I cannot write
light and airy
anymore
than a mountain can fly…
so I’ll let you be
the artsy one,
showing off you eloquence
and sensitivity
to every nuance,
weaving metaphoric opiates
to flood the senses
with everything but meaning;
I will let you be the
sophisticated one,
dropping worldly objects
into your writings
for no other reason,
and as if it were
an Ebay fest,
for I am not a material writer,
I’ll do what I came here to do-
let my muse roam
where it will
to ponder things
with my mind, of course, and,
as I’ve discovered possible,
with my heart,
and cause effects
where they are needed…
so do not try to cajole me
into a pink flowery dress,
or lock me in a room
with the emo kids,
or stylize my hair or perfume
the nape of my neck,
I am really not here for that…
If you want gay-cool enviability
you may find it, elsewhere…
I have no need for obesiant stylizings, coolness,
sophistications, worldliness,
or any other means
of generating enviable impressions;
I came here
with an inquisitive mind,
a burning mind,
probing, to discover
and to share my findings;
and later,
with a burning heart that,
though as wayward as any,
endeavors to reawaken
those it finds wanting;
and if I have anything to apologize for,
it is that,
and the pain that such a desire causes…
I certainly do not need to apologize for prodding you
beyond narrow creative comfort zones, mindframes,
or emotions
when I know it will benefit you,
and even when you’ve hated me for it.
| His times with her were nice,
he could not remember better,
but when together,
they neglected their separate lives;
now he suspects that she is catching up with hers,
and he cannot fault her for being away so long
without a word…
then again, he admits, maybe she has really flown this time,
there is no way for him
to tell or know
through the silence;
he’d always expected her
to take flight, sooner or later,
but still, even knowing that,
it hurts, that ‘here then gone’…
then again,
he’s done the same,
without realizing,
not knowing the other’s attachment to the relationship,
seeming to have left,
to return long after
as if it were yesterday,
as if he had not caused any pain…
so he considers his own said misery a lesson being learned…
then again,
maybe she’s waiting for him
to pursue her,
and he wouldn’t blame her,
for she has always been
the one to say the first hello,
and she is probably
growing weary of it…
So why has he not?
The fear and pain
of rejection?
Did she not face the same fears, and have them cruelly realized time and again when he was not there,
while she waited,
most likely hurting,
with no reply?
She does have,
and perhaps needs many,
and he is but one,
one with that insecure feeling
of being but one grain in the sand,
nothing special;
that at any moment
she may never return, or
return whenever she felt
the occasional urge…
she has taught him
that it is the waiting that kills…
He had heard it before,
“I am no one special to you…”
"You have hurt me,
and I have moved on."
and could not comprehend the depth or meaning…
So she is much like he,
yet he still does not understand her,
what her motives are, if she cares,
or ever cared, and how much;
much like all those who did not understand him,
and had waited, withering by the wayside
without his being aware…
So he worries now, as they did, and wonders
just what he means to her…
ironic, when he remembers being asked
the very same questions…
“Are you OK?
I haven’t heard from you.”
“So I’m not that important to you?”
“I could not wait any longer.”
but then, in an ironic twist,
if he hurt her,
then she cared,
which was the main question for him all along,
for if he knew the measure
of her love,
he would return it, tenfold...
silly misunderstandings, perhaps,
and now, he fears, it may all be in the past,
and all this ruminating, irrelevant,
after all the pain that has transpired…
the solution may be simple-
if he just shows his love for her…
however much that may be, in little ways…
then she will be able to tell
how much is there,
and how genuine it is.
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