Thoughts after D
The world sits out there, away from these two sets of eyes and an array of nerve endings.
I have a question to ask these things out there that, assaulting my senses.
Why do you do that?
Why do you ignore me when I love you so much?
Why do I cry, while you remain blank and silent?
There is a distance-from-the-sun between you and I?
Why is there a mouse?
Why is there the wind?
Why are so many bodies floating, like so much amnaeotic fluid?
Why, when I felt ok, do I suddenly feel completely alone?
There are some that tell me how it is.
They stick to their story, beyond reason, and I believe them, trust them.
There are some who love, but only the best they know how, which isn't much.
There are some who sing and everyone knows their guts.
There are some who smile and stand at attention with their family while I love, and can never know them.
There are some who have large young eyes staring at them, and they know those eyes better than anyone ever will.
There are yet also some who only ask "whose fault was it?" when their daughter could have died.
I don't understand these people.
"Your daughter was in shock and still she was not able to call you. She was afraid of you, what you would say or do. You should have been the the first person she should have called. She should have been able to cry in your arms because she was frightened. You made her unable to cry. You made her unable to know how to love well. I hate you for that. She can forgive you, she has to, I don't."
I only leave messages with these sorts of people.
I cry about the sorts that have to live with it.
I cry for myself for loving the people I cry about.
There are those that believe their daughter is puerto-rican, when their daughter is black.
they are not on my dial to call anymore.
There are those who I have betrayed.
I stab myself in all my red guts over it,
which can change nothing.
But then I laugh, because it is all, that outside world, that I live in, all its idiocy, all its grace, all its eating and being eaten, thats what I was put in to.
I have a question to ask these things out there that, assaulting my senses.
Why do you do that?
Why do you ignore me when I love you so much?
Why do I cry, while you remain blank and silent?
There is a distance-from-the-sun between you and I?
Why is there a mouse?
Why is there the wind?
Why are so many bodies floating, like so much amnaeotic fluid?
Why, when I felt ok, do I suddenly feel completely alone?
There are some that tell me how it is.
They stick to their story, beyond reason, and I believe them, trust them.
There are some who love, but only the best they know how, which isn't much.
There are some who sing and everyone knows their guts.
There are some who smile and stand at attention with their family while I love, and can never know them.
There are some who have large young eyes staring at them, and they know those eyes better than anyone ever will.
There are yet also some who only ask "whose fault was it?" when their daughter could have died.
I don't understand these people.
"Your daughter was in shock and still she was not able to call you. She was afraid of you, what you would say or do. You should have been the the first person she should have called. She should have been able to cry in your arms because she was frightened. You made her unable to cry. You made her unable to know how to love well. I hate you for that. She can forgive you, she has to, I don't."
I only leave messages with these sorts of people.
I cry about the sorts that have to live with it.
I cry for myself for loving the people I cry about.
There are those that believe their daughter is puerto-rican, when their daughter is black.
they are not on my dial to call anymore.
There are those who I have betrayed.
I stab myself in all my red guts over it,
which can change nothing.
But then I laugh, because it is all, that outside world, that I live in, all its idiocy, all its grace, all its eating and being eaten, thats what I was put in to.