unsaid

She thought of him
obsessive
He thought of her
rare.
Him, too possessive
Her, lacking a certain
flair.
void of all confession,
making them a pair
She thought of him,
obsession.
He thought of her
rare

Hope and the Chair

When do you want to work on the traumas? “traumas?” I question. Trauma seemed so dramatic. We had a discussion about traumas exactly four weeks ago. He knows to provide logic for the methods he uses. I need to logic things out. Traumas. Negative events in your life that impact the way you view the world. Rather than becoming a memory they still are very accessible, mentally, physically, emotionally. They become stuck. He references Vietnam Vets. I hardly feel I can compare. “there are obviously varying degrees.” he argues. “ I am just trying to give you an example. So you understand what I mean about experiencing the event rather than thinking about it.”

 I think about how my heart races and I become tense when somebody is standing too close. How I hate feeling trapped. I get it. Traumas. I will give him them... i guess.

 Molestations Rape
 Abusive men, physically, sexually, emotionally
 deaths
 A year and a half ago... . I viewed these things different
 a slight instance or so
 I guess you would consider it
 they weren’t the nicest
 everyone dies

Never allowing myself to experience because there are so many out there with worse problems than mine. I never let myself off the hook. I have made progress. Monumental progress internally. Not many can tell.

A year and a half ago we were working on basic things. Things I was very unaware of, a joke and a smile when I was upset. The dancing about of words for hours with no straight answer to a question. Talking about things in my life with in an eery detached manner, listing painful experiences in a manner one would recite a grocery list. The inability to experience emotion. Anger, sadness, hurt, fear, trust.

We are still working on trust. Don’t know if I will ever be capable of figuring that one out. My counselor. For six months I hated that man. I wanted to quit. Since age 12 I have bounced from one counselor to another. A few discussions, an attempt to get me to open up, and I was out. This time was different. I continued to show up. Much like deciding to commit to becoming physically fit, its all about showing up. No matter what excuses you may want to use to avoid. Show up. That’s how one becomes stronger, you push through it. Do the action, the rest will fall into place. I made a decision that it was time to get better. I was becoming dead and I didn’t want to die. I need to change the pattern. And I couldn’t do it on my own. Not because I am weak, or that I have failed. More so because there are some people in this world that dedicate their lives to teaching us how to become better. To move forward. To progress. If we are willing to show up, listen, and do the work. It certainly takes an incredibly patient person to get through to an individual like me. To those that can, I am forever grateful.

 Back to the trauma.

 “Where do you want to begin?” He asks me, I do not know. For four weeks I have been dreading this moment. For 31 years, I have been avoiding this moment. I shift, I open and close the hinge of the arm on my sunglasses, I tap my foot, I tense up. I am scared but I know I will talk. Somehow along the way, by some miracle, I had made a decision. To quiet their voices, to find my own. To no longer live as a scared child. I don’t want to be small anymore. I think back to a poem I began last weekend.

 “Once she faces the monster she will no longer be tiny.”

 I pick something and begin. He asks for a first name. By instinct I say, “do I have to? why do you need that?” he lets me think through this statement. Why do I feel the need to protect those that hurt me? It occurs to me how unimportant I have made myself throughout the years. I should be protecting me. Not them. Fuck them. I give him a name. I discuss and describe without any hedging or justifications. I try not to logic out emotions with “things could always be worse.” He gives me a list of statements, I am to remember a picture of the past trauma and choose how I feel when i see it. I choose:

 “I have no control.” He asks to think of the picture again.

Choose how I want to feel about it. I worry I am doing all this incorrectly. Not following what ever crazy psycho babble bullshit method I am supposed to be doing. Logic tells me I should say the opposite statement of what I have said before. Easy. I can’t say the opposite because it doesn’t make sense. I can’t control others. I can only control myself. I am over thinking. As a child, you have no control when someone is bigger than you. Logically, it doesn’t make sense for me to say the opposite because I didn’t have control over anything that happened. I realize I often feel a lack of control. A sense of being overwhelmed. Trapped. No way to stop what is happening. Weak, helpless. How I feel in that picture. Trauma.

