Friday, June 10, 2016

For You

I think a lot too. And one of the things I have learned about doing so, is that it does not always provide me with the best answers.

I didn't realize that you so genuinely believed that I would just leave you like that. I had no idea that you felt us to be so closely intertwined with the building. But that's not what this post is about, and it is certainly not what or who this post is for.

It's for you. The two of you, both of you, one of you, either of you, me, the darkness that dances in our souls, the demons which make us whole, the magic and connection which turns everything inside out and upside down.
I will inevitably switch between the two of you, but  you will see me as you invariably do and know that my words were meant for you.

You said things to me about darkness. About my darkness, about your darkness, about consuming my darkness.
And I realized something...This gift you have given me, to accept my darkness, to swallow my sins, to shelter my raging storm...News to me, as usual, that which is right in front of my eyes. What an amazing blessing it is to be able to hand someone my darkness that I may shine.

And it's crazy you know, that I can take her box of darkness for safekeeping, but not yours. Part of me feels a deep sadness that I cannot keep that for you, and some guilt that you have chosen to be the keeper of my demons and I want so desperately to cradle hers...
I get it now though, how precious and beautiful and painful to be the keeper of someone's darkness. Because I want hers.

I didn't want to be alone tonight. But it's okay. Because the pull has been so fucking strong. I feel you. Constantly. Both of you. And he feels you through me because that is what we are. It is sensory overload, a crowded yet lonely road, fucking ecstasy and fear.

I wish you could see you like I see you. Both of you. For you know not what you are, either of you. You are incapable of beholding your own beauty, which is, in an of itself, a beautiful thing.

Do you think that I or we cannot handle your crazy, your family, your own personal shit-show? You would be wrong. Do you think that I do not know when I need to be with my children, and when other shit comes first? I have made many sacrifices for them and will, no doubt, make many more. I am capable of knowing when and how I need to make those choices.

The truth is, I'm fucking terrified. And I try to sooth your demons, both of you, but I'm just me. And I need you to see each other with the same insight that you see me.
I am sorry that you are both my place, my saving fucking grace. I know that I'm a damn hurricane. And so are you. One a storm like mine, the other a shelter for all storms now and those which have come before.

Don't run from me. Run with me. Drown in the fucking sea. Take a chance in the fucking deep end for me. I'm worth it if I am as you say you see me.

Your understanding of me is limited by your perception of him. His perception of you is felt through me. It is not an easy place to be.
I think it scares you, this control which I have given to him, the control which gives him license to tell me which way to go. What you do not see is that his love of me becomes love of you. That he wouldn't ask of me to leave you if you give me that chance that was asked of you. That he wouldn't break your heart because it is intertwined with mine, that he contains my darkness so that I can hold yours.

I carried my boy to bed, thoughts of you both wandering through my head...

I am sorry my love, that after all these years I found an element like mine, one who turned me inside out and upside down, sorry that you feel through me all of those things she can barely see. You are more loyal than I deserve, more loyal than I have earned. You are a more beautiful human being than you give yourself credit for. I'll never forget that, never desert it, never dishonor it.

I am sorry my love that life is a shit-show. He is that which I have needed him to become, and you are that which I have come to need. If I am to you as you profess me to be, than I am worth a chance, worth that long slow dance. Many lifetimes before, come and gone, some perhaps together, other perhaps tragedy written in the stars, tragedy which makes for just one of many scars. But not this one. Oh my lovely, please not this one. Come see what it is to be warm. Make magic with me and trace lines through the stars. Show me all of your old and new scars. Take this fucking chance and be mine in this life and time.

Without you is not a good reality for me. Help me rise above El Mundo Malo, and exist in El Mundo Bueno. Help me exist where I was meant to be. And I'll do the same for you.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

I Want...

I know there are comments. And I love that some of you still take the time to leave me notes. Honestly, I'm on a good dose of sensory overload and I haven't read them all, but I will respond in some way. Eventually. I promise. Because I really do appreciate your words.

I want to know exactly how you like your coffee
the little things that piss you off
the moments that make you smile

I want to know what your favorite food is.
I want to know what your darkest fears are.
I want to feel
to see
to know
all of the things about you that you thought no one could ever fucking love
and love you anyways.

I want to know what wounded you and trace your scars 
I want to breathe with you
and float inside your mind
to follow the trails of your dreams through the rain
and watch the world go insane.

I want to know what your favorite smell is
what you think when you're not sleeping
the dreams you have of me
I want to know what your favorite tea is
to feel
to see
to know
all of the things about you that you thought no one could ever fucking love
and love you anyways.
I want to touch your soul
and know completely this feeling of being whole. 

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Venom or Flame...


Perhaps poison was not the right word. I'm more like venom. The cure, the solution, the saving grace in the right form and a small enough dose.
Localized spreading pain, palpitations, nausea when it comes directly from the source...Cardiotoxins, neurotoxins, cytotoxins, hemotoxins...All components in the bite of a venomous snake.

The sad thing is, I don't have that effect on people I don't care about.
It's only the ones who end up close enough to whisper to me.

