this was inspired by the sad fact that i know i was probably hustled; and worse yet, this playa is a girl i know the tricks she uses on everyone. i knew the ego stroking and promise to hang out soon was just a carefully planned ploy and i give her kudos for her political tactics. the day of contact she eased my guard down by talking all day; and the day of pick up we met for coffee where she again had me fooled, and it's in a coffee shop i laid down my defensive sword. the third day was two days in a row (fourth time in almost a year) and i knew in the heart of my hearts, she was running her best game. i don't blame her, i to would flirt for more esp. when the guy is a sucker for you. fifty dollars out of my own pocket to give another man a girl loaded up with fuck-me-juice; and all because this is the only woman i have ever truly liked. many i have loved and many i'm sure i will love again; but like is something i rarely willingly do. i watch as the mechanically engineered dog shaped like a bus drive her off into the distance; and a tiny shred of humanity is returned to my jaded existence. Luckily tho i do not hold my breath hoping the, 'i o u so much,' promise wasn't just the usual line used on dealers to custies (only reveresed this time); because i don't think i could stand anyone if it turns out she was just playing strings. she is the last great hope the world has in hopes it will ever be saved. i like to be near her fore she makes the storms inside become calm enough to sail on and this is an ode to her.
It's been over a decade since I began detailing her beauty.
Muscle cramps paralyze my wrist as I keep trying to adequately
describe her into a perfect sonnet, a beautiful analogy.
I am blessed with this gift to keep on writing poetry;
but it's also a curse, to have never ending analogy's
come to me whenever I remember she wasn't just a fantasy.
Most people read these stanza's and quickly call me
to ask if all is alright, if I am still doing okay.
I can never explain to the world at large, friends and family
that these blues won't be the death of me; it'll only
keep me so distant from ever being close to them or anybody.
But I don't mind, I have grown used to the misery of reality.
When I was young, my favorite season was autumn due to
the fact that all the beautiful things of summer
start to again retreat into a six month slumber.
However now that I've aged into a man, and how bitter
I am doesn't matter; fore I now have seen the better
side of the world I had been missing, for example
the way her smile seemed to just appear out of no where.
The way she laughed would leave shivers crawling up and down
my spine; and when I was absent of her kisses or presence,
I went through painful withdrawal as if her love's heroin.
A ballet dancer lived inside her eyes, because when
ever you looked into her pupil's, there was something
brilliantly dancing deep inside, lights kept shining
and sparkling. Her hips were perfect, hip-hugging
jeans were hugged right back by her unbelievably thin
figure; and unless you got to put your hands on
them, you'd think she was made of nothing but skin.
I had found her sitting quietly in the park, her hair
tied up in a pony tail, her bangs pushed behind her
forehead; she tells me it's because even wind teases
her like schoolyard boys, pulling and blowing it everywhere.
I sat with her for a while and not once did I ask her
about marriage; and she didn't once looked shocked to discover
I wasn't like the other boys, I never claimed to like just her
for her looks but rather the way she can quietly sit there
reading a book, completely unaware of boy's passing stares.
It wasn't long before we were inseparable, that I'd follow
her anywhere; but it never did quite feel it was that way.
She didn't lead but remained at my side & every day through July
we gripped hands so tight you'd swear we were actually
fearful of losing one another; as if we didn't grip tightly
we'd drift back into the world we knew before we met one day.
Even though there was a/c back at my home,
we'd stay at her place, even when it was too warm
to move; we shared a couch in a muggy living room.
On the television set, people felt that a scream
would save them from the vampire chasing them.
I'd kiss her naval and rub ice down her neck
when it became just too much to take;
and one time I remember I even rode my bike
in a heat wave to deliver soup when she was sick.
I'd even kiss her cuts and scraps when a wreck-
less drunk evening came, and she felt she'd make
the mountain stairs into a slide from a park.
The metal sliced and peeled away her flesh,
and she giggled with pride as her skin I
still relished as if there wasn't even a bruise.
We would sit up at night and laugh at strangers
who passed on by giving us the dirtiest stares.
It was perfect, our history; but then she said to me
that she didn't want me to come near her anymore.
This came shortly after she moved downtown, away
from her old life; I'm certain I'll never know why
she had to do it on the cusp of my birthday.
While I say I'm miserable she left me to fend for
myself in a world I've never quite been able
to fit in, it isn't exactly a hundred percent true.
I got taught a lesson first hand, that I can still
go on living after even the worst of terror imaginable.
We didn't speak for a little bit, quite a while after
because we were both too stubborn; or maybe
it was just she really didn't want to humor me any longer.
I stood in the hall way of her apartment building
with a letter in hand and a dollar store engagement ring
inside my pocket; it took all the courage I could summon
to even faintly knock on her door but I stood strong
and remained where I was, been preparing to hear her explain
that I can't take care of myself so how would I then
be able to keep her afloat in the sea of eternal depression?
From inside her roommates laughed at my inability to maintain
dignity; and that's when the tears came to me, pouring
out of my eyes. Twenty three years of tears came leaking
onto her carpet, I apologized for everything, for spilling
salt water on her floor; she said it's okay, just remain
calm. We discussed the future, she told me if I get clean
we could speak again; but as for now, she needs to keep on doing
what she was doing before I took her with me, down
into a hole; so then I spent the heir of a prince's fortune
in obtaining a certificate to verify that I am trying
to see life for what is and not what it was, at least one
more time before the end comes and rests me deep within
the compounds of a grave. I have nothing to give, have nothing
to offer but the promise of laughter, and if she wants I can
give her my heart made out of ceramic, I made in rehabilitation;
but only if she makes a vow to keep it safe from winding up on
the floor, it's more fragile now than it has ever been
A million pieces I had to find before I could even
work on putting myself back together; had to make amends to everyone
I've wronged, accept the hurt that was caused by the women
who were there before I seen her sitting by a fire, shielding
her eyes from the amber that flew through the smoke blowing
everywhere. I'm sure she doesn't remember; it was back in two thousand and one
when I seen her at a party on the side of the mountain. She was blowing
kisses and flirting with boys who thought they were something.
I don't care who has been before or since there after,
to me it could be nobody or the whole world over;
because we all need to have experiences and recover
from our mistakes, to grow into a person of character.
I struggle to remember I need to keep trying to never
again slip back under the blanket of comfort; fore
I grow only when I do and for so long I remained under
the cover, hiding myself from the world and everybody
It was a world I enjoyed until was to discover her lovely
body, get to know her and see it's no act, she truly
is pure right to the core and so now I hope this recovery
is permanent, that I will mean content with my own lonely
heart. I had loved her for her and the way she'd softly
read me her poetry; and the way her voice would stutter
as she was uncertain if I cared, she was scared to hear
me laugh or scoff with disapproval of any kind. I'm special
she said, epically when it comes to writing poetry.
'What do you think?' her eyes asked me in a silent plea
once she would finish; this time I told her, 'girl,
it's your poetry that has kept me here. I remain sober
only so I can be consciously aware of what you truly
need to feel appreciated; and I gotta say, you're better
at this writing thing than I have ever been before.'
The pressure of days weight on me as if it is its own gravity;
so I'm sluggish most of the day and night since I can remember.
The feeling of guilt crawls after me, if I again sit still
the cold dead hands of regret will again hold me down in the sea
of failure; only this time I shall never resurface to tell her,
'I've missed you since before I even was aware that you were real.'
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