 I want to do things that right way so I tell him “I have control”.

I know that is what I am supposed to say yet I don’t believe it. My counselor gets a sense he is pushing me too far and suggests we stop for today. We discuss other things. I leave, surprising less raw than usual. Something has happened.

 The evening rolls on. I have dinner with my family. My three boys, my husband. My dog follows me around. I decide to work out. Something has happened. I am hitting the heavy bag....over and over again. I think about the holidays. I think about those men. It occurs to me in a flash.... I can take it back. I land a punch.... I am coming back. I experience a weird sensation of being able to arrive. I’m stronger. Not the angry protective kind of strong I am use to. Not the anger similar to a teenage child that pushes everyone away when they only want someone to care so deeply. This is different. I allow myself to say “I have control.” Control of a moment in time, of powerlessness. A moment that was stuck. I have control over what I let define me. I think about the picture again. The picture in my head of the first trauma. I allow myself to look at the scene in a different way. I think about those I have lost over the years as well as those I am losing. To suicide and addictions. I think about those that are hurting, or angry, or lack any self worth or confidence. I think of those of us who are lost when it comes to the basics like relationships, trust and love. I imagine facing that individual that I was scared to name and calling them on their shit. I picture this as I hit. I don’t picture a moment of revenge but more so a moment in time where I can stand up, head high, and walk away. Rewrite the story. Change the ending. I have choice. And I know, I am supposed to write. This girl who is scared to death to share with anyone a thing. Because someone out there is dying, and there is hope.

Camouflage and Pink

Let me preface this by saying, that evening, I saw two shooting stars.

I recently went to a wedding of a lifelong friend of mine.
She has been a good friend of mine since seventh grade.

The service was small with just family,
I only attended the reception.

They had to get married in another state because they were two women.
I saw a shooting star on the way to the event.

We arrived at the reception late due to a long work day, fighting amongst the family, a discussion of gay marriage and the children, and a variety of other unimportant things.

The wedding was just perfect. No other way to put it.
Her parents live on acreage with a huge out building that typically holds a horse corral.
The reception was held in the outbuilding, with a rainbow dance floor, a bar, a dj and lights and material draping every corner of the place, erasing utility and replacing it with grace.
Everyone was wearing jeans, and boots, and warm sweaters. They all looked impressively casual yet dressed up. The atmosphere was more relaxed and jovial then I am used to at a wedding.

I had to leave too early due to restless children and a tired husband. It made me terribly sad to go.

On the way home family piled into the truck, I saw another shooting star…
I thought to myself at that moment “that was the most amazing wedding I have ever been to”.

Then I wondered why, why had it been so impressionable on me.
I realized today it was because I had witnessed true love in the rawest sense of true love. So often I see marriage of comfort, or convenience, or enjoyment, or social norm, or a variety of other reasons.

People sleep around and college, then sleep with someone they enjoy, then date that person for a long period of time because they enjoy each other, then down the aisle they go. They have kids, and games, and parties, and jobs and find themselves thinking true love is not practical or realistic as a part of life. It is hardly the set up for love so true it hurts.

If you asked 20 of these couples if they had found their soul mate, how many would answer yes?

If you asked 20 of these couple if they would give up everything imaginable, any comfort they have built to be with this one person, how many would walk away?

If you asked…

What would happen if you could never talk to this person again?
Would all 40 say, I couldn’t go on?

My guess is no. I could be wrong, but my guess is no.

I am certain my friend found her soul mate, the love of her life, the one that introduced her to who she is.

I have watched her for years struggle with intimacy and love. She never could find a guy that she could connect with. She always seemed alone.

