Submerge
I guess I could write about the time we took straight shots of vodka out of an old Gatorade bottle and rode our bikes in a pack on a dark night to the Gallivan Center and I did my best to look past my broken heart and feel free and laughed that “This is strange but I like you” laugh at Sabrina’s attempt to inflate my front bike tire with air but it squirted water at our faces instead and I had to wipe my glasses off on my polka dot camisole and she leaned into me and called me a hottie and took everyone that she passed at the concert into her arms and men loved her so much they spilled beer at her feet and I felt completely satisfied with the knowledge of what thrilling little worlds open up to you when you learn how to say yes instead of make another stupid excuse to go sit up in your room like an overlooked Rapunzle. I’ve been living too quietly and selfishly, maybe defensively. Or the late night Monica and I shared a purple snow cone and I put her on the skateboard and we kept finding our way back to each others skin. Or the time at the gay man club when a man with another one latched snuggly around his side grabbed my wrist as I walked in and told me I was so beautiful and I smiled so true and said “So are you!” and he cocked his head and laughed with that attitude, “Only when I’m drunk” and I wondered if he knew how good that felt and then I dueled Jenn in a game of pool while I felt weak hearted and wished I could flip through the script of life a little to the juicy scenes. It's the good worth remembering even if it does make me sound vain in a journal.
I guess I could write about lessons that I’ve forgotten for far too long displaying themselves in vivid hues of red and grey and platinum blonde before my eyes that cried quietly for a moment when I tripped on the stairs and skinned my knees in front of my apartment on a bad day when the people moving in next door smirked at me and widened their eyes at each other and I thought they were jerks for not asking me if I was okay and I felt like the reincarnation of the ashamed ugly kid I was in middle school. Or I could write of mine and Ana’s after work apartment hunting that is proving rather humorous as we run out of every place we look into laughing. Quite the duo, the two of us. We certainly turn heads when we are together. My CEO/Attorney offered to write a letter to get me the fuck out of my current lease agreement, but I settled for a last minute lie to the landlord via phone. I look back fondly on the days words were enough, flipping through diction recipes to concoct something tasty to satisfy her cravings. But now I’d live and die for a touch alone. A presence alone. Words intrude and exploit sanctity sometimes. Words impede me, but I mean it in a different way than I used to. Sometimes when I tell people how I feel about them it gives me the same feeling that I imagine I’d get proposing marriage.
I guess I could say something about last night and the two dollar Tuesdays (beer) at Porcupine that I out drank Cody at and how, even before I started drinking, my heart was giving all she got which was a whole lot and it was so happy and full, I mean better than it, and then we went to the Zen center around midnight to meditate but I couldn’t, because I don’t know how and I was too tired and the thick chirping of crickets kept throwing me off of inner self. Have I ever mentioned how tremendous my love for him is?
I guess I could write about the inexplicable hankering I suddenly feel to convert to Catholicism. All this empty space in front of me to fill up with something pertinent but I found a time when the little things shrink to a void, null when death visits down the road and I just sit here and go to her name like a grown kid to a baby blanket. She was so pretty, why did she have to die? I heard her voice behind Oz’s cell phone the same phone he called me with 3x the other night while it laid in my mom’s car miles away from me unattended and how low I felt for not being there for him when he needed me on a frantic four o’clock AM hour. If only I knew. I wrote her expressing condolence for her friend Lindsay that died in a motorcycle accident last year never imagining she would be the one to follow suit. I debated the treatment of farm animals with her before she was a vegetarian and when I was too dedicated for my own good. She died Vegan, incidentally. I think I said she was sort of pretentious once, but everything is in its righteous expression if you lack the initiative to look beyond yourself and conjugate it for someone else..
It really...feels like some sort of local 9/11. This seismic eruption of emotion and lesson and exquisite pain and regret and hope and ending and beginning and I’m mostly just taking a seat at the sidelines hoping to get through to my friends because they loved her and I love them.
Why was I thinking it should have been me.
[Rest in peace.]
I can give
Somehow I'm still chug chug chugging
I'm afraid I love too many people that don't know about it
I don't declare it the way it should be because I'm afraid they don't feel the same.
Why should I care. Why should it make any difference. Why should it deter me from showing what I got, from breaking and entering life and staying and never allowing anyone to get away. It is defeating to realize sometimes I don’t have a say. That I can’t force someone to return my love or to feel mine consummately.
I don't hear it enough. I realize how in debt I am.
I'm learning.
This wasn't meant to be my conclusion.
I guess I could write about lessons that I’ve forgotten for far too long displaying themselves in vivid hues of red and grey and platinum blonde before my eyes that cried quietly for a moment when I tripped on the stairs and skinned my knees in front of my apartment on a bad day when the people moving in next door smirked at me and widened their eyes at each other and I thought they were jerks for not asking me if I was okay and I felt like the reincarnation of the ashamed ugly kid I was in middle school. Or I could write of mine and Ana’s after work apartment hunting that is proving rather humorous as we run out of every place we look into laughing. Quite the duo, the two of us. We certainly turn heads when we are together. My CEO/Attorney offered to write a letter to get me the fuck out of my current lease agreement, but I settled for a last minute lie to the landlord via phone. I look back fondly on the days words were enough, flipping through diction recipes to concoct something tasty to satisfy her cravings. But now I’d live and die for a touch alone. A presence alone. Words intrude and exploit sanctity sometimes. Words impede me, but I mean it in a different way than I used to. Sometimes when I tell people how I feel about them it gives me the same feeling that I imagine I’d get proposing marriage.
I guess I could say something about last night and the two dollar Tuesdays (beer) at Porcupine that I out drank Cody at and how, even before I started drinking, my heart was giving all she got which was a whole lot and it was so happy and full, I mean better than it, and then we went to the Zen center around midnight to meditate but I couldn’t, because I don’t know how and I was too tired and the thick chirping of crickets kept throwing me off of inner self. Have I ever mentioned how tremendous my love for him is?
I guess I could write about the inexplicable hankering I suddenly feel to convert to Catholicism. All this empty space in front of me to fill up with something pertinent but I found a time when the little things shrink to a void, null when death visits down the road and I just sit here and go to her name like a grown kid to a baby blanket. She was so pretty, why did she have to die? I heard her voice behind Oz’s cell phone the same phone he called me with 3x the other night while it laid in my mom’s car miles away from me unattended and how low I felt for not being there for him when he needed me on a frantic four o’clock AM hour. If only I knew. I wrote her expressing condolence for her friend Lindsay that died in a motorcycle accident last year never imagining she would be the one to follow suit. I debated the treatment of farm animals with her before she was a vegetarian and when I was too dedicated for my own good. She died Vegan, incidentally. I think I said she was sort of pretentious once, but everything is in its righteous expression if you lack the initiative to look beyond yourself and conjugate it for someone else..
It really...feels like some sort of local 9/11. This seismic eruption of emotion and lesson and exquisite pain and regret and hope and ending and beginning and I’m mostly just taking a seat at the sidelines hoping to get through to my friends because they loved her and I love them.
Why was I thinking it should have been me.
[Rest in peace.]
I can give
Somehow I'm still chug chug chugging
I'm afraid I love too many people that don't know about it
I don't declare it the way it should be because I'm afraid they don't feel the same.
Why should I care. Why should it make any difference. Why should it deter me from showing what I got, from breaking and entering life and staying and never allowing anyone to get away. It is defeating to realize sometimes I don’t have a say. That I can’t force someone to return my love or to feel mine consummately.
I don't hear it enough. I realize how in debt I am.
I'm learning.
This wasn't meant to be my conclusion.