after all the aching and the tears, all the lonliness,
the empty nights and the near misses,
the moments of sweet possibility and the hot flares of passion,
why is it that nothing is better and nothing is worse than hope?
the fictions we see about romance found
especially on a long night of insomnia
just make it all worse
to realize that you have to be awake in less than two hours
to go to a job you cant stand, where you dread every time they ask you to do the thing you are paid to do because all you ant to do is what is in your heart
and you want to be sure, absofuckinglutely sure that you are doing things for the right reasons
not for a quick fuck, or a kiss, or a moment of sweetness
but for that something deep inside that fulfills beyond all other possibilities?
and still i doubt what i want.
god damn it i see so much unhappiness
i say the stupidest things
i stay true to my soul an sense of honor but everything
every fucking thing seems to peel away of its own accord
or else i tear it away like an old sunburn
and i am left with the red raw humiliation of knowing that i still cant seem to hit the mark.
i have come so close on a handful of occasions
i know i have passed up on people with whom i could have had a very nice life
happiness, laughter, company, children, warmth, passion, stimulating conversation through the night, lust, lightness, travel, old age, and touching moments
a list of names that make me weep for the chances i pissed away or ignorantly tossed aside or downright dashed to bits or unthinkingly hurt beyond all recompense.
in so many instances i have thought there must be more than this
and in every instance i thought he deficit was in the other person
or somewhere in the atlantic between out new world and our old
and lately, oh so very lately i have come to the horrid realization that the lack is in me.
there is something missing in the deepest recesses of my heart that will not let me get close to anyone. it is a fear, borne of some deep lesson i learned that everyone, no matter who they are or how close they are or how much you love them or they love you... will fail you.
parents leave, or judge, or get divorced, or set double standards, friends laugh at you, trick you, steal the one you have a crush on, steal your things, break your things, tell lies, tell the truth when you want it secret, girlfriends toss you aside for boys with cars, or people with something you dont have, lovers grow disinterested, look elsewhere, sometimes nicely and want to stay friends, and other times they heartlessly eat breakfast with your replacement as you carry your stuff out of the apartment. people give you back your diamond ring, people send you back the cd you gave them, people tell everyone they can about the way you were a joke or make up stories to explain why it was the best idea to get away from you. the list is endless. a list of endless cruelties.
and the realization that we perpetrate as often as we receive
and start to retaliate, a preemptive strike of presidential proportions
punctuated by pointed alliteration and plosive poetics
shows that we are all "hoist with our own petard."
but it hit me early
and now i know
i can see it
i learned a lesson of abandonment somewhere in the dark recesses of my childhood
that it was me
i was what didnt work
and, no matter how many times they told me that it wasnt me, i know it was
no matter how many times i have seen taht it wasnt working for them
i sill believe it was me
i am imperfect, and i cauused the pain and i was the reason they
on the eve of my fortieth birthday, forty years of trying to find that missing piece
looking in the eyes of every person i see
in the car i just passed, that pedestrian, that face on the screen
all the while knowing that it was a fool's quest
because the problem is inside.
every fuck up has been a confirmation, every line flub or math error,
every failed audition or unwritten letter,
every love i have failed to make work
they were all my fault.
and that is my deep fear.
what i am trying to overcome
why i am working so hard to dig myself out of that hole
pay off my debts, and free my burdens
have nothing owed to anyone or any company
and have freedom at last to stand in front of the mirror
and see my own face
and have that dialogue about what the next step is.
and i know what his two choices are
either step forward or step out.
and i dont want the second, but one cant live without truly facing one's own mortality
and the darkness that dwell inside
that frightened beast that would rather disappear than take the chance of getting hurt again.
because hurt is a choice
and then internalize.
i should be sleeping
instead i am sitting at my keyboard
crying silently looking around my apartment
perpetually "in process"
which represents my life, my mind, my soul
soon i will reach a point where the questions ar as simple as
yes or no?