Then she found a friend. A friend like no other friend she had ever known. I could tell something had changed because she was more confident, more relaxed. Everyone started telling her she looked great. It is amazing the change that occurs when you are introduced to who you really are.

Then her and her friend fell in love. It was impractical and forbidden and it was incredibly risky. They had to risk loss of friends, and family, and coworkers, not to mention making a choice that has societal impact as well. All of this did not matter, because they were in love.

Don’t get me wrong. The two of them argue, and debate, and drive each other crazy. But each of them knows that the other is willing to give up anything to be together.

So I attended the most amazing wedding…. Let me preface this by saying that evening, I saw two shooting stars.

Chain Reaction

"A series of events in which each induces or influences the next."

Today I said a little prayer. To hear someone else. And give me a few moments, to listen rather than speak. I still am amazed that in many situations I am incredibly bold, but often times I am gripped with fear. So today I said my little prayer. The one that always works. "help".

A woman spoke and said, "when one is compelled to speak, they should, because maybe they have something that someone needs to hear." So I was compelled.
I always have to push through those moments. The time right before I want to retreat, but don't. So I spoke. I spoke of how it is difficult for me to have close friends. And how I always in the past have hidden, from one person, to the next to the next. I stopped by, for a moment, then off again. I am busy you know. And how to be a part of a group goes against every instinct that I have. Yet I am always longing, to be a part of. I want to be a part on your team. I want to be a part of, that when I am gone, I am missed.

Then another spoke, and then asked for a little prayer, because he has found that he is that way too. I know it doesn't seem like it is much. But it is everything to me.

The beauty of a chain reaction of conversation. It is constantly creating and recreating opportunities, and thoughts, and inspirations, and emotion, and ideas, and business, and love. Most importantly it has created a connection between human beings, which we inherently seek in order to survive.

I am grateful that I asked for a moment when I could just listen. Listen to a little prayer, that happened to be someone else's and not my own.

saw my people on Sunday

Today I imagined what would happen,
If I turned around and walked back in the door.
Because I don’t want to be who I am alone.

To know that I am not a failure. To value the opportunities I have.
To love and care for many people every day.
And notice that I am where I am today, because of decisions I have made.
I need to do what is my responsibility to do.
I know the liberation, of doing things the right way.
I need to make a decision, to finish what I have begun. What is required, before I leave.
Not giving in, but being responsible.
It doesn’t matter who or who does not whisper of my failure.
Lessons learned are completely invaluable. And I was lucky to meet some kind souls along the way.
Maybe those that normally do not get noticed, would miss my kind words. I try to tell someone in my life they are amazing every day.
Either way, it is my time to finish, with grace.

What if I turned and walked right back to the life that is part mine.
And faced the fact that things still need to change.
Because I have a voice, and I have something to say. And it is time that it is heard.
To face a conversation I have been meaning to have for a long long time.
To handle the situation, instead of hiding. To recognize my part.
And place it within the hand of God.
Because I know that I am not selfish, that I am scared.
I think that you are scared of what might happen too.

What if I understood, that I have no idea what the inevitable is.
Not everything has to have an end in sight.
I have always trusted fully, and it has never let me down.
If you take something from me, you needed it more than I did anyways.
You see, I have a hard time often, living in the moments I have. And I act a wee bit crazy when I am feeling weak.
And I tend to get in a habit of knowing what I want. But sometimes I have the eye on the ball and the crowd has gone home.
Know, there is a bit of wisdom that comes with years.
Either way, things will fall into place.

I am not trapped, I am in the middle of coming or going through a door. Either way, I know my heart should be my guide. And I have been carried this far without being dropped on my head. Either way, things will be ok.

leaving work on a saturday

Today I imagined what would happen,
If I stood up, turned off the lights, shut the door, and walked away.
And became, finally, who I really am.

