Monogologue

But it's not lying. Because in the moment I said it, it was true for me. And then the next moment when it wasn't, I just never corrected it.

Because I got what I wanted. Which is you and not you. Because I'm too scared to really go without and I'm too scared to feel like I'm missing out.

Because I want you in my bed, always. Except when you aren't and then I want someone else. It's really for your benefit- because I roll to the middle too easily when you aren't there. And then when you come back, you have to keep pushing me to the right.... well maybe it's the dip in the bed and maybe it's that I just want to be close to (you) or you know... whoever.

I tried to tell you I was bad but you just wouldn't believe me. You believe everything else I say and now do you believe this? You should. Because I do. and I'll make it as true as I can manage- that's how strongly I believe it.

This monogamy thing, I don't think it's for me. I don't want to miss an opportunity, well I guess a different opportunity. Other than the one I'm missing now. The one that would let me see how awesome I could grow to be with you in my planter instead of my garden.

Believe me, I should know

I've said a lot of things to try to keep you out

to keep my heart safe, to win without a fight.

Like-" yeah, I fall in love a lot."

Making it seem like it didn't mean anything

when it did.

"It's different every time."

Which is true. But maybe it's more true that I don't really know what love is.

I've always got my fingers on the edge, hanging on.

And with good reason, because there was never anyone at the bottom.

And all I did was set it up so that you won't think you mean anything to me either.

When what I meant to say was not that I loved them all, but that I needed so little

So much less than I need now.

And so my spoils are different versions of my broken heart

clumsily molded into the shape of something I'm missing.

I need to find a new focus, to appreciate what I have

and let the empty space be the reference to the fullness.

I just wonder when I'll stop missing your taste in my mouth.

near sighted

I thought the best way to determine the safety of this structure was to get as close as possible and examine every fiber. The cell structure is perfect and mesmerizing. I'm following one line to the next, tracing it with my eyes and fingers- admiring the interconnectness. Seeing myself in it. The shape, the form fits right in my hands. It looks strong. It feels sturdy. It seems like I'm right where I belong.

I took a step back to get perspective. Can this structure hold my weight? Once I did, I realized it was moving. Moving away from me. Bucking. I've missed the pitfalls, the razors on the edges. I'm holding my breath because when I don't it sucks it away from me with the whoosh it makes as it's out the door.

Stay away from the station

It's like I get up one day and decide I'd like to take a trip. I go to the station, but don't decide where yet. I don't even buy a ticket, I'm actually not going anywhere, or at least I don't think I mean to be. I just want to watch. I want to see what comes to the station. I wait and watch until a dark black train pulls up. There is no announcement as to where this train is heading. It's speeding into the station. It's on fire when the brakes hit. It doesn't stop, it just slows down long enough for me to jump on. I was secretly waiting for this train- if the right one comes.

I really don't even have to be invited. I can tell this train wants me. I've told no one where I'm going- so I'm not accountable to say 'my trip to Springfield was amazing'. And no one can find me. When I send a post card so they don't worry, I don't tell them that the train is off the tracks. That somehow we kept going, that I'm too scared to step off because I don't think another train will ever come for me. That I love this train and I don't even care where we end up. Instead I say- "It's amazing. I wish you were here." And I mean this too. I mean all of this. I want to be swept away, driven off, stranded. And if I'm on a runaway train it's not my fault. And if I don't say where I'm going, I can't be in the wrong place.

I can't say the words "I know I shouldn't be doing this"- because then I'd have to stop or admit that I'm crazy, that my survival instinct is all fucked up. I know the train won't stop. If I want off, I've got to do more than pull the brake wire, more than beg it to stop. I have to jump off and find my way home.

Expect nothing less

It's really about letting go of what happens after you do something. You hit 'send' and wait. You press 'dial' and wait. You nod 'hey' and wait. But what if you didn't get stuck in the waiting? What if what happened next was a surprise and not only were you ok with that- you loved that?

There is no expected outcome. This is an experiment without a hypothesis. I'm working it backwards. Expect nothing less than nothing.

This is where it's been wrong all along- I've only ever been disappointed with myself. I want to eat this bagel and enjoy it. I want to be in this moment and feel arms around me and just be. I'm on this little seesaw- trying to find the way to the middle.

If this is how you spend your time, I don't even care what you have to say anymore

I always said I'd wait until I had something important to say to write it down. Well maybe I'm just thinking that the rooms are all on fire. Your hair is everywhere. My insides are copper, I'd kill to make them gold. Hey everyone I got something to say- and so does a 17 year old pop country star, a sexy, armed conspiracy theorist politician and a cougar snatching Kabbalah appropriating underwear model. Starting now I'm breaking a promise I never should have kept.

I'm looking for the Da Vinci code in the status update. What does it mean that you ate that for breakfast? What grows in your garden and does that mean you love me? How will I know? If this is how you spend your time, I don't even care what you have to say anymore.

One sign is too many and one thousand signs are never enough. I don't speak this language.

And you say, I only hear what I want to. If I had two dozen roses. It's too bad I never had a journal, that I couldn't get over the fear or self importance and the performance of my words once found. Notes squirreled away in the wall and scratched into a fence and written on your neck weren't enough. I'd probably get on stage and get mortified to prove to myself that I'm alright I must be alright because my shit is OUT and I'm killing that part of me inside. It's not very true so I guess I had my future self importance in mind when I was keeping the secrets and throwing away the key.