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Pleasure is a tricky thing to go around, and I find myself
looking at my face in the mirror and wondering if that's
what they remember or was it something else? I don't live
with a lot of regrets upon my life, that's not how I intend to
go about things, but pleasure trips me around the ankles,
every single time. It's more than the word, it's the fact that
you are so close to someone you forget yourself, in a sense.
Or at least, I do. It's hard for me to come back from that
moment, wiping your forehead, looking down/up at them
and wonder how in the hell did you ever land yourself here?
How did it go from an innocent four am hot chocolate and
old men staring at your basketball shorts to you invading me?
Your prissy tone of voice when you come back into the room,
complaining of the blood. What am I supposed to say when
I so desperately long to poison you with rubbing alcohol
because you had to address my mishap.
Regret is hard to work its way around. It makes you want
to scream, letting go of every memory that your cells attached
to it. It's easy to lose yourself when you spend an hour and
a half discussing why this game isn't fair, you're thin and
wonderful and I'm just laying here waiting for you to take me
home, and wondering when is this ever going to end, it's not just
you, it's everyone that came before you.
How did the game even start? Why couldn't I be satisfied
with the Good Will couch? Whatever whatever whatever.
You asked me if I wanted you to go down on me and I said
no, it's all for you, it's all for you. Why in the hell did I ever say
that? I'm not an all-star at this, I shouldn't have let you take
me in that way.
It was as if I left my number on the dresser and that was that.
Seeing you dribble your basketball and flirt with your future
girlfriend made me turn cold, I hate the fact that the verdict is in
within itself, and I have no fucking say. Your smile was hesitant
as if you wished I had never climbed ontop of what never should
have been there in the first place.
It wasn't anyone's fault.
I think about a lot of things before I go to sleep at night, or
in my case, early morning. And I think about how I really want
to not be alone anymore. Maybe it is because I am always alone
in Saginaw, or I am genuinely sick of being single, either or it's a
toss-up. I day-dream a lot, weigh out my options and figure out
what I want, this is how I plan my wants and needs.
Earlier tonight, I called Billy, and we talked about where he was
going to be moving to and I thought about it, and I am genuinely
excited to see him, I want to hang out with him. He's known me
since I was a sophomore in high school, and he's an all right
guy. I thought about this summer, what it would be like if we hung
out regularly. Me getting ready for work, putting on my makeup in
the mirror and him looking at me strange.
I think too much.
I sometimes agree with the notion that I fuck up a lot,
and say things too prematurely. For this, I want to improve
upon.
I am genuinely interested, I do not mean to come off insane.
That's not my intentions. What he's done so far has made me
grin, giggle, and smile, and that's good for me. A field full of
sunflowers that blocks the rest of my comments on my myspace
is all right by me. Keep it up, boy. ♥
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I wish I learned how to swim earlier, because I would have never
been tied around the ankles as I was before. I look through the glass
and I see your face, and you're masked.
I don't care anymore. I am not the storm you have lull you to sleep.
There are a lot of different phrases I could write down and send
your way, nudging them eagerly across the table, hoping their
edges would connect with your hand, but I feel that is not needed.
I already screamed it to everyone else, the echoes will all you will
have. Moving pictures glide from my eyes to the windshield, and
as the time passes from tree to tree I see the reflection of your
kiss slide from me. You may be sad, a lonely bitter little fucked up
child, but I forgave you a long time ago.
You make me real all over again. You are the dreams I never
realized, the love I never thought possible. The dandelion puff
I blew into a field and wished inside myself for. I stretch my hand
out underneath my pillow, satiny in the thought that you can feel
me wanting you, needing you, the sense of someone touching my
fingertips before I fall asleep.
We are different, honey and syrup, orphans from different societies
where we never knew we existed in the first place. You are the
warm spot beneath my ribs that pulsates when it is cold, a
heart beat all on its own with its delegated thoughts and purposes.
You are never far and always gone from me, and I long to brush your
hair and tell you you will never become lost again but it is not my
right. I hold your name in my hands as if it were a butterfly wing,
pressing it between saran wrap and hanging it on the post of my bed.
We are each other's histories, the ones we lost and the ones we
never had, the mysteries in everything we questioned. Without
one another we would not have discovered the wildness that is
inside of our eyes, they were too civilized to see it. They never
could at all.
You are the conversations I've never had, the pages marked in
novels, the expectations no one has succeeded.
I was so vain before.
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Merry Christmas. ♥
And peace to all. ♥
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but sometimes you get what you -need-
♥ Mick Jagger
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