To no longer feel failure, over and over again.
To judge my worth by a value, different from an equation.
To be noticed because of what I do, not how well I do it.
Would I still notice the look of money, the minute it walked into the room?
How would I feel, to walk away from a race I have been in for over a decade?
To no longer make sense.
I almost can taste the liberation of being illogical. For once. Not giving up.
But making a decision.
What would you say to me?
Would they say she is crazy? Would they figure I was mad?
Would they whisper of how I could never overcome failure?
Some would notice, some would not.
Either way the race would continue.

What if I stood up and walked away, to became the person I really am?
To walk away from the constant attempt to become someone that will never satisfy you.
To hear constantly that I am not the one, because I cannot be who I am not.
What if I became the mother, I know I really am?
The one that is no longer on the outside.
The one who wants to teach, the one that has something to say.
About winning and losing and creativity and acceptance.
What if I became a voice?
What if I wasn’t constantly worrying, if I was doing the right thing? The right way?
And the tension, subsided. And I could relax once again. And smile and laugh.
Would you say I was selfish? Would you try to prove I didn’t care enough to try?
Either way, I would be the one in the wrong.

What if I stood up and walked away, from the inevitable?
And stopped analyzing every word I said, or every word that was said to me.
Would I stop revisiting the conversations, would I stop debating trust?
I could stop fearing that I am being used. Or knowing I only know a small portion.
Would I find someone else that understood the questions,
That could be as much fun?
I am looking for long term partnership, are you looking for a quick deal?
Would you notice that we are good together?
That a team is as good as the dynamic of the players.
Either way, the conversations would continue.

I am caught in between… Caught in between the fear of doing what I should be doing and the fear of losing it all. I am caught in between the realization that what I am doing now isn’t working, and the fear of being alone.
Either way I need to make a decision.

biorythms

It is stated that each person has a soul mate, the missing part to their soul. The story is told in various cultures that the human soul was divided on earth. That each individual is sent searching for their missing half. They are compelled to find the perfect match for their soul. After they find each other, they are one. They are complete.

I struggle with the concept of one. It seems to me that there should be the capacity for more than, just one.

Who is your soul mate? Do they inspire you? Does your heart drop to the ground the minute they come in close to you? Is it the one that makes you laugh so hard you can barely speak? On the days that you don't speak do you feel a void? Is it the one that you can be with, in silence, or in a crowd and feel calm? Do you read each other? Your soul mate must complete you in some fashion. They may compliment your strengths and know your weaknesses, yet take you as is. They should introduce a part of you that you may have not even known existed. You can make mistakes. You may become a bit more daring to say what your thoughts are. They enable you to do what you have known all along you are capable of doing.

Who is your soul mate, how do they complete you? Is it intellectually, humorously, spiritually, sexually?

I read about a study once that when individuals connect on a conversational level, their biorhythms begin to mirror each other. It amazes me. When we really connect with another, our heart will beat at the same rate as them. Our breathing begins to sync.

Is the word soul mate too cliche? The concept that only one exists has a sort of finality to it that I am not quite comfortable with. What if you have the wrong one? What if you find yourself in love with an individual that in all actuality doesn’t exist? What if you have thought them into something they are not? What if you and your soul mate fight all of the time, then what to do? What if your soul mate doesn’t feel the same? I would hate to be destined into some tragic incomplete love.
But I suppose if they are you soul mate, you complete them too.

There are those individuals you have felt as if you have known for ages, but maybe you have just met. You can take small portions of those amazing people in your lives you connect with. There are many to guide you to complete.

Friend in the Corner

It was about middle school when I realized as a girl, there were two camps.
Hot girls, and the girls with nice personalities.
Initiation was predetermined and uncontrollable.
Mother Nature presented me with a chubby body, braces, and frizzy hair.
So there I must have made some unconscious decision,
Looks like I am going to have to be smart.

My friend consequentially was graced with the other camp.
She was beautiful and tan and blonde, she had amazing eyes.
We each began our roles in life,
Her the hot friend,
And soon I was deemed the one with the personality
Or Thunder Thighs depending on the day.

