i found a name, many years ago, and it was who i wanted to be. 

so i told you all, and some of you say it will always be a part of me.

then i try to pull away from it, and so i told everyone that i am not who i used to be.   i am not that name.   i am not what you thought.

but why say who i am not, when i can say who i am?

so, here i am.   sorry for all the changes, this is the last time.

our love

is of
the slowest kind
and it just

can't keep up
with our fast paced lives


i suppose there's no one to blame.


I've heard it said, and i've heard it sung
december snow is like a patch of love

( you'll wake up to the dawn of spring, and seek out sunnier days )

the thaw hurts like the freeze.

i'd toss pebbles at your window, hoping to talk to you, because that's the kind of guy i am.. practically drowning in the sentimental hollywood version of what i'm supposed to be.   literate, stylish, kissable, quiet.     clark effing gable.

 

but you'd ignore those stones like voicemails.

so, baby, i'm gathering bricks.

it started by picking at little pieces of a bagel between my teeth.  my hand just went further and further in.  when my finger touched my throat, i couldn't help but be disappointed when the answers didn't come flying up from my stomach.   so i reach further.   down.  between my lungs, i find the source of all my problems, but instead of ripping that bastard out, all i can do is notice the awkward shape of my arm, and how my elbow is now directly beneath my nose.    my hand suddenly notices the emotions and feelings swirling around that heart.   my fingers take hold of them all, and i pull the arm back out into the fresh air.   one by one, i lay them out on the table, alphabetically.  

apathy   annoyed   bitterness   bored    cowardice   disgust   empathy   escapism   fear   grief   humility   indifference   indignance   jealousy   keen   lonely   lucky   lust   malicious   neglect   optimism   pessimism   pride   queasy   rage   sleezy   tired   underachievement   venomous   vile   wasted   wishful   xenophobia   yearning   youthful   zealous


my heart is ready to move on.   it's sheer determination that's keeping me from that, baby.

i rest my head on your chest and whisper words i once meant.  sitting here, i'm not sure of where we stand.   i can't decide if i want to fall asleep to your voice or if i'm just getting tired of you.   i shuffle through my emotions and find that hearts make up only a quarter of the deck, and i'm trying to find poetic parallels for diamonds, spades and those clubs or clovers.   my eyes close, and my blind fingers find your own.  when my eyes shut down, so does my ability to speak, so i wonder to myself..  i wonder... and i come to the conclusion that it's better than being alone.

my dear firetruck,

apparently, you didn't see the fire in my chest as you drove by,  so i've grown myself a tail and paws, and stranded myself in a tree. 
and i'm begging you to
save me.



my dear teacher,

i spent hours and hours trying to figure this all out.  i was kept up half the night attempting to understand, trying my best to get this right.  and it may not be pretty, but this is the best i can do.  i sacrificed and i got tired and i got frustrated, but i did it all because, in the back of my head, i thought it would make you happy.  that i would make you proud.
but you just pat my head when i turn it in and say with a smile, "this seems to come easily to you."


my dear friend,

i'm not the nicest guy all of the time, i know, and i'm sorry that i won't be getting you anything for christmas this year, money just won't allow it.  but if you could just, please, put up with me a little longer, i'd appreciate the company.



thanksgiving  (this one feels like a valentine's day) plans  =   spend the evening with Opie and Gray.


oh,   ps.   they are my cats.