i’m a player

i’m a play play player. a game game gamer. a heart break break breaker, and this is ticking on too long.

i’m waking waking waking, realizing it’s aching aching aching, and not very much fun.

it’s not that i want to play, it’s just that i don’t know how to stay….for very long. so i play play play until the sun comes comes comes, and my eyes are tired and my heart is wired and nothing about this is  real  at  all.

i want to hold you hold you hold you, instead i hurt you hurt you hurt you–and now you’re gone gone gone, and my hearts numb numb numb. the tears are rolling down, but they freeze before they fall, because my eyes do not see your arms to keep me warm warm warm.

i didn’t plan this i didn’t want this, this is traitor-ish behavior. but you have left me and i am empty and i want you to come home home home. i’m leaving my window open, hoping that you will unintentionally slip in while you are drinking and not thinking— and let me keep you let me keep you all night long long long. and when you wake wake wake i’ll let you go go go. and i will ache ache ache all alone.

and i just love love love you, that’s why i hate hate hate you, and i can’t tame tame tame you, so i let you go go go.

i’m a play play player a game game gamer a heart break break breaker —breaking alone.

And now i dance dance dance reach past the past past past–futuristically. and i will spin spin spin and win win win– without you.

and now i  heal heal heal, and grow grow grow and i will play play play no more.

and if you find find find me, you’ll see me smile smile smiling –because my heart beat beat beat beats full full fully– and i am happy.

go? no. i said stay, right?

i like your hand, i like the way it slips in mine accidentally–then to your lips, without you ever remembering. Your hand: bigger better-because you’re protective-of me. go? i didn’t tell you to go. no, i said stay. right? i said go? no. I meant stay, don’t go, don’t leave, just wait – i’m upset just let us be and wait. don’t leave-not again. don’t so easily find your shoes under my bed. don’t so readily slip your feet in and dance out of my room, across the hall-and gone for good–this was not the plan. go? no. don’t go… stay. you must stay. can’t believe my brain overtook my hearts ‘insane’s‘ and won the battle. can’t believe my brain is so mean and my heart didn’t fight back and request a third chance. another round of hide ‘n go seek–tug-o-war. don’t take me seriously–there is evil inside of me…..but if i could go back in time, delete my whole life, delete their crimes which mess with my mind. maybe then i would be prude, i’d be a better woman, a girl who nice young men deserve. i’m not– that sucks. WHAT? I’m not?  yeah stop pretending. you wanted to be real right? this hurts, this is what it feels like, this is the growing up, the stoping pretending, the false past tap-dancing. this is the owning. this is the “no-i-won’t-be-performing”, this is growing out of the glamour and back into the tattered shabby mis-constructed hearts shadow, this is me owning. this is me admitting. this is me realing-up, maning-up. growing up, wanting up. i always want to talk  to you. Isn’t that embarrasing? isn’t that immature of me? i think about you all day long……and look at them, they are walking around dead while my hearts bursting out of my head. prancing about with each word said.  let’s not be like them. let’s not ever resort to counterfeit skin covering up idle organs, perfect bodies without real beating hearts exploding. let’s be a bit ugly, a bit tough, magnificent and rough. let’s not pretend. let’s not bend. i want to dismiss, be pride-less, surrendered and desperate. go? no, don’t go. stay. let’s play this game. together?

my heart wins, she wins- i win. i win. we win.

dagny

i get cold, so i walk outside, you won’t leave, you follow behind, the ghost of your death it lingers in me, i stay away—and still you find me. you live in blood, you talk through veins, sometimes at night, my fingers can’t be tamed, they think about you, they start to cave, they can’ t sit still while you keep coming round me. They click along, they swerve their course, they make me crazy, they make me hoarse, i want to sleep, they keep me standing, i want to leave, but  there’s no abandoning– you’re in my blood spreading through my heart— pumping me numb.       you were an artist, and you were brilliant, your ivy league scholarships, your world could have been perfect. but fame didn’t suit you, you  compromised, a renegade rebel,     you gave me your eyes. and i don’t blame, no sir i don’t—i just wanted to come with. it’s all i’ve ever wanted —to be by your side, because you are my heart my head my spine-you are the beat thumping through every line, and that’s why i write–it’s the only time we can be side by side. Dear John Gilbert, I know you’re great, and though you failed me, you left a trace. the train is coming, we call her Dagny—it’s time you head  back….  admit defeat and let me be lonely. i want to be lonely. Crayola wax—what’s left of your handsome devastating (i know deep down somewhere you adored me couldn’t live without me- i was the face that kept your body pumping, acknowledging life and flowing, even though you didn’t live long enough to hold me, explode your rage beauty and grace towards me. forgot to mention you love me, left without realizing how much your absence would haunt me….) face and story.

