While I Cry

                                                                                                                                 ~

I know I love you

But, dear, when it comes to you

I’m never sure why.

~

Nor, it seems, are you.

But, dear, when it comes to that,

I’m too scared to push.

~

You love me, you say

But, dear, it scares me so much

Hearing what I need.

~

I try explaining

But, dear, when it’s said to you,

Words always fall short.

~

I take time to trust

But, dear, when it came to you,

I forgot briefly.

~

My voice stumbles, falls,

And, dear, I fear it happens,

You misunderstand.

~

Meant as confession,

You take offense, but that was

Not ever what I meant.

~

You are everything

I prayed for all those long years

When I had nothing.

~

You, my dear, all that

Never seemed possessable

But, dear, I was wrong.

~

I have told you this

But, dear, so have too many more.

I’m too weak to shout.

~

You first, you tell me.

Belief comes harder than trust

So I fear to call

~

In fear of the day

I rely to no reply

So please forgive me.

~

I want to share all

But I’m not half who you are –

I cannot lose you.

~

You’re leaving too soon

What will I do without you?

No one else loves me.

~

My sweet, sweet heart, love,

You’ve restored crushed hope, I thought

But now I wonder

~

Was it therapy

Or an anti-depressant?

I will find out soon.

~

I want to beg you

And elicit promises

But bondage breeds fight.

~

Repression always,

Now I see regression too.

Old cures come to mind.

~

It is a dark road

One I’ll make sure you won’t see

For whose good, can’t say.

~

Don’t fault my brusqueness

I use it like lavender

Or as reminders.

~

I want you to know

With absolute assuredness

That, dear, you are loved;

~

If even you take

A thing from me, from our years,

That it be just this.

~

You are loved, my dear.

You are my role model, dear.

You are beautiful.

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My Day(s)

Failed whistles,

Birmingham Sunday

And humidity breed

Disillusionment in the best of us.

Can you feel the crackling frustration emanating from my chest?

Can you feel the punch,

The swung fist,

Aimed at your head

In my head?

Do you feel how fake this all is?

Or is it

Just fake for me?

I hadn’t thought of that till now.

Maybe it’s just me.

Again.

But it was fun to sing today.

That was the highlight of the day –

Singing “Before He Cheats”

In my real voice –

It’s always good to speak

From my heart

And not from my heart>head>lips

That’s exactly why

It’s good to be high:

To get to talk

And not speak.

The soundtrack of 300,

Message for the Queen,

Fits my heart –

Strangled yodels

Why?

I know why.

Again.

Always again.

“Never again.”

Of course again.

And again.

And again.

What’s the point?

I know there is one. A good one.

I feel it in myself.

Life is preparation?

No.

It’s a depressing joke.

It’s a diorama

Where the grass tells the tree

I’m happy

And the tree blushes

With delight.

Darkness and solitude cloud my judgement;

Should I celebrate

Introversion to Extroversion

Or feel entirely keenly

The depression that depresses me?

Suddenly I hear

A happy word

Vocabulary reminiscent of childhood

And everything is

Uncontrollably,

Excitingly,

Filled-with-life-edly

Amazing

And exciting

And beautiful again.

Good.

I could live for that.

I could live for the breathtaking peaks.

And the love.

And the happiness.

I do live for it.

Why I Hate Analgesics (But Love Being Sick)

Daily Prompt: Take Care

 June 11, 2013

When you’re unwell, do you allow others to take care of you, or do you prefer to soldier on alone? What does it take for you to ask for help?

The past few years, I made the decision to forego the use of painkillers of the cough-and-cold variety. I wanted to build up my own strength and tolerance levels. I believe that the existence of conveniences is not reason enough for their exploitation, and that sometimes the hard route is better in the long run. Recently, I was sick enough that I had to go against my personal rule and take some medication. It felt like I was bending somehow, and that’s when I realized that what I had thought was my way of becoming stronger was actually partly based in pride – not taking medicine made me feel like I was better somehow, stronger than those who did.

In general, when unwell, I shy away from help because I dislike feeling like a burden or that I’m inconveniencing anyone. I dislike being in anyone’s debt – again, pride.

It takes crippling “unwellness” for me to ask for help. Only when I am unable to function, or when there is something I need significantly more than my intact ego, do I turn to others for help. When I get help, however, it brings tears to my eyes. It makes me feel loved. It takes me back to my childhood when I loved falling sick, because it meant that my mother would feed me, take care of me, and in general make me feel loved. Help makes me believe the best of people again.

