Immobilized.
From caring so much but the care feels different now
From prying open the lid to crack through just how
all this time of trying to try
and realizing I have enough inside me to cry
and then feeling numb to engagement as I
sort through it all...
Immobilized, though I want to show care.
Feeling warmness from others, I want to show I'm there
Too.
So I engage, but something feels
Incomplete.
Can't compete. Too many thoughts competing.
Immobilized.
When you say everything,
Do you mean everything?
You say some things are quiet for you, okay maybe
not quiet but slow.
Makes me wonder, with my patterns and pacing
how that would go.
Would I overwhelm
overuse the space
not know how to pace or give grace for the trace
of new in a place where we've existed for so long?
Well not long, but we've lived so deeply in it
That I wonder what it would feel like to win it.
Would we un-spin a weave so tightly wound
and feel free knowing now it has no bounds
or would the wide open show just how bare the unknown is
and vast
would it pop, fizz, then pitter and clash?
leaving just space.
Space for anything
Space for everything
Space for knowing again and getting to know
When you say everything,
Do you mean everything?
That space for knowing
would it have bounds
because of the things in our hearts that cannot be rewound?
Everything.
All the things.
Shared.
We think we know ourselves but are we really prepared
for the visibility, vulnerability, that would exist in that space?
An open room with the twinkling lights of what we started
splashed with the colors of what we already knew
Before there was you.
Am I curious?
Do I want to know what you might say?
Do I want to know you?
A dream world where that can play.
Is "everything" really everything when neither allow
It's good to be present but are we caught up in the now
so much that we don't broaden and heal and grow...
If we had the space what would it show?
Everything?
Do you really mean everything?
Are you curious?
Do you want to know what I might say?
Do you want to know me?
That's okay.
Unacknowledged.
Find a way to express
Is trapped knowledge
Of my own experience
Sticking to me -- finding ways to pinch and press?
A desire to know and to understand
To reach out and see if you'd take my hand
These swirling thoughts, would they ever become plans?
Will you let me speak freely and take a stand?
Rather than the trapping and wrapping my impressions away
in boxes tucked perfectly so they'll stay
Unacknowledged.
Are you curious?
Do you want to know what I might say?
Do you want to know me?
That's okay.
Turn the feelings into knowledge
The wonderings to something concrete
Allow to process and be complete
To fold out the boxes instead of retreat
Unacknowledged.
Mentally planning to reach out
Only to freeze up and not
When the distance and space you thought you'd have to prepare
And gear up
Closed more quickly than you anticipated
Entice. Tease. Request. Implore.
All the same connection we're vying for.
Worry and excitement, inseparable twins
Linked in a pattern so the heart can win
Running through the paths where my thoughts spin
Looking for something to express, akin
To what I desire to have or be
The messy and tangled of thoughts left unvoiced
Beside clacks of bangles of words I've made the choice
The share
Even though part of me wishes to erase
To go back to before you knew
Return to the chase
Of finding me
Not binding or blinding me
Walled off with doubt
To before all those spills you now know about.
Of building this person who's puzzled, corrupt
Willing my thoughts to interrupt
And find ME
Authentic and refusing to hide
But maybe it's better to keep the unfinished inside
No. No more magic in jars.
It's time to unscrew the cap
Let it fly to the stars.
when breath only loops around the throat and chest
sipping down to the heart like a straw
tight, unfullfilling, surface
while breathing is meant to push life through the veins
into the arms, legs, down to the feet
life to feel refreshed and whole
deep and complete
I had a dream last night about a beheading, which lead to a zombie apocalypse, which led to a discovery of a coven in a high school basement. A dream where I ran into my sister who had a surprising way of warding off zombies and an aversion to accepting gifts from cricket-sacrificing witches. It was strange and beautiful. Here's how it went:
The reason for the beheading is blurry, but myself and six other people had upset the governing body of the time (who in my mind was just "parliament") and were sentenced to be beheaded. As I watched the others line up to have their heads sliced off, I screamed. It was as if I felt their pain again and again as their heads, one by one, were severed and rolled. Then something strange happened. Some of the bodies started getting up, heads somehow intact and attached, their mouths bloody and frothing with craze, eyes hungry. They attacked the executioners, who then also became the ravenous undead. I was the only one in the room to get away, and snatched the opportunity to relinquish my culpability in the whole affair as my executioners were no longer capable of performing their assignment or the reporting thereof.
Soon the entire campus, for now it would seem our setting was a high school, was rampant with zombies. I panicked and ran to stay away from them, finding myself going down a flight of stairs I didn't recognize and into the basement of the building. This previously-hidden part of the structure was mysterious and intriguing. The walls were an off-white cement, with symbols of scryings and divinations carved or painted throughout. Most of what I could see was a long hallway, but had small prayer-coves on the end and sides with altars whereupon were placed modest statues or spell-books. Unexpectedly safe from the breakout of the undead above, I felt somehow at ease here, like a force was protecting me. I basked in the feeling for a moment, not fully aware of anything around me. Catching a glimpse of a being approaching one of the shrines near me, I was snapped out of my reverie.
She was dark and beautiful, wrapped in black lace, her hair pulled half-up to show her distinct features. I felt I should tell her of all that happened and ask for her help. I asked her for the most direct way out of the building to avoid the zombies, and she pointed toward a door. Somehow, as she pointed, droves of people also realized this was the safest exit and filed out. Wary, but trusting the apparent wisdom and power of the witch, I found my way through the exodus. Unfortunately, it was difficult to remain protected in the crowd, and several zombies soon pulled me to the ground. One bit into my wrist. I stiffened and screamed, but she stopped, hissing and exclaiming that I tasted awful. The others of her party climbed off me and sought prey elsewhere.