easy

it’s easy you know, this living without you

it’s breezy you know, this life stuff without you

i drink my green tea and i eat my dark chocolate

i watch Woody Allen movies til 2 in the morning

I wake up alone and don’t think about you.

you might think i’m sad, you may think i’m lonely but our 4am chats go on the same without your voice to respond to. you may think i miss you when i’m drinking my coffee- but your gazing strange eyes never show up to haunt me. it’s easy you know, this day stuff without you, my hand without yours—is perfectly happy. it’s breezy you know, this living without half my heart….

i’m following my dreams, i’m making an impact, i’m worse—-yet better than ever- this missing hellish-still loving-you—-can’t believe you’re gone this easy breezy perfect pretty life without you—greeen tea in my hand i want to scream hoping you can hear me and come mess up my life again, come back and complicate me, re-chain me so this isn’t so easy, these steps aren’t so breezy, so i don’t smile so easily—because i never thought i’d be able to live so breezily—- without you.

the boy across the hall

Two days ago, or maybe yesterday…. my across the hall neighbor who i sometimes used to like to kiss— insulted,  by informing me that i had Peter Pan syndrome. Of all the awful names he has called me over the last 8 months, this was my favorite, because having Peter Pan syndrome seems like the sort of syndrome a girl like me should possess. Clearly jealous of my inability to grasp reality and be bogged down by mundane human details that in truth are not reality, but mere human illusions. So to him, i was stuck in a non-reality, but to me, he was sentenced and cemented into the horror of the 9-5 human death. Either way, I had Tinker Bell and a piece of paper, and all he had  was……well something very different, something i didn’t want, no matter how safe or sane.

Shooby doop dobby dop dobby doop dobby dah dah doo dap
Shooby doop dobby dop dobby doop dobby dah dah dobby op
Shooby doop dobby dop dobby doop dobby dah dah doo dap
Do bop she doo whoo—phil collins

drunk on writing

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”

“Why is it,” he said, one time, at the subway entrance, “I feel I’ve known you so many years?”
“Because I like you,” she said, “and I don’t want anything from you.”

“You must write every single day of your life… You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads… may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”

—Ray Bradbury        Rest in peace friend, you taught us much.

power vs the people

the 48 laws of power. but i don’t want the power i want the people. and the power play you give me, I don’t want it, I hand it back, you can have it. I can’t play your game, I don’t want this change, I cannot relate, this is not the real me I am kind and caring, this is faked and calculated. And I won’t do this because this it hurts us —and I won’t let her have at you again. Tell me where I’m wrong, point out all my flaws, rejoice in my wrongs, I’ll let you recount my wrong interactions, let you    re-circle my chaotic tactics,   rehearse my dramatizations,    the games that I played in my head over time–can’t re-do.   It’s time that is ticking the time that I gamed with, the minutes I   let  loose   and   failed to introduce this   real   girl   this   great   girl, this kind and filled  with  grace  girl who loves and lets love in and hurts when it doesn’t come through and breaks down and cries when he plays her. the 48 laws of power, my 48 pages of scandal, my predisposition falsified situation, my gaming, my hearting is aching from taking and playing the 48 laws of mystification. you’re miseducated to think that i’d let you have at me again   without   the   real   me   here   to   stand   up   and   fight   you   right.

golf carts & champagne jet rides

‘Twas bound to be a ‘70% cacao chocolate-is-the-only-food-group’ + loads of acidic, cayenne,  cloves and fenugreek coffee; water-does-not-exist sort of day.

Yester-evening: Vanilla frosting, champagne, red-eye, zero sleep, JET-LAGGED…. because I had the time of my life, i swear it’s the truth….

…and this is what it feels like to have the guts to cut open your own heart and let it   radiate   in the way it was intended.

tennis, chocolate & coffee

Perched on the sidelines of the tennis court with journal and pen. Past journal stands my 100% Kona coffee accompanied by my coconut, chocolate, peanut butter and banana smoothie. Directly ahead of my beverage friends, spreads the alluring, bright green tennis courts stocked with red-blooded, stiff angled, fierce yet stately men. Watching them spring left to right with dominant swings and assertive lunges, I realize my body had grown stale from the company I was keeping. Watching their sweat, in the heat of the sun, with the heat of the coffee enlivening my body, I realize I’m ready for new hands to hold. I admire tennis, it being my seductive yet dignified sport of choice. There is a reason why Woody Allen’s ‘Match Point’ drives me happily mad. There is a reason why Jonathan Rhys Myers can seduce me by way of the screen. There is a reason I’ve ventured to this place, allowing my mischievous heart to break open in honor of new life.