Monday, April 30, 2012
sorry, tumblr has stolen my heart, but here's something to tide you over
I like you but you probably don't like me. At least that's my insecure notion. I think I fall for every cute girl that laughs at my jokes and it's a hazard. Not to you, but to me. It's hazardous to my health because thoughts of you and me consume my mind and I wonder if that's what consumes your mind. At least that's what I hope.
I want to consume you. I want you to feel what I feel, but not because I want you to be in love with me. I long for someone to share my pain.
To feel this fleshly desire as I do and to suffer.
Perhaps, we could suffer together and learn to share this burden equally.
We could be equally yoked,
Sowing along rocky paths,
praying that good fruit will grow.
Monday, March 5, 2012
strength
strength is the courage...
the courage to try,
again and again,
over and over,
day after day,
regardless.
and by the time you get to turn around
and look back,
all that weakness you were scared of?
those were just bumps in the road.
Friday, March 2, 2012
dear gentlemen,
say, fellas. remember this post? i now direct this to you.
[[[Monday, April 4, 2011
dear wesleigh,
please post some photos. i know that your tumblr, other blogspot, facebook, flickr, and livejournal are still courting you and you just can't say no to them. it must be nice to have these suitors fawning at you and desiring for you to post up any picture, music clip, or blog post that is currently running around in your brain, but i must say that it's time to stop stringing along these poor social networks and settle down.
i know it's hard because you're a natural bachelor at heart and at the same time you want to share all of your love with all of these sites, but it's not fair. to you or to them. you must choose to cut some of them out of your life even though they may bother you with emails saying that they've missed you or that you haven't used them in a while. you must be strong and resist.
i hope that this post find you in good health and that you are ready for commitment.
Posted by the difference at 11:30 AM 0 comments ]]]
[[[Monday, April 4, 2011
dear wesleigh,
please post some photos. i know that your tumblr, other blogspot, facebook, flickr, and livejournal are still courting you and you just can't say no to them. it must be nice to have these suitors fawning at you and desiring for you to post up any picture, music clip, or blog post that is currently running around in your brain, but i must say that it's time to stop stringing along these poor social networks and settle down.
i know it's hard because you're a natural bachelor at heart and at the same time you want to share all of your love with all of these sites, but it's not fair. to you or to them. you must choose to cut some of them out of your life even though they may bother you with emails saying that they've missed you or that you haven't used them in a while. you must be strong and resist.
i hope that this post find you in good health and that you are ready for commitment.
Posted by the difference at 11:30 AM 0 comments ]]]
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
"dear you"
dear christopher or christina,
i've always loved names with Christ in them. it's funny because i was never very religious, which you could've guessed by now, but the way the word "Christ" looked on a page was beautiful, i thought. i still do. it has an archaic feel to it; i always imagine it in faded script, the name of the Son of God who died for our sins. i guess i'm more religious now than i ever was or at least more aware of my sins.
the window in front of me is streaked with drops of rain and has been for the past three days. perhaps, that's why i'm writing now. because of the rain and how it reminds me of you.
"you." if i knew who you'd turn out to be or knew you were actually a "you" when i conceived you in my womb, then i imagine "you'd" be sitting on the empty blue, fabric couch in the living room, watching television drowning out the pitter, patter of rain drizzling the windows with your sitcoms, reality shows, or baseball games. or perhaps you'd be practicing an instrument. guitar. i like guys who play guitar. i also like girls who are musical. girls are better suited for the piano. my mother thought so too, or maybe she conditioned me to believe it by forcing me to take lessons. i can still remember being bent over the mahogany piano that my mother had bought brand new, stretching my little fingers as far as i could to hit the right notes at the right time to produce something mellifluous. but my best practices echoed through the air with cacophonous intensity into my mother's disappointed ears. i wouldn't have wanted that for you.
but who knows. you could've been talented. you could've been good at everything i was bad at. i didn't understand my mother's incessant nagging that i take up another instrument after i gave up on the piano. i was only nine years old, but mother panicked, afraid the window for discovering my talents was rapidly closing.
