Sweet Sorrow
What I am most addicted to is sadness.
The sorrowful feeling that begins as a knot in your chest and spreads throughout your body, intoxicating, numbing you to the reality that things will get better, they also do. The anguish that takes hostage your mind, contaminates your thoughts with the certainty that your existence is worth nothing in this world.
Is there any sweeter feeling than that of defeat? Is there a more exhilarating experience than the fall from the peak of hope, landing in the comfort of failure and resignation? After a journey into the possible, is there a more welcoming sight than of cynicism?
Sadness humbles, it cleanses our souls of impractical dreams and unattainable fantasies. In misery and suffering, we learn to surrender to what we are and relinquish the burden to become what we could be.
It is in sadness, only, that I find happiness.
Shaky Hands
I watch him in the morning and his hands shake as he brews his first pot of coffee. There will be two pots, every day. About halfway through the first pot, his hands stop shaking. And halfway through the second pot, they start shaking again, providing an easy excuse as to why they started shaking in the first place. Too much caffeine. I have a busy day at work.
When he arrives home, the first thing he does is crack a beer. It doesn’t matter if we are walking out the door in two minutes, he will start that beer. If we go to friends, he drinks to be social. If we go sailing, he drinks to relax. If we go to dinner, he drinks to make it special.
If we stay home, one beer turns into two, three and four. Then come the rum nightcaps – one, two and maybe three. When we finally settle in to watch a little TV, he is sound asleep within 15 minutes, his head tipped, appearing to break his neck. And of course, he is snoring that loud resonating snore of a drunk.
Yet he is up the next morning, bright and early, ready for the day, with no evidence of the alcohol abuse from the night before. No headache. No hangover. Nothing but the shake of his hands.
I ask myself – Can someone this functional be an alcoholic? Is he an addict or just someone who enjoys drinking as he claims? And most importantly, I ask – Should I just ignore it?
He is a joy to be with, drinking or otherwise. He grabs life with gusto and we have so much fun. Our life together is wonderful and the envy of all we know. Should I make trouble by bringing this up at all?
He took a stay-cation and one day I left to have lunch with friends. When I came home it was obvious he started on Beer 1 hours before and was probably on about Beer 4 or 5 or maybe 6. The truth was never to be revealed. Granted it was a vacation day but he had a drink in his hand for the next 11 hours. Push had come to shove and I had to say something.
The discussion did not go well. On hindsight I did everything wrong when confronting someone with an addiction. I accused, I called him an alcoholic and I ruined his vacation.
But somehow my words sunk in. It’s been a few weeks and he drinks but not nearly like he did. Just last night, we were discussing another health issue and I mentioned that for what it’s worth, his hands weren’t as shaky. And his immediate answer: Yeah, but I still drink too much.
Step one: Admitting you have a problem.
I would rather you remember me as a star
Worshiping me for sewing solar systems together
Blinding, searing, a white dwarf
One rotation away from exploding
Consuming even black holes in all of their might
I would rather remember you as a lightning storm
Striking, lighting me aflame, electrocuting
Brightening up my world for only seconds,
Giving me just enough to stick around
Teasing, taunting, tormenting
Blackening my flesh, you ate away like acid
You burnt out my stitches then blamed me
For falling apart
But instead I'll remember you for your waters
Feeding, rejuvenating, growing me stronger
And you'll remember me for my willingness and understanding
For drinking your rainstorm even when we both knew it was polluted
Need
Crave and crave and hunger and light and the darkness swallows it all.
Hunger insatiable I lie through teeth rotting and screaming a need I have never known.
Lights extinguish one by one they run from me everyone darkness consuming.
I used to want but want is need is must is at all costs. The one I want the one I want I need.
What is want? I only know the need the must the craving that eats me inside out bones ache.
The ache is there the need is gnawing now roaring drowning out the world I used to see.
I have not seen felt heard you all this time it was the roaring in my ears I'm quieting it.
But through the quiet even now I feel the gnawing softer roaring softly.
Remember Me
I would rather you remember me as I was. Before.
Shining beautiful, tingling with desire, crying easily, talking and stepping too loud. Embarrassing, but funny…or so I thought. Remember me pinching your armpit where my head, tucked, was always the coziest, making you wriggle, squeeze tears and snort laughter. Remember me snuggled up tight with our babies, snoring and stealing your covers… with one eye open.
Forget this exhausted shrunken husk, dehydrating in the late summer air, begrudgingly giving feed to the tumor that used to nip and graze sometime, but has finally settled in for the long banquet.
So that when my soul, afire, spills open into the autumn wind, coating golden spinning leaves…and you…and them, you can shake me loose and dust me off. And help the kids do that too.
And remember me as I was. Before.
If I had it my way..
I would rather you remember me as a story,
See through my pages.
Memories make tragedies where as, if you read through my clips and phrases you'll find discovery.
You'll meet all sides of me,
and it would be as if we walked together once more. In pages I pour messages of my hearts gentle music, and i illustrate a side of me you just couldn't view if you were to simply just meet me. Even if you were to see me in your day to day. So, with each word that I drip to this page in my outpour, it is one more thing I wish to share with you.
It is what I have to give. What I'm here for, and so remember me your friend, but know me henceforth as each sentence I leave when I can't be here anymore.
Logophilia
I've been chewing up words since I was two. Been wrapping up my tongue around the taste of language.Tengo inglés en un oído--Spanish in the other. Something about the way vowels and consonants conflate has me bending at the knee. Why, words are beckoning me, such dulcet flutterings in my mouth. I speak and yo hablo, and I spoke. I can write an AD for my DICTION, bring the world want, a wee word addiction. Call me poet; it feels so right.
Buzzing Addiction
I hover oddly
near you
stare
too long, force a blush
give you
the creeps
I swat away
and circle back, like the fly
disgusting insect
that I am
you run
past
glancing away
giving me a wide berth
in search of
desirable
prey
please
please
just
stand still, let me come
close
let me touch
you
Can I hold you?
Are you sure?
no, no
I don’t want
To trap you
I swear
just
just please
say my name
with that low
drawl, that slow
smile
let me live
a bit longer, pin me down
in front of
your eyes
watch me
I can make
you
I can make you
want me
I can
wait please
wait