Off.

No hurt, no hurt, no hurt.

I want you.

I want you
To get it.
To know,
To see,
To comprehend
And give in
And learn.
I want to
Make you
Listen.

Hear the music
In life
I love and
Feel as I do,
Connecting.
Creating.
Creeping into
Your
Skin
Everywhere.

I am, I am, I am.

I want you.

I want you
To succeed,
To prosper,
To love
And move on
And love again.

I want to
Hold you
Close,
Keeping out
The sharps.

The cutting,
Crystal clear
Atmosphere.

Go on, go on, go on.

I want you.

I want you
In the worst
Ways
And in the
Best.

I could keep
You forever
And kill
You
Each day.

I want to
Tell you
About love,
Pretending I
Know
Anything
At
All.

Hold back, hold back, hold back.

I want you.

I want you
To live.

You can do it.

One step, one step, one step.

Just the Jester

This is me,
apologizing.

Saying sorry
for whatever it
is I have done
to you,
whatever small
things I've forgotten
or the attempts
that have failed.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry our
friendship
couldn't last,
I'm sorry for
everything
I've done to
ruin
it, and
I'm sorry for
all the things
I couldn't do
and all the things
I could.

I'm sorry
for flitting
in and out of
your life,
all the coming
and going,
never staying
still,
never learning.

I'm sorry.

Someday,
I pray,
that you'll
see me from
afar, or think
of me due to
some offhanded
comment, or 
experiencing some
nostalgia,
and I pray
you'll remember
our friendship
and the times
we had and
think

              She once was my very best friend.
              How different my life is because of her.

And you'll 
keep thinking,
and thinking,
and I pray you
decide it
wasn't so 
bad,
me changing your life.

I want to keep
everything flowing
from me in such

stupid honesty,

but the kindness
and apologies
stop there.

I can't say
I miss you,
I can't say
that I'm so
mournful of
your leaving,
of you moving
on and
replacing 
me.

Because I'm not.

I'm not sorry for that.

I'm not sorry
for your silent
judgments of me
that I'm sure
you thought
were well-hidden.

I'm not sorry
for watching you
turn from God
Himself, and
letting me crumble.

                      I'm not sorry

I say.

You'd never been there for me,
and all I did was listen.

The world fell, piece by piece,
around me, and all you saw 
was your selfish reflection.

I'm not sorry. 

You never could
see me.

You just saw
a jester and
a clown.

Never a person.
Never the feelings.
Never me.

Just. The. Jester.

Just A Moment

I need another
moment.

More time
in that beat-up
car,
blasting 
30 Seconds to Mars'
"Kings and Queens"
with you.

One moment,
screaming at the
height of our
lungs,
following the words,
feeling the music.

Shout-screaming
all the lyrics out
the windows in
the cool, cool
night,
hoping for the
flashing of
crimson and 
blue.

Bright blue.

Daring them
to take us
down.

I need another
moment.

More time
in that old,
tan Grand Prix,
frozen in the
worn leather
seats,
embracing
"Kings and Queens
of fortune",
being "the victims
of ourselves".

One moment,
cruising with all
the windows
down, with the 
dusty skylight
open, 
feeling the coolness
of the night
seeping into our
favorite pairs
of jeans,
stopping the tears
on our cheeks
in their places.

I need a 
moment.

One more
time.

I need another
moment,
all of us,
in that car
together again,
separately feeling
the barren hope
of being.

Five of us,
crammed into
that little
compact car,
experiencing
the magic of
music,
flowing through
us all as we
felt so alone,
being all
pressed against
each other,
our jeans
and cut-off shorts
threading together
as our bones
rubbed and pojed
through our skins.

I need one
more moment,
just one.

All of us,
in that car
together,
being.

Existing.

Just that.

Just.

That’s Love.

I loved you

From the third

Day we met.

I’d say the first,

But society says

There’s something

Wrong with loving

Someone just because

They wore a Star Wars

t-shirt the day they

met you.

 

So it was the

Third day

For me.

 

Your tiny smiles

And witty humor

Got me right away.

You didn’t worry

About hurting my

Feelings by poking

Fun at me, even

Though we didn’t know

Each other.

 

That’s love.

 

It was in the glint

Of your eyes,

The teeny

Mischievous

Part you don’t

Always show,

That got me.

I knew we’d have

Adventures.

 

And you liked

The stuff that

I liked, the movies

And music

And being silly

For no real

Reason at all.

 

That’s love.

 

You dressed so

Strangely, so

Much like

A kid who

Just didn’t

Care what others

Thought, that

Stick-it-to-the-man

Mindset.

It threw me

For a loop,

Not knowing

What you’d

Really be like.

It made you

Interesting–

Dangerous,

Almost.

 

That’s love.

 

So we explored

And dove and

Spelunked

And did all

That crazy stuff

Everyone said

We’d never do.

We did it.

 

And we fought

And we yelled

But we never hit

And that’s alright

Because everyone

Has to get angry

Sometimes.

 

But we were okay.

Just okay.

For a long, long

Time.

And then it stopped.

The okay part.

 

All of a sudden,

There was a lot

Of sadness

And a lot of

Hurt

And I didn’t know

Where to put it

But in so that’s

Where it stayed

And the okay

Parts stopped.

Inside and out.

 

That’s love, too.

 

From that third

Day, to the 25th,

To the second month

To our 15th date,

I loved you.

For all the reasons

I said and for

Hundreds more.

 

But I had to

Let you go.

I had to go

On and you

Had to stay.

 

And that’s love.

 

Knowing when

To say goodbye.