Free thoughts in free verse

It was something you said.

It was the way you said it.

It was that you said it at all.

It was something you didn't say.

It was the way you didn't say it.

It was the way you walked away.

It was that in the moment after a slow, spine-tingling build, you let me drop, naked and covered in my own sweat and newfound shame for letting you have me without having all of me (even the bad bits, the misfits, the misplaced and misused good intentions).

It was in the moments that you sweet talked me into glorious submission, my mind set only on the thing in front of us because it was passion, it was rage, it was closeness, understanding, warmth. It was warmth.

It was the thought of being in someone's arms whose arms were in mine.

It was being in the moment and forgetting about all the moments that come after this.

It was the way we fought, quarreled like Street Fighters. You, Dhalsim, with the ability to stretch out your arms and push me away with a hard blow, and me, Blanka, with the ability to use my rage to hurt anyone who gets too close to hurt me. 

It was the way that despite our bitter and unexpected fighting, I wanted to get close and want still to be closer.

It's my inability to have just a taste and not eat the whole dish. I want your entire dish, even if it's a bit meatier than I'm accustomed to.

If I have any fault in my pursuit, it is not that I don't own my faults or that I can't account for them; it is that I want more from people than I know with what to do.

My defense to being hurt is to hurt. Even if I don't understand the fight, my dukes go up in a plea of self-preservation.

I don't want to hurt or be hurt anymore.

I'm tired from this battle.

The worst part is: nobody won.

It's the way that I don't know what to do next.

It's the way I'm drunk on your words, the promise of your touch, the warmth of your body and mine burning together in my bed.

It's the way that I never know if you'll be kind or aloof when we speak.

It's the way that you keep me at a distance that makes me want to run distances.

What does it take to break down the barriers?

What does it take to not only make amends, but to make them strong?

How do you strengthen what's been badly wounded? Can you? Can we? I want to, please.

I want you.

It's the way that I hate you, and the way that I don't. Not at all. Even when I do, it doesn't feel like I expect it to.

How can I make amends strongly with you?

I'm sorry. ❤️ 

Come back inside.

Kiss me on the head and it'll all be alright.

Not us, but me.

Today has been surprisingly beautiful.
I have worked both of my jobs, one right after the other, for weeks, and have not had much waking time to rest. So today, I did not do anything I didn't feel like doing- that was the rule. Nothing specific was on the agenda, leaving the day open for all kinds of possibilities.

I went to the farmer's market, where I bought more beautiful goodies from Amir, for instance... 4 bottles of his moringa tea. Oy, it's so good for the body and soul! I spent a couple hours hanging out with my friend John Pepe at his soap stand and talked with his friend Matthew. We joked, told stories (John's story about meeting Ryan Gosling was hilarious), and sweated out half our body weight in sweltering 106 heat index temperatures. After Matthew left, John and I talked about my trouble letting go (this conversation inevitably came up after my ex passed by in his stupid boat shoes eating a popsicle). For the past few months, I've found it hard to let go of things, little things in my every day that piss me off... traffic, new neighbors parking outside my window, rude customers at the pottery studio, you name it. It's exhausting to get so angry. It's heavy to carry the past and all its troubles and unkind people. Dead weight on my shoulders literally weighing me down. So how do I move on? How do I find some quiet space that's just mine when I'm so busy?

I guess I'll have to make the time and learn to stop counting the times I've been hurt or been wronged. I've spent the past year dating, at various times being a girlfriend to one person or another, which taught me a lot (about myself and the human condition) and changed me in many ways. Plus, I've been working two jobs, going to school full time, working full time in the comedy troupe with rehearsals happening a couple days a week on top of shows every few months. Some of these time-sucks have been removed, but I still keep them on my watch, still count the seconds from when one thing ends to when the next new thing comes along. This is a wake-up call... to remove the distractions, and to stop looking for new ones. This is no longer the point in life where I want to fill my time with things to keep me from thinking about the things I don't want to think about; this is the time to unpack the past and move forward. A time to reset the clock and only count what really matters.

