pen and paper

I am so jaded

to think that what happens to others
could happen to me
but wait
it hasn't

And I wonder if classifying myself,
if only for the satisfaction of the masses,
as bisexual is really accurate.
I mean, wouldn't one have to be
sexual
to determine that?
And if one is not,
then isn't the correct classification,
if only for the satisfaction of the masses
actually asexual?

"To be or not to be?"
begins the soliloquy,
for which many are familiar.
It is a question for which
we all at some point ask ourselves.

You're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't.

It is life's challenge to maintain optimismin
the face of adversity.
To challenge the obstacles placed before us,
if only to discover,
it is us who hold ourselves back,
keeping true happiness at bay.

The images and stories displayed
on television amount to only a sliver
of what is actually real.

There are many sides to every story
And then there is the truth,
but how is 'The Truth' determined?

History is just one's own perception of the truth.
If you're blessed with enough funds
you can have that perception printed,
market it as 'The Truth' and scores of generations
will be programed to know it to be so.
That is unless they investigate on their own.
Which is why hardly anyone knows who invented the stop light.
Of that small group, though they know a black man was behind this everyday fixture,
They couldn't tell you his name.
And of the selected few that know his name to be Garrett Morgan,
They couldn't tell you about the other inventions he was behind.
Just by glancing at this man's life one could definitely see how "to be"
has the advantages over "not to be".

Some times one must go underground,
constructing a manhole to go around the unnecessary
in order to accomplish something great.
Garret Morgan's has served him well
in allowing him to keep others from stealing his ideas.
It is such struggles that build our character and remind us
of the light at the end
of that sometimes long, dank tunnel.
But most importantly, it reminds us life is
with out a doubt
worth living
Which is why we shouldn't hesitate to live it to it's fullest
And keep at the fight to maintain a positive outlook.

I dreamt
last night, of her again.

I dreamt
About kissing her
About holding her
In my arms.

And thought,
Wow.
Aren't I lucky.

Upon awakening,
I could still
smell her scent.
I could still
feel the warmth of her.
It was as if she'd really been there
And I hadn't dreamt her up.

In truth,
I already knew it was over.
She didn't have to say a word.
See, I just didn't want to know right then.
I wanted to wallow in this
Free
she gave me.
I wanted to enjoy something
That's been missing from my life for such a long time,
That I've nearly become a stranger to myself.
I wanted to shake the dusty doll feeling,
Snuggling up to happiness, even if it was suedo happiness.
Somehow I thought if I ignored the obvious
The switch would click and I'd find myself in something worth while
instead of watching someone else have that experience.
But it's hard to benefit from a fire
when you're trying to get warm by cold ashes.

Yes, I knew, before she touched down in her home town.
I knew before she inquired about my socializing
And furthermore, I knew who'd replaced me
or rather was more accessible than me
and it's not like I was upset
I didn't have a right to be.
We were never together in the sense of commitment
but what burned me up, was that she knew even before I did
and said nothing.
Looking at this year in review,
within this verbal understanding I feel
Like I was the only party keepin up my end of the deal.

"Bi chicks only want dick anyway."
Wow
Really?
Then explain my attraction to you?
Trust, for me this wasn't an experiment.
It's not like you were my first.
But
I wanted you to be.
So much for wishful thinking.
That's what I get for allowing myself to get swept away
In goodness that's out of my grasp.
It's alright though,
I've grown past the awkwardness.
Some things just aren't meant to be.
Some things just aren't meant for me.
And that doesn't mean
I feel any less
It just means I've accepted it
And have stopped wasting time trying
Not to feel at
All
Especially, after catching myself
Comparing me to The Crazy Lady.
Stranger things have happened.
Life, it's never dull.

I would rather have my feelings hurt by the truth
Rather than being happy with a lie.
I don't know why I waited, but I did
Until it had curdled, souring with a faint stench.
I suppose I was trying to prove myself wrong.
But I was right.
It's okay though,
I've accepting you as you are,
For who you are.
Besides there's nothing wrong with the
Friend Zone.