i tried my hand at stringed instruments: the violin, cello, even the harp. but i wasn't fit for music, so my mother imagined that i was harboring some secret artistic ability in my hands. so she hired an art tutor, a poor art school student, who would guide my left hand with hers to draw a fat elephant with cylindrical legs and feet, big, flappy ears, and a snake-like trunk. she hoped that by guiding my hands along, i'd learn to draw like her. her hands were like training wheels waiting to be taken off when i learned to balance the pencil by myself, drawing the same smooth curves, and shading in the dark and light lines of the elephant to show depth. i never did. i liked how easy it was to just let her guide my pencil and effortlessly produce such pretty drawings.
i never did find my talent. but i found your father when i was 15, who last i heard was working as a mechanic back in our hometown. he was a handsome boy with light brown hair and green eyes, a high bridged nose and thin lips that he liked to constantly keep moist with his tongue. i called him by his middle name, Chris, even though everyone else called him by his first, Pete. that was special to me. he made me feel like the talent i didn't have. our relationship felt so natural. when he swept my hair back and told me he loved me, i wanted to give him everything. and i thought that it would be enough.
i thought that it would be enough that one, wet afternoon, he climbed up and through my window drenched in the summer downpour. as he looked at me with piercing, green eyes he told me that he wanted all of me and that he would make me feel special. because i was. peeling off his soaked shirt, i gave him my all.
his last words to me were, "i'll see you around." and he left, climbing out the same window that he had crept in through. the next few weeks were a blur of tears and confusion as i wondered where he had gone, why he hadn't bothered to talk to me since that rainy day. then the nausea came. and the vomiting. i had to look for him when i suspected that there was life inside of me. i even harbored a secret hope that this would yoke me and your father together. when i told him i was pregnant with you, he denied that you were his. he denied me and told me to stay away because he didn't know me. i should've known then. i should've known that you weren't just a mistake. maybe you weren't his, but you were mine.
but i was blind.
i didn't see you as anything, just a violation of me, not a part of me, so i let you go. i let you go before you took one breath and i let you go before i could know you.
i'm sorry.
even if i've said it a thousand times, it wouldn't be enough, but i need you to know that i am truly and completely sorry.
i'm sorry that you couldn't hear your name called by your own mother, that you never uttered any words, that you never fully came to be.
forgive me, please. i know i don't deserve it, but i need your forgiveness. i need you.
this apartment is empty without you. my closets overflow with pairs of designer shoes, my kitchen with pots and pans that i don't even use, my bedroom where i sleep alone. i wonder where all this time has gone and i wonder if the greatest punishment is having never gotten to have you or no longer having the opportunity to grow a life inside me. it seems that the window has closed.
i like to think that my greatest talent was yet to be discovered in your birth, in being a mother.
Christopher. Christina.
Love,
Mom
i've always loved names with Christ in them. it's funny because i was never very religious, which you could've guessed by now, but the way the word "Christ" looked on a page was beautiful, i thought. i still do. it has an archaic feel to it; i always imagine it in faded script, the name of the Son of God who died for our sins. i guess i'm more religious now than i ever was or at least more aware of my sins.
the window in front of me is streaked with drops of rain and has been for the past three days. perhaps, that's why i'm writing now. because of the rain and how it reminds me of you.
"you." if i knew who you'd turn out to be or knew you were actually a "you" when i conceived you in my womb, then i imagine "you'd" be sitting on the empty blue, fabric couch in the living room, watching television drowning out the pitter, patter of rain drizzling the windows with your sitcoms, reality shows, or baseball games. or perhaps you'd be practicing an instrument. guitar. i like guys who play guitar. i also like girls who are musical. girls are better suited for the piano. my mother thought so too, or maybe she conditioned me to believe it by forcing me to take lessons. i can still remember being bent over the mahogany piano that my mother had bought brand new, stretching my little fingers as far as i could to hit the right notes at the right time to produce something mellifluous. but my best practices echoed through the air with cacophonous intensity into my mother's disappointed ears. i wouldn't have wanted that for you.
