Letters to Dandelion (11 page)

            You feel every inch of it too.

Pursuing …

            A relationship with a girl who doesn’t like you
--,

                        is like trying to catch a soap
bubble as it floats in

                                    the air.

            There it is, shiny, reflective, happy and just
plain, all around cool.

            If you rush for it – your sudden moves with
cause it to float

                                    further, farther and
faster away. 

Or worse … burst.

If you grab it, it will definitely
burst.

You can’t tell where it will fall,
nor can you control where it goes.

The harder you try, the thinner the
skin on it becomes.

And eventually, you’ve got to say
to yourself…

What the fuck am I doing this for?

Pinch the Wall

I could not find,

The crest of the wall.

So I might steady

my head,

And allow to fall –

My pouring tears

straight down into

my cup.

For me to tilt my

head,

And drink them

back up

A long night of letting go

Goes by really slow.

As you feel each uncomfortable twang

and every stabbing prick, from your

blood running thick – to a boil.
As your stomach twists in knots, from

the sheer agony of the painful memories

of your natural world.

These are normal occurrences in modern life.

But, it’s another matter, when it’s a matter

of the heart.

And a face and a voice, you can match to

what so severely smarts.

When you recall from the junkyard of opaque

memories, that which would be your home grown

remedy to loving someone so deeply.

And knowing, perceiving and wishing, that

your vision of healing, would come miraculously

true.

Then, reality sets in, that the world is in flux,

people are morally devoid and the world revolves,

like a revolver, waiting to kill its next victim.

The wires of your nerves run hot in overload,

down your back, causing a spasm that swells

in the back of your neck, so you will never

forget, this dark hour of the soul.

That person, is all you want to hold, to chase away

the decay, of your already brittle emotions.

To sew up the fissure rip in your heart, that

stretches a little more with each fallen tear.

Why? What? How? is all your ears repeat,

like a drumbeat to feed the gnawing hunger

in the block of ice that has become your gut.

The fetal position never felt so good. As you

become the only one who can give you a caring

and sympathetic hug.

Is there a shut off switch to your mind, as it recycles

itself thousands of times, through the situations of

things that you should have or hoped not to have

said?

As it swirls through the moments that brought you

the thoughts, that made you think you were in love

anyway in the first place.

Memories clash with nightmares, quivering out

more tears, as you ache for a break to the agony

of rejection.

How could someone leave me in such a position?

Why do I deserve this tension, when all I wanted

was to be an answer, or have a simple hope in

loving someone, and receive that love back from

this person in return.

Is this not the basis of life itself?

 A cool stain on the pillow, reminds you that,

There is much more in the world.

That feelings do exist,

That being human can hurt beyond words,

And that love is hard won, or easily tricked,

but rarely, if ever,

stolen.

Swing Batter

Here’s the wind up.

the pitch –

There goes my heart,

like a blood covered slider.

Or a slippery knuckle ball,

smart trajectory, then it falls.

Only problem is,

there’s no batter –

or no catcher –

and I suck as a pitcher.

I’m just a fool who throws

his heart everywhere,

hoping somewhere, it’ll

stick.

And not be treated like

gum on the bottom of someone’s

shoe.

But that’s the norm, the usual –

like what’s asked for at a neighborhood

bar.

Two dates and a spit in the face,

over a bowl of flies and lies.

And yet, I still try, to hold my head

high.  With grace –

through my tears and depressed sighs.

The game has been rough,

though people look at me from

a profile and think it’s easy for me.

Maybe I just make it look that way,

of I fake it well, or tell a great lie.

Some say –

I play the wrong fields, or

I challenge the poorest choice

of teams.

But, I try to believe in people,

no matter the manner of their

league.

Maybe I’m predisposed to

plainly striking out?

And trudging away from home

base, with my head hung low –

Until the next game.

Love Dies Like a Child

Because, it’s on the inside.

Behind our eyes and clothed in

sinew and skin.

Because the world is plagued

and shrouded in misery and sin.

We walking wounded, who

are partially demised, find it

so hard to realize, that the love

inside of us, dies like a child.

_____________________

Have you ever watched one?

An innocent baby, fast asleep?