It is a tough job being the one with the personality.
There are constant long talks with tormented boys.
I became the go between.
Often times my hot friend and the guy that was crazy about her would kiss,
I guarded the tree they were behind.

In junior high I began gathering other “hot friends” in my life.
The boys were older with cars, so it worked out well for both of us.
They were still equally tormented and whiny.
I would spend long evenings on the phone coaching them through a relationship
I was certain would be short lived.
It was also important to keep my friend in the game.
Her being exhausted from her pick of boys lined up at the door.
We would discuss which ones to rid of and which ones to keep.
She would be off behind closed doors with some pretty boy.
I would hang out in the living room and keep his friend busy,
There are boys with “nice personalities” too.
Once in awhile if we were really bored they would look at me,
“ya wanna make out?”

Through high school and college there was still a slew of “hot friends”.
Now I knew the drill.
I would become one of the guys…
She would be the girl the guys want. It was a vicious cycle.
Me and my hot friends would shop for makeup and clothes.
We would play dress up in dorm rooms and apartments.
I have noticed “hot friends” sometimes have no concept of simple body mass equations.
Often I would get the cute innocent offer “you can borrow something of mine”.
Even at age 9 I wasn’t a double 00… I don’t think that is going to work.

There are definite advantages to being the friend of the girl the guys want.
Free beer, party invites, boat rides, and cabin parties.
I remember my good friend’s boyfriend saying to me….
The perfect woman would have Jackie’s body, and Tina’s face, and your personality.
I couldn’t tell if I should be flattered my personality made the ultimate woman prize or insulted that he just removed my face and body from the running.

I have found I am always the “hot friend’s” keeper.
Where is said friend? They will ask the minute I enter a room.
I force them to talk to me for a bit.
Then I track "hot friend" down.

I found my own guys to date.
But I have found one has to get very specific with compliments,
“You have an amazing smile.”
“I love your bedroom eyes.”

Through the years I have found our type, Older men.
They can find us in a room from afar.
They offer to buy us drinks.
My other personality friends and I call it the curse of
“cute not hot”.
We feel as though these men have had regrets,
They married for looks not humor.
They tell us how they were forced to golf all day talking to golf-cart girls because
of the attractive oppression at home.
Their wives took their money
Then took their heart, after the plastic surgery that is.
Maybe they are trying to recapture those days gone by.
But we lose their attention too the minute the hot friends walk in.
The conversation at the bar diverts the other way.

I have a word of advice for the boys, about the girls with the good personality.
Girls with good personalities are pretty low maintenance,
Low expectations will do that to you.
They will drink beer with you.
And make you laugh.
They rarely have their wedding planned. There are no list of orders.
Girls with good personalities don’t complain.
They are self-sufficient and resourceful.
They can tear down dry wall,
And let their sons play in the mud.
They will lay in the grass on a summer day,
Girls with good personalities are good in bed,
You have to have something you know.
They can play scrabble with you, and laugh at themselves, and know what you want.
Because after you age, you will need someone to grow old with, so take advice from the older men. Go for the friend in the corner.

Came to Believe

You and my will play tug of war.
My need for independence, completely insatiable at times.
A battle to balance both insanity and peace.
Such a small act, such a simple phrase.
Help me.
But I have never been one for help.
There is such a fine line between
CEO and junkie.
Both have interchangable weaknesses and strengths.
Qualities that permeate in the same breed of a human...
those of us who refuse the middle road.
Failure has been a mentor.
Forced a growth success can never bring.
I can't remember why I have always thought I should never be allowed to feel pain.
I am pretty sure, I myself, made up this requirement.
The minute I begin to listen,
and be silent, I learn.
The minute I stop struggling, I find peace.
But how does one overcome such and inherent behavior?
How does one play by different rules.
I have played the game the same way since the moment I began to think.
How do I trust intangibles?
How do I trust you?
My need for independence is insatiable.
We play tug of war with my will.
please help me to do the next right thing.