but who knows. you could've been talented. you could've been good at everything i was bad at. i didn't understand my mother's incessant nagging that i take up another instrument after i gave up on the piano. i was only nine years old, but mother panicked, afraid the window for discovering my talents was rapidly closing.
i tried my hand at stringed instruments: the violin, cello, even the harp. but i wasn't fit for music, so my mother imagined that i was harboring some secret artistic ability in my hands. so she hired an art tutor, a poor art school student, who would guide my left hand with hers to draw a fat elephant with cylindrical legs and feet, big, flappy ears, and a snake-like trunk. she hoped that by guiding my hands along, i'd learn to draw like her. her hands were like training wheels waiting to be taken off when i learned to balance the pencil by myself, drawing the same smooth curves, and shading in the dark and light lines of the elephant to show depth. i never did. i liked how easy it was to just let her guide my pencil and effortlessly produce such pretty drawings.
i never did find my talent. but i found your father when i was 15, who last i heard was working as a mechanic back in our hometown. he was a handsome boy with light brown hair and green eyes, a high bridged nose and thin lips that he liked to constantly keep moist with his tongue. i called him by his middle name, Chris, even though everyone else called him by his first, Pete. that was special to me. he made me feel like the talent i didn't have. our relationship felt so natural. when he swept my hair back and told me he loved me, i wanted to give him everything. and i thought that it would be enough.
i thought that it would be enough that one, wet afternoon, he climbed up and through my window drenched in the summer downpour. as he looked at me with piercing, green eyes he told me that he wanted all of me and that he would make me feel special. because i was. peeling off his soaked shirt, i gave him my all.
his last words to me were, "i'll see you around." and he left, climbing out the same window that he had crept in through. the next few weeks were a blur of tears and confusion as i wondered where he had gone, why he hadn't bothered to talk to me since that rainy day. then the nausea came. and the vomiting. i had to look for him when i suspected that there was life inside of me. i even harbored a secret hope that this would yoke me and your father together. when i told him i was pregnant with you, he denied that you were his. he denied me and told me to stay away because he didn't know me. i should've known then. i should've known that you weren't just a mistake. maybe you weren't his, but you were mine.
but i was blind.
i didn't see you as anything, just a violation of me, not a part of me, so i let you go. i let you go before you took one breath and i let you go before i could know you.
i'm sorry.
even if i've said it a thousand times, it wouldn't be enough, but i need you to know that i am truly and completely sorry.
i'm sorry that you couldn't hear your name called by your own mother, that you never uttered any words, that you never fully came to be.
forgive me, please. i know i don't deserve it, but i need your forgiveness. i need you.
this apartment is empty without you. my closets overflow with pairs of designer shoes, my kitchen with pots and pans that i don't even use, my bedroom where i sleep alone. i wonder where all this time has gone and i wonder if the greatest punishment is having never gotten to have you or no longer having the opportunity to grow a life inside me. it seems that the window has closed.
i like to think that my greatest talent was yet to be discovered in your birth, in being a mother.
Christopher. Christina.
Love,
Mom
Monday, August 29, 2011
She
She smiles at you, like you’re the only one in a room full of people.
She talks about her dreams and remembers you in them.
She sends you a postcard to cheer you up.
She calls you after you leave to somewhere far away, just to make sure you’re okay.
She loves you, unconditionally.
She gives you a hug first, even after a long time of not talking.
She doesn’t break eye contact with you, not even after people walk by.
She gives you a pair of sweatbands for Christmas, because she knows you love to play basketball.
She drops off poinsettias at your door, secretly.
She shares her struggles, and listens to your own.
She doesn't realize how beautiful she really is.
She defends you, when you’re not around to defend yourself.
She wants to have a drink with you, from time to time.
She reads everything you send her, even when she’s busy.
She helps you, without asking for anything in return.
She holds onto your arm, and rests her head on your shoulder.
She invites you over, to feed your hungry soul.
She misses you.
