Over Exposed

My heart feels over exposed

over sensitive to the elements

loved raw

and left without skin

 

like my teeth did the time

I used whitening strips

every night

for two weeks

and then accidentally

fell asleep with them in

 

the next day they were so sensitive

that even a breathe of air

was an uncomfortable

and painful sensation

 

you had me so convinced

that you were mine

that magic existed

and that everything had finally

fallen in line

 

Now I have to talk myself

out of bed every morning

talk myself

down the hall

and into the shower

talk myself through

the morning cigarette

and the coffee

 

talk myself through

the memories of you

when I smell you on my sheets

or find your hairs on my couch

and on my pillows

 

through the ride to work,

and through each sunset

because i’m afraid of night

now that

I have to talk myself to sleep

 

Don’t tell your lover that

you love them

if you don’t

someday it will lose all meaning

and how sad for love to hold no weight.

Please Send Chocolate

In one of my favorite books, “Those Who Ride The Night Winds”, by Nikki Giovanni, there is a line that reads,

“The sign on my car says : I break for gnomes…. the one in my heart reads : error in process- please send chocolate.”

It makes me laugh every time I read it, and reminds me to find humor in the heaviness of life. I’m not sure if its my age- but I am finding myself at a cross roads, questioning romantic notions, and, perhaps, somewhat naive views of life. “Will I forever feel so much? Do I seek the chaos- consciously or subconsciously for a means to create? Will I ever actually feel like a “grown up”? Are bleeding hearts for the young and the restless?”

I’ll be 30 in August.

Within the past year the steady vision I had so carefully curated for myself fell to pieces, and I find myself constantly contemplating love and life. I feel like nobody has any idea what is going on. We just make up these little realities, and walk around acting out these sort of plays. Everyone I know is broken. It’s hard to wake up, its hard to walk through the day. How much heartbreak can someone take? How many times can one person break? I just want to get to a place where I don’t have to talk myself through a day, and I don’t think I could even begin to count the amount of people I know that feel the same. All of us-  just flailing, trying to find solid ground.

I just want to love, and be loved. I want someone to see me. And we can flail together- no, we’ll fly.

I was talking with a friend early today, about soulmates and love, and how it evolves, and shifts, and changes, with each person, with each heartbreak, with time, and age. I’ve always believed, or wanted to believe, that there is one person out there for me, waiting, and when we meet, the whole world will stop, and fall around us. I have always so fully believed in this Romeo and Juliet, Noah and Ally, Christian and Satine type love. Like — no matter what, our hearts where bound, and we would always find our way to each other, one way or another.

Through each heartache I find myself further and further away from this notion. I thought for years that the woman I was with, was that one for me. She was my best friend, my lover, my teacher. I approached our life like ‘ride or die, I am yours and you are mine’, until she decided she wasn’t.

And what are you to do?

You deal with the house, the car, the dog, you move on.

You can’t make someone love you.

So, I scraped myself up off the floor, and walked myself through each day until I could face the heartbreak and move on. And I did.

I met another, and once again convinced myself that she was the one for me. That all the other loves were irrelevant and that all along I had been looking for her. That all the many pathways and lessons led me to the she, with the striking eyes and bright hair. I was hers, and she was mine– until she decided she wasn’t.

So, here I am, once again, trying to redefine and understand my idea of love. Falling asleep with my notebook, where I wish she was dreaming. Ink on the sheets, spilling the evidence of my dismay.

So, I suppose, this is 29.

I will continue to reflect.

Perhaps the day I do meet the one that makes the world stop, she wont leave.

Maybe it wont be obvious at first — maybe it will.

Maybe I already know her, but she is not ready,

Or, perhaps our timing is simply off — and as her world is spinning, mine is standing still…

 

 

I gave you my heart,

I gave you my trust..

You gave it back

..Over the phone

On a Sunday..