everything else is a waste of breath

I said something today that I now have to wonder about:
“I suppose even if I could have exactly what I wanted, I would not know what that was.”

This is a mostly true statement. I know who I want. It occurred to me that I have asked him what he wants because I do not know what I want. By asking him, it takes the pressure off of me.

I did not realise I had done this.

Hm.

I guess there is a time and place that I will need to suss this out. Today and sitting on my sofa is neither of these things. It was just interesting to think about it and notice it for what it was.

also, it was pointed out that I nap like a cat.

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oh but the dreams

I spent my Saturday night making weed tea for my garden & house plants. Yup, I am that kind of exciting. The night before, I drank half a glass of white wine, read a comic & went to bed at 9:30p.

Then I was summoned by E. We chatted like maybe we had not spent the past half year sword fighting. Okay, I am being dramatic – things have been nice for awhile. It is hard for me to write when things are good. For some reason I am a heartbroken kind of poet. Writing when love is the thump, thump, blushing sort is tricky. Pain I get. Joy I struggle finding words for.

I sit and smile instead. So when I am not posting it is because I am smiling.

take note.

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I was one thing, now I’m being another

you might not understand it (when you sit with you head under the blankets with your hands covering your ears) but every decision you have made up until this point has brought you here FOR A REASON.

as you are self-checking out your bag of salad, pink lady apples, black berries & cheddar cheese remember how you were told that life was never going to get any better and you were shit and someone was always going to be better than you so get used to it. now you are holding seasonal berries, imported cheese and pre-cut & washed salad in a thirty-times recycled plastic bag. you own your house, you have a fucking weird (but cool) job & the guy you talk to is smarter than you. your kids are all wearing clean clothes and they eat EVERYDAY and you do not have rats, pigeons or bugs in your kitchen.

it is a fairy tale? depends, do you want it to be? okay… say you want it to be. let us revise. that house is now a boat and that guy you talk to is your husband. you two got hitched in the summer (the wedding had a grilled cheese table and a mimosa fountain. he wore this great black suit that sort of made him look like Gomez Addams. you had a hard time leaving the suit on him for the entire reception. what your guests do not know will not hurt them). you school Bowie via the internet and the other kids pop on&off the boat as they see fit. you stay in warmer waters during the winter but you return in the spring. you read and craft and wander.

does it need to be a silly fairy tale, though? can it just be seasonal berries and cheese and Star Trek re-runs and hysterical laughter that brings you to tears?

when you are not “allowed” to walk away no matter how many times you beg to be released from the situation you are in YOU TOO DENSE TO SEE WHY

WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG FOR YOU TO SEE

you are so clever in so many ways

just not here, Melinda.
face. palm. smack.

I know better late than never but what happens to you when you can relate more to Lana del Ray than Amy Winehouse?

 

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three words that change everything

The dreams I have these nights are hopeless. I remember what happened by the way it drapes on my skin. The laughter (that hurts our sides and is so loud the neighbours wonder if we have finally lost our minds) the way people stare at me like they know my secrets. I smile at them if they knew what I knew they would blush like a schoolgirl. The lazy pancake-making at all hours of the night (but we put our dishes in the machine because we not barbarians) – swaying to music playing lightly on my phone to break up the tension that is building in the kitchen. It is hardy and hungry and unquiet. We are careful not to touch outside of the room and when we do, an arm brushing past another arm or an accidental bumping into the other we apologise and giggle as if we have never intentionally touched each other before. Covering my face as I stifle a nervous fit of laughter when you come up behind me to hold me as I finish the last of the cooking. Explaining later that it has been too long since I have been touched. You nod and agree that it has been too long since you have touched anyone. Writing the letters that say all of the words that my heart tries to get me to play out in actions but I cannot because, at the moment, I am useless. It is one thing to be craved or desired but the need to be safe and understood is just as strong. Being a seeker, looking for the depths of one’s soul, finding what makes them wholly vulnerable and what makes them feel truly alive… these are the shadows we fall into.

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we are all parts of the machine. we work from within the machine. we are part of the machine. it does not mean that we are the machine.

I am aghast,
often,
that I fall in love during the stills,
moment to moment.
sigh to sigh.
”blink twice if you need to be rescued !”
I laugh and wonder if I should have taken the out.
this trek is one of celestial enchantments,
in the dark and deathly cold we gaze upon what others think they need or want knowing how small it all is.
contented, we lace our fingers together and and gently speak of civilisations past.

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Fist in the air, in the land of hypocrisy

This was the best we could do, fam?

Harris. The woman who throws other women in jail for having consensual sex because truckers thought maybe women looked like hookers. But oh, stopping under-age trafficking? Nah, girl could not be bothered to stop that. It could tangle up some donors.

Fabricating confessions, trying to keep an innocent man in jail that had been there for THIRTEEN YEARS because our girl is vindictive as shit… yeah, this is what we deserve after Trump. More of the same rubbish, dishonesty, disloyalty, and goddamn racism.

We could have had Stacey Abrams. Instead we got this hot mess. Why, Biden? We did not want you. We wanted Harris even less. Did you want Trump to win another term you fucking ignoramus?

This is not voting blue. This is holding your nose and voting against fascism.

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Mornings are for coffee and contemplation

All of this energy is being put into being neutral instead of just releasing the breath and saying, “I would like to be this or that to you”. He is going to lose me and he has to know that. Is someone encouraging him to stay away or single or Switzerland? I am tempted to read his cards but I feel so removed from the outcome of his assumptions.

my assumptions say this: he will speak up because he is a grown ass human and that is what we do. We do not wait around for other people to coddle us, we use our words to say what we want & do not want because that is why we have language (and to order noodles).

my other assumption: I am going to have a fucking glorious day.

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