I'm going to finish the projects at hand. Right now. I have no time to lose. I've enlisted the help of a trusted friend to keep me accountable, and thankfully, he has. After my conversation with John Pepe, I came home and began feverishly working on my craft. I have not stopped. Even at this moment, multiple windows are open in my browser for research, inspiration, study, curiosity into the world of my art. I am doing this- the process has begun.

I know this post is vague, but I owe it to myself to not talk about it, but to BE about it. My friend Carissa once said that to me, and I take that to heart now as I forge ahead, surely shedding the skins of my old self and finding beautiful, shiny, happy newness underneath, unmasked finally from the identities I've found in my (in)significant others.

It is my hope that you'll love yourself.

I posted this blurb in response to an article on LearnVest.com, written by Amanda Chatel entitled "How I Do Paris on the Cheap". The writer traveled to Paris on a whim to move on from a break-up, and this was my two cents:

This article is perfect. I am writing this response from my hotel in Ireland, where I came on holiday after breaking up with a guy and choosing Ireland on a whim. I am traveling solo in all ways, and am even driving myself through the country seeing life-changing sights and challenging myself. Do what you're afraid of, if even just to prove to yourself that you can. Stand on cliffs, brave the winds and weather of a new climate. Be uncomfortable. Find comfort in adventure. And if you're nursing a broken heart, go somewhere new, meet new people, be unsure of everything and you will find so much of yourself in seeming unfamiliarity.
-Amanda

It is so reassuring that I'm not the only one who acts intuitively, but why do so many of us have to hurt? I know men hurt, too, but lately, it has been impossible to ignore all of the women in my world nursing broken hearts, feeling down about themselves, sometimes even verbally affirming that they have no worth or making crude comments about their beauty or lack thereof. WHEN DID THIS BECOME THE NORM?

Women have always been bombarded with propaganda to convince us that we're simply not good enough as we are, on our own, etc. Once a single woman hits her late 20s and early 30s, it suddenly becomes priority for those around her, a mission, to find her a mate. It's simply frowned upon for a woman to be single, wasting her precious time and precious eggs on years devoted to a career that won't cuddle her at night and provide stability. FUCK THIS, this whole demented mentality. I do not, have not, and would not define my worth based on my marital status. I have never depended on a man for anything, let alone my own self-worth, and I find it sad that in some ways, this has probably limited my success with relationships. I had an ex who told me it offended him the first couple times we went out that I insisted on paying for myself. The fact that I work three jobs and take pride in being able to make my own way in the world offends a man who feels it is his institutional duty to provide a cup of coffee or a glass of wine for me? WHAT?!

And for the matter of women afraid to be seen without make-up? I go out into the world without make-up frequently. I would even say almost always. Wearing make-up has, for so many women (myself included at points in my life), become a crutch. We become embarrassed to be seen without it because we're afraid of how we'll be viewed. We're afraid to be less beautiful than the women painted up and catching the eyes of men. If you won't like me without make-up, you won't like me any more with it. Throughout my years on stage, the idea of image has become permanently encoded in my DNA. I understand its value and its detriment; I, however, do not let it stop me from being who I am with or without my best face forward. Without make-up, I am still charming, I am still smart, I am still funny, I am still talented, and believe it or not, I have come to find out that without make-up, I am still desirable. There is nothing any cosmetic can offer me that I can't and must first cultivate within myself.

I am who I am because of my experiences, my determination, my passions, my ambition, my sense of humor. I love myself for myself, as I am. Like anyone, there are days when I feel less than beautiful and moments certainly when mascara makes me look more like I'm part of the living world, but I don't rely on it to give me personality, confidence, or a fighting chance at wrangling a man if I so desired.