Denny and the garage.

It is amazing the impact a web of insignificant details can have.
I remember back to the times we were little.
You were a bundle of energy, and anger, and sensitivity, and pain, and humor, and fun.
You were a joy to be around.
You were a wildcard.
I knew then you hurt.
I have always understood that pain. The loneliness, the ache.
Unattended it can make a person half mad.
It can make you crazy enough to desire the end.
Addiction.
I understood you spent your life looking back at the debris and wondering how in the hell you got here.
Intentions don't mean anything to anyone but our ego.
I remember sharing long talks in junior high.
Sneaking smokes out back, as our uncle died of cancer downstairs.
You always picked me up for high school.
Riding in your car, you were both suicidal and homicidal.
Yet I would go with you. Time after time.
Both of us comfortable on the edge.
You speak the same language as me. A mixture of crazy, and sarcasm, and wit.
Contrary to what your final thoughts might have been.....
I know you were not trying to hurt anyone,
you hurt.
I know you weren't selfish, you couldn't handle self.
I can't pretend to understand, but I have been there.
And I know,
oh I know,
you have found peace.
But you need to give some of those you left behind time, because they hurt.
It is going to take those you loved time to heal.
And forgive you.
And forgive themselves.
In order to laugh again.
Those insignificant details seem rather significant now.

Running and Frozen Shoes

On my run today,I passed a pair of abandoned crocs on a chalk colored sidewalk,
It reminded me of the frozen shoe incident of 08’
All three of you had washed your muddy shoes, and left them on the deck on a chilly autumn night,
I was late for a meeting, all of your crying, as I desperately attempted to warm them up with a hair dryer.
It made me think.
It made me think about, in all the rushing about, you all have secretly grown up.
It sometimes startles me when I check on you at night,
Your formerly chubby short legs are now taking over the bed.
I remember lying on your floor by your cribs, late at night, listening to your little bodies breathe. We were all interconnected with each other for so long.
I simultaneously want you back to tiny, and can’t wait to meet you in the future.
I look at each of you and see my husband, my brother, my father, myself.
Once in awhile, I get gripped with the fear that I have no idea how to answer your increasingly complex questions.
I don’t know how to keep you from racing cars, or bad relationships, or insults, or fights.
I often regret that we don’t slow down enough to take those moments to laugh, and talk, and learn.
You often want to go play outside rather than go out with me.
But every year we insist on going on a trip.
Between pouts and fights, there are moments of laughter, and growth, and connection.
I find a level of joy and relaxation away from everything else, I could never recreate on my own. And as I write about you,
I think that all the descriptions of love for a child have been said before.
I think about all the warnings to enjoy the time you have.
I think about how virtually impossible it is to live life and give you the attention you deserve.
We are doing the best we can.
All we can do is enjoy each other’s humor, appreciate each other’s weaknesses, and take time once in awhile to go somewhere new.
-kara

