Rock Eater

I want to eat the asphalt.

As I drive home this emotion fills me.

Emotion I can’t name, so I don’t know what to do with it.

I grit my teeth and look at the road: I want to eat the asphalt.

I want to sink my teeth in something.

To rip and shred.

To feel the sharp jagged pieces in my mouth.

To feel the pain of it; taste the blood.

I want to eat the asphalt.

Because it would hurt less.

Fighting With The Universe

Sometimes I want to just push you away; push you down.

To pummel you with my fist.

I’m mad at you, angry.

Why do you let me feel like this?

Why are you silent when all I want is a kind word.

Why won’t you talk to me?

New

And when this new takes hold.

When it crawls out of the depths of my soul.

And ask to be let set free.
Will I let go?
Will I step aside and allow it to take over?

Tears

Why am I still crying the same tears I cried 20 years ago; 25 years ago?

You’re supposed to be here by now..

‘Come and get me’. Thats what I used to think when it would get to be too much. It would hurt so bad. And all I wanted was for you to come and get me. All I wanted was you.

I hadn’t had that thought in a long time, but then it came back to me a few weeks ago, just for a moment, and only the one time.
I stopped listening to music; it knows me too well; leaves me too exposed, raw, naked.
But tonight it’s what I reach for, and I remember why I stopped listening.

There’s a lot I think I need to say, but I don’t know if I can say it and not lose me in the pain.

Have I cried for you? I’ve wept-shed some tears, but have I cried for you? It feels like no, because it still hurts. And I think I’m still at the edge of this pain.

Because for me, it’s still right now.

Why am I crying the same tears I’ve been crying all my life?
It’s the same pain.

Before

I wish I could go back to who I was before I knew you.

I wish I didn’t have to know what it feels like to miss you,

and not be able to pick up the phone and call you.

Thinking

I’m thinking of a thing, yet I don’t know what it is.

There’s a feeling attached to the thought;

I don’t know what that is either.

I’m both sad and happy,

not sure which is how I truly feel.

Forgotten

I remember you from before, before I forgot.

Forgot to remember you,

and who we we’re before I forgot you.

These memories are strange and foreign,

but warm and familiar at the same time.

Sometimes I can almost feel you;

hear your voice, your laughter:

see your smile; smell you, taste you.

I swear sometimes I can feel the weight of your arms around me,

the pressure of you squeezing me, holding me against you…but then, I forget again.

That’s when I miss you, though I don’t know what I’m missing, just that you’re not there.

And then I remember you again, and I know what I’m missing…

I’m missing when I’ll forget you again,

so I don’t have to remember what I’ve forgotten

Love Grows

In the beginning he was resistant to all the ways she needed to be loved.

Resistant to giving her the kisses she craved.

Resistant to the idea of caring for her.

Resistant to wanting to make her happy, not knowing in return he would find happiness.

Resistant to being concerned about her pleasure, not understanding it would increase his own.

Resistant to finding ways to make her smile, not realizing he would come to live for that smile.

Resistant to the way she tried to love him, not realizing how precious and rare her love was; how hard it was for her to let herself love him.

He resisted; he didn’t need what she offered, other than her body, which she gave without resistance.

He had no regard for her beyond his own desires; so he didn’t notice at first when his resistance became need.

He didn’t realize when his gaze would linger or he found himself watching as she did some mundane task.

He didnt notice when he began to stare at her lips and wonder at their softness.

He wasn’t aware of when just listening to her voice began to calm him.

He didn’t realize he started doing things just to hear her laugh or that he craved seeing her at the end of the day.

But it was her smile, a smile she had given to him a hundred times before, that took his breath and held him mesmerized.

He didn’t understand why his heart began to beat so erratically or why suddenly everything but her seemed to fade.

She noticed his stillness and her smile began to fade, to be replaced with a look of concern, and the loss of that smile made him panic. “What’s wrong” she asked, “nothing” he replied, though he was trying to hide his panic from her.

He turned away and tried to make up an excuse of why he needed to leave, but made the mistake of looking back and he saw the sadness come over her, which she tried to mask with a sad smile and acceptance of his desertion.

He realized he had seen that look on her face many times in the past, and for the first time he truly saw it and knew what it was, because he thought he might be feeling the same thing.

He turned back to her, “I can stay if you want me too”, her smile returned.

And for him, love grew.

When I Am 92

When you were born and I was in my mother’s body.

When I was two and and you were four.

When I was eight and you were ten.

When I was twelve and you were fourteen.

When I was fourteen and you were sixteen.

When I was sixteen and you were eighteen.

When I was twenty-five and you were twenty-seven.

When I was thirty and you were thirty-two.

When I was thirty-eight and you were forty.

When I was forty-one and you were forty-three.

When I was forty-three and you were forty-five.

When I am forty-eight and you are fifty.

When I am fifty-five and you are fifty-seven.

When I am sixty-two and you are sixty-four.

When I am seventy-eight and you are eighty.

When I am eighty-six and you are eighty-eight.

When I am ninety-two and you are ninety-five.

Maybe that would be enough time to show you how much I love you.