Knowing that there is a world,

growing and learning inside, with

enough happiness to actually make

you weep?

In playing and knowing, and times

of such joy and delight in showing –

Knowing, that as they rest, peacefully,

that their only real hope in life is You.

Have you ever watched a small child
at play?

In their rather cute and clumsy way?

As they perfect their balance and adjust

their stance –

Then they look up at you and smile.

It’s because they know, that your heart

swells with love for them all the while.

You would do anything, anything !

For them. Even die.

They don’t need to have all the answers

all the time, all they need to know is that

you’re their world of safety.

So, there's no comparison, really,

other than when you’re childless

and barren, searching for love, and

alone

And you realize something.

That loving someone, and finding

that love, expressing that love, and

receiving that love – is a natural part

of life – like having children.

And when it’s rejected, that crush that

hits, can scatter your wits, and drop you

to your already shaking knees.

Love – dies like a child, inside.

Innocently.

Softly.

Poignantly.

with Memories,

Leaving a torn hole of empty –

And the imaginations of a world

of potential, sorrow turned inside

out of hopeful, of someone who

wanted, needed and would have

tried –

To grow that love successfully,

as they would have that beautiful

child.

What do you do?
(….but feel the pain.)

What do you do?

When you like someone and you know inside, it’s true?

But they just don’t seem to like you?

It’s such a pity,

because you feel the pain.

What a drain.

Couldn’t it be simple?

That they just - like you back?

Doesn’t it hurt to wonder?

Just what do I lack?

Is it my smile?

Is it my eyes?

To that which they despise?

(Maybe despise is a harsh word.)

But it feels like it.

And it seems like it.

As my heart tears and splits,

from reaching out in spirit, to the object

of a desire.

We all know what it’s like.

To be with someone and have them truly be with us.

There is nothing better in the entire world.

And that’s what we’re really here for – isn’t it?

On relationships I truly want to quit.

But then again, quit to what?

To feeling a fleeting field of internal, eternal pain?

No thanks. I’ll think again.

I’ll try again.

Even though inside, it seems to pour like rain.

Maybe that’s from the tears I cry, as my one-sided love
walks by.

Why can it not be easy – for people to love each other?

And worse, for the one we want to love us back?

What else can we do? - We do, but feel the pain….

Dandelion

Only through a shroud of

so much pain,

and the threat

of pouring tears,

could I ever try

to put this to

paper.

No words could sum up

someone so unique.

She was the hammer who

broke the rusty barriers

off my fibrillating heart.

Her lessons to me,

hurt way too much.

But, I have to thank her

deeply, for she burned off

completely,

all the fear I had,

by pointing out to me

that I was not good enough.

My efforts meant shit,

and only I was really lying

to myself in thinking I was

a somebody.

She loved like a truck driver

and a pristine queen all in

the same movement.

In just a micro twist of

her frame, she could set off a

shockwave of emotions inside

my soul, like blowing the

pollen of her essence, all
throughout my existence.

Was it Love?

Shit, what is that anymore?

No.

Love is way too small of a caliber

to take a shot at how I felt.

She was the embodiment of

my soul. My whole life and

everything I strived for, rest

in the knowing of how much

I wanted her validations.

And so, I reached out to posses

her –

She showed me, just how

short my arms really were.

She challenged me in bed.

Matched me stroke for stroke,

and then told me that I was a

joke.

She was so incredibly sexy,

I would feel sick just looking

at her, and then knowing,

that with her, my time was

microscopically short.

And, when she was gone, the

specters had a field day, kicking

me in the groin and cackling inside
the hallows of my rot-eaten soul.

A story of two monks –

One Elder, who reached out to
help a woman who had fallen,

knowing that monks are strictly

forbidden to touch women –

Was questioned, by the other

monk, when asked much later –

by the junior:

“Master ? Why did you touch her ?”

The outcome of this story,

quite matches my own -

And the Elder monk said,

“I carried her for but a little while,

while you, are still carrying her.”

Dandelion never carried me –

She told me once, she loved me.

Told me, that one day, I would
meet her children.

But, I carry her, still.

Obviously, in my mind,

in my emotions,