Kara-mel

I remember the first time we were introduced. You were an intense fellow, six foot something with long hair and a beard. Black cowboy boots and a cowboy hat (with a rattle snake skin of all things!). My friend brought me over to you and announced "if you both sit together you are Kara-Mel". You looked at her as if she were speaking another language. You said in your gruff voice, "darling, I don't usually understand that kind of humor." Yet we became friends. Who ever thought it to be. You so cantankerous and rougue, me with the a voice that not a one of them takes seriously. But you get me and I get you, and I feel like you saved my life. I had been having a hard time, in a depression I was not quite accustomed to. I came every week to feel alone in a group of 30. I quietly stood by my girlfriend that shines bright as the sun when she walks in a room. It was hard for me to speak, you all knew each other so well. Yet I was secretly longing to be a part of, rather than alone. Things began toppling over on me and I sure as hell didn't need any of you. Then one Sunday I walked in, you had saved me a seat up front. It was a small little act, harldy one that would change a course of anyone's sadness, but God it meant so much to me. From then on we were a Sunday morning team. Feet up on the coffee tables as if we own the room. You make your comments under your breath. I slightly smile and pretend not to hear. I notice how you keep track of who is doing the right thing and who is just pretending. I know when you have been riding. We both are Cubs fans, a sucker for the underdog. You go to a painful place when you talk about Vietnam, I can see it in your eyes. You know that I am a wee bit compulsive, "Was that in the wrong spot for you Monk?" you kid. You never are crude and quite intolerant of anyone giving me a hard time. The day after my cousin died, I was hurting a great deal. I was being approached for a "hug" by an overly friendly regular. You yelled from across the room in your deep mean voice, "Why don't you keep on moving". It was like a bad Western film, you standing there in your hat. But you know, it was exactly what I needed. You always seem to know. You call me out everytime I am off in the world in my head. I have spent a great deal of time there lately, to the point of utter exhaustion. Thank you for knowing me. Thank you for making me feel welcome. Who knew through all of this I would find myself friends with the big scary biker with a heart of gold, and an intelligence not many see. I needed a Mel to my Kara. And although it isn't your kind of humor, I think a crabby old soul like yourself needed a Kara too.

Running and Wedding Dresses

So we went on a run together today,
We passed an older couple walking slowly, quiet, slightly smiling.
We passed two young girls with big hair getting ready to get on the lake for the day.
We saw three young gentlemen intently observing the girls.
It made me think about us.
About how easily it is to become too distracted, too tired to be crazy about each other anymore.
I thought about how I forget to get you a coffee sometimes on Sunday morning.
I thought about how you correct me for the hundred and fiftieth time to shut off the lights in the morning.
It takes effort you know.
Effort to remember why it is we fell in love.
I fell in love with your intellect, yet you never want to talk.
You in fell in love with my whims, yet now they seem to annoy you.
I forget to silently observe the things that you do,
your habits,
your ways that make you the one.
You forget that yelling at me hurts my feelings to the point of retreat.
You married an independent spirit.
I married an ornery twinkle in your eye.
It is amazing what perspective will do.
It can shift things either way.
I wanted to be the girl in your truck,
The girl on the back of your bike,
The one that laughs the loudest at your jokes,
Your biggest fan.
You still make my stomach fall to my toes when you get really intense and close.
You still have amazing calves.
Right now you and I, we are somewhere in between.
We are in between big hair and slow walks.
Today we ran with each other at the same pace, although we both had a playful debate on which one of us compromised.

Inception

It was a tiny little thought,
A mere droplet in a puddle that has expanded into an ocean
of both knowing and unknown.
The obsession has taken over.
An obsession that on the surface appears to be at infancy stage,
Yet it has been processed and refined
For years.
The refining takes on a life of its own.
A partner, a dance, a love.
My restless spirit…..
The one I both despise and applaud.
Perpetually chasing the wind.
And you were there at the inception.

And that day is Tuesday

I wish you hadn’t seen me backed into a corner,
you know I am ugly there.
I want to say to you,come back and see me again,
when the pieces are put back together.
Usually my battles are in private.
I have worked hard for years to keep it that way.
But somehow image management stepped out,
And here we are.
I alternate equally between total consumption and isolation.
I am wise enough to know pride isn’t every thing,
Yet I am willing to sell my soul for my ego.
I hate that you know this about me.
I appreciate that he loves me anyways.
It frustrates me that I know better,
We are in different places on our journey.
so don't feel bad for me.
I value honesty more than concern of weakness.
There is power in that, you know.
Mondays have been pretty rough for me.
But one of these days I will put down the face, and pick up the heart.
The minute I do that, the pieces will come back together again.
And someday we will meet, and I won’t be backed into a corner.
And we can carry on a normal conversation again.