And if she reads this, I want her to know.
I’m grateful for it all, and so much more.
She talks about her dreams and remembers you in them.
She sends you a postcard to cheer you up.
She calls you after you leave to somewhere far away, just to make sure you’re okay.
She loves you, unconditionally.
She gives you a hug first, even after a long time of not talking.
She doesn’t break eye contact with you, not even after people walk by.
She gives you a pair of sweatbands for Christmas, because she knows you love to play basketball.
She drops off poinsettias at your door, secretly.
She shares her struggles, and listens to your own.
She doesn't realize how beautiful she really is.
She defends you, when you’re not around to defend yourself.
She wants to have a drink with you, from time to time.
She reads everything you send her, even when she’s busy.
She helps you, without asking for anything in return.
She holds onto your arm, and rests her head on your shoulder.
She invites you over, to feed your hungry soul.
She misses you.
And if she reads this, I want her to know.
I’m grateful for it all, and so much more.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Glycerine
To my old friend.
It's not often that we meet, anymore, and while I do miss the time that we spent together, as time goes on, we drift steadily apart. It's funny, the more I welcome you, the less we meet...
I want to thank you. Thank you for all the company that you've given me over all these years, thank you for being the first one to show yourself when there was trouble, the first to leave when help arrived. Do you remember halloween when I was a kid? Crazy shit. Thank you, for always having been as you were, as you are; the voice of reason and practicality in the back of my head – I remember when I beat you for the first time – fourth grade, I had to give that speech, remember? I don't remember what it was about anymore, but I remember almost wetting myself and you loving every second of it, up until I got up and started talking, and looked over to see that girl – what was her name? Danielle? Dani? Looking at me with those big brown eyes of hers, smile creeping up on her face... Yeah, everything was alright from there. Remember later that day, when I wanted to ask her to be my girlfriend, and you kept standing there, keeping me from saying it to her face? I remember standing my ground, sticking my chest out, and doing it anyway... and she said yes! Did I ever tell you that? You were gone by the time I finished asking... Man, that was a great feeling, though... Thank you. Thank you, because from that day on, and every day after, I realized that you were just short enough that if I stuck my chin up, I could see past you, and into greatness.
For all the time that we've spent together, you're welcome to stop by as often as you like. I'll always be here to face you head on, and who knows? Maybe we'll go rock-climbing or sky-diving sometime... But even if you don't, I know that you'll always be there when it matters, reminding me to keep my chin up and to look past what's in front of me to see what lies ahead of me.
Thanks.
It's not often that we meet, anymore, and while I do miss the time that we spent together, as time goes on, we drift steadily apart. It's funny, the more I welcome you, the less we meet...
I want to thank you. Thank you for all the company that you've given me over all these years, thank you for being the first one to show yourself when there was trouble, the first to leave when help arrived. Do you remember halloween when I was a kid? Crazy shit. Thank you, for always having been as you were, as you are; the voice of reason and practicality in the back of my head – I remember when I beat you for the first time – fourth grade, I had to give that speech, remember? I don't remember what it was about anymore, but I remember almost wetting myself and you loving every second of it, up until I got up and started talking, and looked over to see that girl – what was her name? Danielle? Dani? Looking at me with those big brown eyes of hers, smile creeping up on her face... Yeah, everything was alright from there. Remember later that day, when I wanted to ask her to be my girlfriend, and you kept standing there, keeping me from saying it to her face? I remember standing my ground, sticking my chest out, and doing it anyway... and she said yes! Did I ever tell you that? You were gone by the time I finished asking... Man, that was a great feeling, though... Thank you. Thank you, because from that day on, and every day after, I realized that you were just short enough that if I stuck my chin up, I could see past you, and into greatness.
For all the time that we've spent together, you're welcome to stop by as often as you like. I'll always be here to face you head on, and who knows? Maybe we'll go rock-climbing or sky-diving sometime... But even if you don't, I know that you'll always be there when it matters, reminding me to keep my chin up and to look past what's in front of me to see what lies ahead of me.
Thanks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)