So how do we move on from a place of insecurity and fear? It starts with an understanding of who you are and your deep-seated qualities. What is your value? What do you like about yourself? Who are you AS yourself? Again, not to be confused with "I'm a mother, I'm a wife, I'm a girlfriend, etc.". Those are not identities. Those are roles you play that require the role of others to define you. WHO ARE YOU? I am an artist. I am a performer. I am a poet. I don't need to be anything but what I am. Make-up can't make me who I am. I can only use make-up to enhance the projection of who I am, not who I am in general. I can express my personality through make-up; not create a new personality. This is a prompt for you to explore the difference.

It breaks my heart that a friend at work, who is so beautiful and funny and a pleasure to be around, sees herself as overweight and accessory to unworthy men. I cannot hear any more women put themselves down. We cannot accept the attention of others who do not respect us because we're desirous of the attention. THE RIGHT PERSON WILL MAKE YOU A PRIORITY. The right person will respect you above all else. The right person will compliment you- regularly. The right person will not say hurtful things to you. The right person will appreciate you. For all that you are; if not, the right person will be willing to learn.

So, let this long and wordy post remind you that you have, at all times, the option to love yourself more than anyone else ever has and treat yourself with the respect you deserve. Do things you enjoy. If you are not around people who love and appreciate you, find new people. If you are not happy with yourself as you are, explore who you are RIGHT NOW (not who you were or who you want to be) and find ways to love THIS person. You are all that you have, so if you don't love you to the ends of the earth, who will?

Dream it's over

Last night, I dreamt of my ex of nearly five years. He'd come back into my life, and we were together again. No longer naive, I knew how to ask for what I wanted, and no longer self-loathing, he was open to give it to me.

It was strange, waking up and missing him. Missing him so much I googled him. Yep... still beautiful. I wanted to message him, tell him I love him and that I always have.

But I didn't do this. Because it wasn't reality. What I felt in my dreams was the desire to love beyond my previous capacity to love. I'm smarter now. More experienced. So I used my smarts to analyze the facts: that Christopher is not in the country, and to the best of my knowledge, he's still with the girl he started dating a couple years after me. This is reality. I do love him, and I always will, in my way. But awake and no longer lined in the silver haze of dreams, I remember him, really remember our life together, and know that he wasn't who I dreamt of last night; I dreamt of the man I want. A man who is passionate, open, and able. Not the man I will always love, in my way, but the man I have yet to love.

Two Drops

One of my favorite poems for years is with me tonight....
TWO DROPS
By Zbigniew Herbert
The forests were on fire
they however
wreathed their necks with their hands
like bouquets of roses
People ran to the shelters
he said his wife had hair
in whose depths one could hide
Covered by one blanket they whispered shameless words
the litany of those who love
When it got very bad
they leapt into each other's eyes
and shut them firmly
So firmly they did not feel the flames
when they came up to the eyelashes
To the end they were brave
To the end they were faithful
To the end they were similar
like two drops
stuck at the edge of a face
(translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Peter Dale Scott)

October is a time to shed the old.

Tonight I am happy. I type this entry from my desk under the window, rain pouring outside, vibrant pink flowers spilling out from a canister on the counter, leaning as if to read over my shoulder. I think often about my next great body of work. Will I finally sit down and write a play? Is my next great poem on the horizon? The words on my tongue like scalded tastebuds. September has brought about so much in so many areas of my life that I don't have the heart to try to steer myself in any one direction; I feel truly that the right moment will make itself known to me, the right words will emerge onto the page when they're ready. For now, in the meantime, I write everything else. I write about the moment of writing, the painfully relieving process of letting words spill out of your pen like blood from a wound onto a linen page to stop the blood, but the words keep bleeding. It's terminal. The wound won't heal until you get out the bad blood. And finally, words come along to suture the wound, to stop the hurt. You are free again to write about more than just anything. To write passionately. To write good comedy. To write about the time you couldn't stop bleeding. It's all within reach at the end of your arms. No matter what you write, write with feeling.

It is October now. A new month bearing a new purpose and new feelings. I'm so grateful.