Concerned that I might become infected and transform, but confident that their poison had not yet entered my blood (maybe I was still being protected by the coven...and maybe it was the Gingham Love lotion I recently bought as a Valentines day treat), I went in search of my car. On my way, I found my sister working her way to safety as well. Worried she may have already turned, I whispered to her "are you still you?"
"Yes, I'm just pretending so they think I'm one of them. I'm also pretending to be lesbian as a backup."
...so these zombies are homophobes who are also repelled by preppy lotion scents??...
Somehow we found ourselves back in the underground coven. I had a sense that we were at the north part of the structure. My sister seemed particularly drawn to a shrine at the end of the hallway. She touched one of the symbols engraved on the wall, which shifted and made an unlocking sound. A wooden feature, not unlike a chandelier, started to float down from the ceiling. When it reached us, it opened and revealed a small box, delicately engraved, with a metal latch on the front. She opened it to uncover several glimmering broaches and bracelets. A voice from the female portrait in front of us reassured her that these were a gift to her. She almost took them, but then spoke her discomfort at knowing this particular coven requested sacrifice of crickets. Sure enough, the lid of the delicate box was indicative of her claim: carved to look like a cricket. She turned and left.
I lingered, sensing something unfinished. As I looked around I realized the portrait we heard from was not a women after all, but a very handsome warlock. This discovery was undoubtedly brought on in part because that very warlock was now standing within view, halfway across the room.
He took a few steps forward and addressed me. His manner was not unkind, but I was still afraid, not knowing why he felt to show himself at this time and not earlier. His portrait had obviously been shrouded while my sister was there -- we had only been aware of the females in this coven up to this point. He spoke his interest in my sister refusing the gift. His tone was sincerely curious rather than malicious or proud, though, so I felt my fear assuage somewhat.
Suddenly another warlock blundered into the room, battered and bloody. He had been attacked by the throng above. He began to explain that, because of his already-existing immortality, he would regain his true form rather than succumb to the infection, but the process was painful and debilitating. He then fully noticed my presence, though the fact that he felt he needed to explain himself as he came in the room told me that he had already been somewhat aware of a mortal guest in his realm. I remember both of them talking with me for a few more moments, but then I woke, the conversation unfinished.
For anyone interested in mapping out my heart a bit, this one is connected to this other poem.
Once upon a time you brought me peanut butter M&Ms
Was it love, was it longing, was it hope?
Shaking with emotion as my heart tried to cope
with the realizations I was making about you.
Then in ensuing months as it threatened to come back
And I wanted to accept the thoughts with grace
I let myself feel the feelings
tried not to judge
because I thought maybe I should learn from them before they can budge.
Mixed up with those few times you asked
and I refused.
Wondering if those chances should have been used
if I was pushing not to choose
and if I should not have let us lose
what ended up being the only...
The only chance to make more of those talks on the bench-seat
(on the bench, green stripe
helping me to see the light)
DENIED.
But denied by myself or denied by an else.
So as I let the feelings flow
to observe them and not quite let go
the way I talked to you I thought would show
And so I sat in suspense.
And then nothing.
No indication of a smile, or even a glimpse of deja vu
Nothing to reaffirm the personality I was assigning to you.
To a past you
Who admired me,
inspired me
a special feeling I've been missing
why to those thoughts I've been trying to listen.
FLATTENED.
Opened so much and tapped into the past.
Past me who could talk about these things
Expecting that certain ring...
And I felt it,
Oh, it is so.
But nothing reflecting to show
to let me know
if any of the light I gave caused a glow.
Making too much of a feeling of mine
but then looping back to once upon a time
when you brought me peanut butter M&Ms.
I believe that, sometimes, it's cathartic to think back and to feel emotions long gone, feelings about parts of your story that are long closed. Our past selves are part of our present self. It's helpful for me to be in tune with myself in this way. Maybe these poetic musings of mine will be cathartic to someone else out there, too.
I was so incredibly
undeniably
smitten with you.
I knew, somewhere in me, the types did not--would not
That I would be forever flustered by your attention
or lack thereof.
I wondered:
If I was more alluring, more enticing,
less needy
less available
If I would have been viable to you.
Because it wasn't that you weren't ready.
It was that you knew a lack of steady
would be you -- smitten with me.
What changed?
What difference?
Why now a reaction?
"Nothing,"
his response.
Just my persistence
but not even a fraction
of himself did he trust to remain. To give.
To allow to see me and live
in the idea of us.
You could pretend, but were also honest
And I, honest with you and myself said
I was so incredibly
undeniably
smitten with you
That just pretend
I could not do.
THE VISUAL, A DREAM.
Combining memories and making new.
Recalling what it was like with you
On the bench, green stripe
Helping me to see the light
To be the light
I wanted to be.
Fondness
But conflict
I was pressing against
Expectations
Both and un-expressed
Like I wanted to tempt
My mind away from the known
Denied desire, maybe.
I wanted to be.
I couldn't see
The light.
It began to creep in and we realized
Just how drowsy for the hours we
Had led on and on.
The whole night was gone.
Recollecting
Reconnecting
Redefining
What heart pining
Could mean in my new context.
Too complex.
Too unknown to know.
Mind away from the known...
Could I never have been
There with that certain ring.
Denying the thought for the feeling of aught.
Same then
Same now
But not quite
Different how, now I see more light.
Whole light
But not quite
Just closer to full
Or not?
So I thought a right choice would make full.
Why must the mind reach away from the known.
Is it dullness, is it suspense
I want to be shown
It's hard to say just what.
Denied desire, maybe.
But denied by an else or denied by myself.
Combining memories and making new.
Remember what it was like with you.
What I was like with you.
I see.
Who I wanted to be.
Recollecting.
Reconnecting.