Or maybe I'm like fire. The pull of the warmth and the light is strong, yet those who come too close to the flame get burnt. Or catch on fire...

I'm empty and he's been angry that I gave away part of me that was no longer mine to give.
He has questions that I cannot answer. Some simply because of my inability to be coherent, others because they are for her and I simply do not know the answers.

I pulled her in and pushed her away, not out because I simply couldn't, but away as hard as I could. And it feels like pouring alcohol in a wound, like taking something you loved and breaking it because it couldn't be yours, like dragging a knife across an open wound and watching yourself bleed out.
I feel guilty about pushing her away, guilty for how bad it feels, guilty for the ways I feel, guilty for the ways I have made him feel...
I have not spoken to her, and she has not spoken to him. I feel as if something beautiful was at my fingertips, and I couldn't tone down my flames enough not to set the whole fucking world on fire.

I don't understand either. Anything. Either of them. Or me.
I know nothing anymore. Except that her being in love with him wouldn't have had to be part of the arrangement. Simply to share me and enough of herself to make it work.

He said that we were beautiful together, like two pieces of the same person. He never asked for all of both of us, just enough to make a whole.

I was never able to find the words to tell her why feeling the same about him as she does for me was not what he asked for, or that he wasn't asking for her to be his like I am. Simply for her to be mine to storm with and him to be the shelter.
I was never able to find the words to ask her why she felt it had to be otherwise to work.

I am only good with the written word...It pours out to be preserved on pages before it burns itself out in my mind. When I open my mouth my meanings get all jumbled up, and by the time I realize they need to be untangled to be right, it's too late...

I look around me at all of the beautiful things I have created and broken, all of the things I set fire to by getting too close, the people I have bitten, I see the effects of the cardiotoxins spreading from my bite to those who matter most...
I'm all burnt up and all burnt out. There is a space between me and all that I love, but really, perhaps it's just the emptiness within me...Nothing solid left, just the ashes and remnants of burning too damn hot and biting too damn hard. People think that I am infinite, that when empty there can always be more because somehow that is who I am. But I'm all burnt up and all burnt out.

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Beautiful Mess

It's strange to come here. To let my heart bleed out onto the pages, knowing that they will likely both read it.

I've been blessed to feel magic in my life. To find two souls who turn me upside down and inside out.
I've been cursed to feel magic in my life. To find two souls who turn me upside down and inside out.

I have never felt so loved and so entirely alone at the same time.

When I walked back in the door, wearing the edges of my heartache, he was a million miles away.
When I walked back in the door, wearing the memories that weren't mine, I still felt them both in the dark, so close with a million miles between.
When I walked back in the door wearing her on my skin, in my hair, on my lips, in my soul, I was broken, she wasn't whole, and his eyes were so so cold.
He made me wash her off, and so I did, feeling the water running down my skin, my tears melting in the warm rain, feeling more than a little insane. Knowing that I could wash her scent of my skin, but not her dreams from my mind, not the pain from his eyes.

I'm a puzzle with missing pieces, inspiring heartache in my wake. A conglomeration of beautiful dreams always reaching for unseen things, a beautiful mess who is so much less than they see me to be.
I accidentally handed her pieces of my heart, and she gave me pictures from her soul.

I am that hurricane of a girl, the quiet raging storm, the calm and empty home, and I caught them both, breaking pieces of their whole, tearing a million tiny pieces in my soul.
I am that fucking hurricane, that little bit of insane, the memories of lives long since gone.
She was right when she said I stepped like I expected to feel dirt beneath my feet, like one steps in the woods so as not to disturb the quiet of the earth.
I am that hurricane, that empty home, the inspiration of heartache without place lost in broken grace.

When I walked back in the door, wearing her eyes in my mind, their memories outside of time, I realized I had broken three hearts, not just mine.
I washed her scent off, but I couldn't wash off the pieces of her heart that I wanted so badly to keep. Watching the water run down old scars on my arms, cuts I made long ago to drown out the pain, yes a little bit insane. The knives can cut it away. For a moment in time. For a moment in my mind. And I have long looked to him for the pain which keeps me sane.
When I walked back in the door, I knew he wanted to hurt me, and I wanted to ask knowing myself to be fragile as glass, watching the shatter in slow motion, like a gently raging ocean. But there was a cold anger in his eyes, one that precludes giving pain in avoidance of the cruelty I could feel he wanted to inflict upon me.

Three hearts in one go, that's a lot for one twisted little old soul.
Somehow I managed to make us each alone.
I knew it wasn't fair to him who has always stuck by my side, on this long long ride.
I knew it wasn't fair to her, the girl with magic in her eyes.

For all that they see of me, I don't know how they avoid seeing the reality
that I am merely a sweet  tasting poison
I am the wind in the trees, the water in the river, the grass beneath their feet
I am that quietly raging misery in my chest
a sweet tasting poison wanting to drown in two souls, never able to make each whole.

If that was the one thing I could make them both see, it would be that my beautiful mess is merely a sweet tasting poison.

And I am sorry.