Tag: ipod

mother II

I understand now
why you always talk to me
about having your children
and then – practically in the
same breath – deny having
any romantic interest in me
whatsoever. you want me
to mother your children
better than your own mother
did with you. you think
that only this can repair
the yawning abyss
she left in your heart
with her toxic
mothering. and if you
were to express any
romantic feelings towards me
it would be too close
to incest because
you conflate me
with her.

Continue reading mother II

pity vs. love

you tried so hard
to play upon my pity
tonight, but it didn’t
work. I think I
may have finally learned
the difference between empathy,
hyper-responsibility, and love.
I felt an echo of sadness ring
inside me like a distant bell
at the thought of your
loneliness, but it no longer
has the power
to make me believe that I
need to be the one
who has to step up
to save you from yourself.

Continue reading pity vs. love

the worst

yes, that movie was just
the absolute
worst! except for the parts
when it was the best.

if I could edit out
the bad parts,
the parts that made me cry
and rage and storm,
I’d buy tickets
again and again.
I’d buy the DVD.
(it was better than CATS, better
than E.T.!)
if I didn’t remember
the good parts, I’d think
I was crazy for not walking out
of the theater
within the first
five minutes.

what do you do
with a trainwreck
like that?

to my problematic friend, whose name may be Andrew

I had to unblock you
because of the project I am doing,
which I could have excluded you from
but did not feel it would be ethical
to do so. I see you now
in cyberspace; you are no longer
shunned. but I don’t want to
Like your posts
in the group we are both in
because Liking leads to tagging
which leads to PM’ing
which leads to fighting
which leads to blocking and ignoring
in real life. we’ve been
through this cycle
too many times before.

Continue reading to my problematic friend, whose name may be Andrew

demons

for two years
he lived in my heart, I thought of him
constantly, he took
over my mind and could
have had me
many times over, if he
wanted to. and yet
we fought all the time,
for every positive
interaction there must have been
at least three negative
ones. (and no, I’m not
counting the times
where I thought he
was being distant
and it turned out it
had nothing to do
with me. I asked, you see,
and found out what was really
going on.) no, I’m talking
actual, deliberate cruelty
inflicted from one to the other,
often both. he was usually
full blackout drunk
and didn’t always remember
later
what he had said and done.
I, on the other hand,
remember every bitter detail, much
to the detriment
of my mental health.

I cast him out
of my heart
like the demon he was
three times. in magic,
doing something three times
means something, shows you
mean it, makes it stick.
I can only hope
that this time,
the third time
is the charm.

little Lost Boys

why do I find you
so very attractive? is it because
I wish someone would notice
how very lost I am
and try to rescue me?
or is it because I hope that in
helping you – not fixing you,
not changing you to meet
some ideal you in my mind, I hope
(though often I see your potential
going so sadly unrealized) but by being
there for you, supporting you,
loving you – I can make myself
useful, needed, and valuable?
because I don’t believe that I
have value in and of myself –
always always always times infinity
not good enough –
so it’s help or die?
or maybe because
your childlike enthusiasm
makes me long to
join your games long enough
to forget my own sorrows?

Wendy eventually
grew up. she even married
a Lost Boy. but she loved Peter
and he refused to grow up,
so he came back many years later
and her daughter became
his new mother figure.
maybe every girl needs her
lost boy phase. but lost boys
don’t hold you tight, they’re too busy
having adventures and asking
for bedtime stories.

I don’t know what the answer is.
I wish I did. and it’s not like I want
to grow up either. just somewhere
in between childhood and adult,
some teenage Never Never Land where
no one talks about boring things like mortgages or politics,
but they still get to kiss sometimes.
does it exist? how about if I clap
my hands and wish real hard?

enough.

I’d do kick-boxing, but
there aren’t enough punching
bags in the world
to absorb my rage
when I think of him.

I’d do primal scream
therapy, but
there aren’t enough decibels
in the world to yell
my feelings loud enough
to make them go away.

I’d do hypnosis, but there’s
not enough trance
in the world to make
me feel calm after
the way he treated me,
along with every other girl
he’s ever met.

I’d straight-up punch
him in the face,
if I weren’t
such a pacifist.
he’s lucky
I have yet to learn
Krav Maga. one day
I might know how
to actually
hurt him – without
disabling or permanent
injury of course – I’m not
a monster.

still. whatever
I did,
it would not be
enough.