Ironically I only go dark when I am shut out.
The Last One smiled and I saw a future in it.
The one who might have seen my future and knew I had things to do that didn’t involve him.
He who went dark and I can’t say his name because he won’t hear me anyways.
He is no longer listening. Even though my voice soothed him too.
It soothes them all.
I have seen various versions of varying futures.
No often. I usually know they are not mine to keep. Just to enjoy.
But those rare times I do see something that looks like staying, when they go, it about kills me.
I’ve found rib cages I wanted to crawl into and call home because their heartbeat was music I always wanted to listen to. Because I felt safe behind the bars of those particular cages made of flesh and bone, not trapped at all, just safe as houses.
Three times I wanted to go home, and stay there.
3 times I saw a smile with my future in it and 3 times I have been denied.
Each one a little more magic than the last.
“She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you’ll know loss the rest of your life.”
― Junot Díaz
Two of them were young. One exceptionally so. And I am turning over in my mind this bit of grit, polishing it until it becomes pearl. So what if he is young? He isn’t forever but he could have stayed a while and still been young when it was done. And yes, it would have hurt less later.
That hardly seems fair when it pains us both. I love them, I don’t want to be the thing they miss in the night when they roll over next to whatever girl didn’t scare them.
“The Uses Of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”
― Mary Oliver, Thirst
I have been turning this over in my mind too, trying to interpret, understand, glean what I can and I think I am the box of darkness. When my light goes out. When they shut me out.
I am a gift. I prove what is possible. Then they wander off and try to find pieces of me in another. But they come up wanting, and look for me again and again.
I have to remember/process/understand/believe this new thing I have just been told…
“It is not a punishment to love me or be loved by me.”
I think I have stumbled upon some answers on this third time of getting so close to the sun, melting and then plummeting back to earth, all feathers and wax and failure.
My heart is a clumsy child. She doesn’t know fear. She uses others to gauge the extent of her pain. She is innocent, wild and a dork really. You would think that they would see this vulnerable wonderful beautiful thing and want to scoop her up and protect her, keep her safe.
But nope.
They never see it, they don’t look.
They only see a challenge to be a better man and it scares them, they don’t see the reward on the other side for just trying a little. Just one step up is all it really takes to look over the wall and see into Eden.
My heart has a body guard and that is me. Grown strong from rebuilding over and over with the bricks of houses that collapse. Throwing back the stones that were thrown at me. Basic survival in harsh climates that were never meant for us. I am hardened and hard. And that is all that gets seen. This warrior made out of titanium wielding a sword, wayward wolves at her feet. Surrounded by a fortress of friends who are loyal; who protect and love me and suddenly I become work.
Indestructible, impenetrable.
Too much to bother with.
But the door is right here. And it’s open.
My heart is an unmade bed
It may look messy
But I swear it’s a safe place to rest
~Moriah Pearson
I think its going to take some while of reflecting/dreaming/remembering to see the ways I relate to this one. There’s a playlist in there somewhere – lots of Billie and Joni and Koko and a guy named Cat.