Of all the nights I've had
I am left to wonder why
tonight
I can't seem to find sleep
I thought I had things all figured out
And well it seems I don't
tonight I am the woman conflicted
that I've been trying to smother
all this time
but these issues
that render me this way
can not be deconstructed and broken down
to simplest terms, in order to eradicate them.
They are out of reach
and out of my control.
And I swear when I prayed for peace of mind, body, and soul,
I'd come to terms with this
and
let it go
If I could only convince that determined part of me
that the out come will never change
If only I could truly give up all hope
stop trying to read between lines that don't exist
stop trying to make sense, so as to rationalize the events that have taken place
maybe,
just maybe,
I could find sleep
or sleep could find me
and I could drift off into nothingness
not thinking about the thing out the grasp of my control,
not imagining endless possibilities if things were different.
I was so tired a minute ago.
I need to rest
I wish I could at least rest
even if it is just nothingness
because that nothingness
has got to be better than what I'm feeling now.

There's no reason to expose the guts.
No one wants that mess.
And I supposed if I were on the receiving end.
I'd stare in digust.
Shit, we should all be able to at least
Keep it together.

And what is keeping it together mean any damn way?
"keeping it together"
One of life's many myths.
Cuz ain't nobody got it kept or together.

I try more
to do
before I have a chance to
think
too hard on whatever it is
or whatever direction
my spirit moves me.

But more often than not
I continue to remain still.
And while my insides cry out sincerely
I outwardly continue to perpetuate this mask,
to disguise the truth of the matter.
My truth and all that matters
to me.

Why?

Because no decision is an easy one.
Because no amount of pain can be avoided.
And because, though I don't like it,
I'm use to this feeling.

Rejection
to some a devastation.
To me a familiar constant that
I've learned to deal with.

Ignoring the knots of intuition
that prevent appetite.
I know
I know I don't want to
But I know
And there's no stopping what must be done.

Running just makes it worse.

Already I miss her
I miss her many, varied kisses
and a tongue that teased my mouth
and the taste of her.
Those eyes
Her deeply dark eyes looking down upon me
Enchanting is she
As I look up in awe smiling like I've some sort of secret
In part because she blows me away
In part because she chooses not to highlight my clumsiness
I want to touch her everywhere at once
Sparking in her what she's lit in me
I'm not feeling rushed, nor do I want to be
Instead I'd rather savor each moment
taking time to learn her every curve
God I miss her
Her kisses
Her lips so soft
Her legs so soft
Her arms to hold me
Her beautiful hands
I miss her kisses

I'm a hot mess
a bundle of nerves not knowing
where to go
or what to do
and all over . . . .
well, must I say?
As I ponder the thoughts on delay,
struggling internally over whether to admit
this lovely heaviness at my core
or go on ignoring me as before
I'm a hot mess
Hot, because suddenly I'm wrapped up
in too much comforter,
my heart beating louder,
and the talk become a slight buzz in my ear.
It's weird I'm not in a panic,
or feeling like I know any second
the ball will drop.
I know or rather think I know how this will play out.
Then again . . . . maybe not.
This is for sure,
I don't want to cry alone
I don't want to die alone
I don't want to be alone any more.
And I definitely don't want none of this,
whatever this may be,
to end
even with all it's craziness.

Every time I sit to write
I leave a trail of wasted ink and paper
All the things I want to say
I've said
time and time
again
ever slightly changed but nonetheless
the same
yet still can't figure out where I am
amidst the sea
of ugly
disorganization and role confusion
where do I fit?
where do I belong?
whilst I age the genuine I seems frozen
stuck some how
So I won't write
because I've written about
everything and nothing
and am still
trodden with this plight
of not knowing
and knowing
seeing
but not being seen
visualizing the grand
but unseemingly able to reach it.
So here I am
not writing
faking like my life doesn't depend on it.