In the end I question myself: why do I dislike asking for help, really? Is it the pride, is it because I don’t want to burden anyone, or is it because I truly want to increase my physical pain threshold? Or maybe, and this just occurred to me, is it because I want to increase my emotional pain threshold? Because I don’t want to feel like a child, a dependant, don’t want to feel loved too often, don’t want to lose the preciousness, borne of rarity, of the relief that comes from knowing, with every cell in your body, that you’re loved.

Take care, Friend.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/11/daily-prompt-take-care/

The Pebble

Daily Prompt: Weaving the Threads

Draft a post with three parts, each unrelated to the other, but create a common thread between them by including the same item — an object, a symbol, a place — in each part.

He couldn’t take it anymore; he had gotten through depression because of her and had stopped cutting because of her. He was a new man because of her. And she’d said no. How could she? She’d told him he was an amazing person, and that anyone would die to be with him, and he’d believed her; believed her thinking she was indirectly saying something to him. Well, it turned out all women were the same. Actually, all people were the same. They kept the good ones around, the funny ones around, and the ones that made them smile, but always as a friend. Nothing more. The perfect ones, on the other hand….they didn’t even have to bat an eyelid or say a kind word to be thought perfect romance material. What did she see in him anyway? Neal reached his favorite pond-side spot beneath the willow and kicked a smooth, round pebble into the pond, and stared at the ripples until they faded out.

x

The pebble hit his head with a thonk. Sammy, annoyed, flicked the tail of the tadpole closest him. “Ow, that hurt!”

Doubled over with laughter, Rick yelled back over his shoulder, “Wasn’t me, mate!” He shook his head, grinning, and swam ahead, joining the others in their race to Algae Cave.

Sammy scowled, falling to the back of the race. He jetted down to the bottom of the pond to get a closer look at the culprit.

The pebble was smooth, round, and whiter than any rock he’d ever seen – even whiter than the one Marty had shown them in show-and-tell last week, calling it the whitest rock around. Well, he’d show Marty.

Just them, he thought he heard a faint whisper. He looked around, but didn’t see anyone there. He frowned and checked once more; still no one. Just as Sammy gave up and turned to leave, he heard the same whisper, only louder – it was coming from the direction of the rock. He swam back to the rock and circled it. On the other side, half buried under the rock, was Katy, the cute goldfish from school.

“Katy!” he exclaimed, and ran to tug her out.

“It’s no use Sammy,” she sighed, tears in her eyes. “It won’t budge.”

“Well, I’ll make it,” retorted Sammy, setting his jaw in determination. After a few fruitless tugs, he looked around for something, anything to use.

“Don’t leave me here!” Katy pleaded.

“I’ll be right back,” Sammy promised, and swam back, true to his word, with a bit of bark he’d found buried in the mud. Using it as a lever, he put all his weight on it and, inch by inch, lifted the rock up enough for Katy to struggle her way free. Sammy shrugged. I guess Pond Physics 101 really wasn’t a waste of time.

x

“Oops, sorry Ver,” Mark muttered, as Veronica’s favorite bracelet went flying through the air into the pond they’d been picnicking by.

Veronica’s eyes widened in shock as her favorite bracelet sank to the bottom of the pond. “Mark! How could you?” she cried, running to the edge of the pond and kneeling, desperately trying to peer inside and find the bracelet. “Go get it!”

“C’mon, you know I don’t like water,” Mark said coolly. “It was just a bracelet anyway. Didn’t whatsisname, your friend, give it to you? I’ll buy you another one; now come on.” He turned to leave. “I’m gonna go start the car.”

Veronica’s eyes blurred with tears, remembering the day she’d recieved the bracelet. “…not for anything, really. It’s just….it’s been a year since I met you, and I’m who I am now thanks to you, so….I wanted you to have this,” he’d said, smiling at her with that smile only he had that lighted up his eyes. She turned her eyes to the pool, but held back. She couldn’t swim, never had been able to. She looked back to the pool, it seemed leagues deep and really scary; who knew what lived inside? But her mind conjured up an image of him giving her the bracelet again, and she knew she couldn’t turn away.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged in. Fighting for breath, she searched the muck for her bracelet. Her lungs were constricting now and she prayed for help. Just then, her fingers bumped against something hard. Out of breath, Veronica grabbed the fistful of muck around it and came up, struggling for breath. Breaking the surface, she bobbed with the water and opened her fist. She saw a pebble in her hand and almost cried in frustration. Then she saw the bracelet, somehow twined around the pebble; the pebble had kept the bracelet anchored. Just like Neal always kept me anchored. She climbed out of the water and headed for the car. She had an announcement to make.

In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/30/daily-prompt-weaving/