Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 29, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

10-29-03 wednesday 8:52am brick NJ

how do we dare to love. to do so when it's been forbidden.

asking not, but giving still. counting the raindrops until.

how can i take this one friend i've always known. this misery and abandon her to be with you. how? because you make it so.

and i know someday she will return to me. i will not welcome her at first. but come to love her too again eventually.

but now is a happiness i've never before known. and i suddenly realize i needn't submit to it. that i was taken long ago.

10-29-03 wednesday 9am bricj NJ

words like raindrops fall from my mind. drenching the paper in the colors of my sadness.

for all the things there are to feel. the cataclysm of emotions always just about to erupt from beneath the surface of this skin. for all the ways and reasons that life lives and these pages fill up. there is none such reason quite as beautiful or as ugly as love is.

10-29-03 3:24pm brick NJ wednesday

i tried to say it when the night gave permission. faces smothered in darkness. eyes not our friends. it tried to slip into me as if i could be its flesh. but i was already too full with you for it to get in.

that's the trouble with being female. there's always that hole that you cannot close up. in my head i hear it screaming for filling. or closure at least. in my heart i wish that it did not exist. in my skin it echos every heartbeat.

my body was designed to be hollow. empty. my heart was not. hollow and empty am i. to always to seek filing up. a void wrapped in tender flesh. an empty spot that always begs.

10-29-03 wednesday 8:21pm brick NJ

do you want to know. to really know. to go inside me deeper than you've already been. snake your way passed the pleasure and embrace the darkness within.

when i feel you inside me it's like the world has exploded. gone all purple and to pieces and we're the only ones left. we're truly all alone.

i'm only really me when you force me. your voice like a tether around my soul. spins me round the pole until i'm dizzy. and your presense splits me in half. sends one part running to hide and the other tearing itself open to let you inside.

you don't want to know. to really know. and truth be told neither do i. love it seems to me is like a drug. you use it while you can. you let it make you high for as long as the supply can last. love is not a constant. it's definitely a variable. chemicals dance and play with our judgement. but we always have a choice. go with the feeling or sit and wait for it pass.

10-29-03 wednesday 8:11pm brick NJ

grey like darkness with only tv light. alone in this place. alone inside myself. even now. always. even joy is sadness.

i'm only killing time. that's all i know. the few moments during my life that i've actually lived stain my memory with their hopeless wishes.

i'm only getting over again. cuz i always seem to be under something. i'm getting over again. getting over because i'm always falling under.

i'm only killing time. wondering why it isn't killing me back. or maybe it is and i'm just impervious to its attacks. maybe i'm just so not alive that killing is lost on me. maybe i'm just so the opposite of life that killing is not neccessary.

no songs to sing cuz i don't know how. so i listen. like the deaf to a dial tone. so i listen curled up infront of my darker thoughts. looking upon them as if they are someone else's. frowning upon them as if they aren't my own.

even in my joy there is sadness still. for even the smallest smile there are many tears to be sown.

10-29-03 10:25pm brick NJ wednesday

i don't have. don't even know what it is. only that it exists outside the confines of my weak grip.

i write. not to myself. not to you or them. driving through long lonely nights like a bass through a song's bridge.

seeking to say all that hasn't been. scattering seeds of hope in barren sand.

i used to write because that was what i did. just the musings of a child discovering time's eminence.

but now the words embark without my bon voyage. sail off into the night's harsh barrage. now the sentences multiply like rabbits kept in cages. procreating simply for the sake of. for lack of a better purpose.

for a while i wrote of love. the kind unrequited that makes poetry orgasm.

but to receive. to pause your thoughts and let the notion supercede all the insecurities you've always trusted. to stand up to your own self-hatred. doesn't that change everything i am. to believe. to sleep between the sheets of love. even by myself to feel embraced by your warm touch. isn't that just me pretending i am someone that i'm not. real as it is. it seems it's something like a midas toouch. that the moment that i reach out to it it will turn to gold. wealthy, but inanimate. valuable, but hardly priceless.

if i'm given to write this much there must be a reason i'm not finding. a place in this world that's drawing on my thoughts. if i'm taken by the easiness of pretending that happiness is somehow now within myself. i still feel like i'm lying to myself. it still seems it cannot be.

i'm willing to be friends if we can have that. i'm willing to burn down the forest to see what will grow from the damage.

i just hate to love this much. it's so unbecoming. so out of character. it's easy to give. much harder to receive.

it's not just you and me taking our chances. there's so much else that's demanding. it's not just wanting. it's all those other things that you need that haven't anything to do with us.

i'm trying not to be selfish. it's hard when selfish asks so much. like counting the minutes until the next. and wondering am i strong enough to keep that promise. and if that's what you really want.

like marking the nights with common silence. thinking. knowing it deserves more than that.

collecting the emptiness in hidden chambers in my heart. wondering if you've gotten enough. if i'm cheating you of. trying to reconcile the distance and the love it harbors. watching the waters undulate to and forth. their endless effort to reach an end that isn't theirs to have. the constant process of learning to love only to have to learn again hoow to give it up.