Monday, February 16, 2009

There is

something so wrong about you. You are all twisted, all tied up inside. I imagine your organs mangled, covered in knots- the trunk of an old tree. Only these knots do not come from age. They are not marks of your wisdom. They come from that disease of yours, and in my fantasies I am your healer. I hollow you out, (goodbye stomach, lungs. goodbye liver, goodbye heart.) I fill you with cement. You are all better.

But I am no healer. Instead, we are mutually parasitic. You rhapsodize about ideals you do not practice and I wonder how you came to sink into this hypocrisy and spread your roots so thick into it that you cannot find your way up and out.

And I, the enabler, I bury myself in the shallow grave of my unfailing affection for your fucked up soul. Meanwhile, you take me in pieces; a little square child that you push through circle holes.

I melt. I yield to your ego. I feel your presence throbbing sick in the most instinctive quarter of my guts. I fall asleep in your shade.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

i would

like to find a man with morals. one who understands the difference between blindly following rules laid out by others and actually blazing a trail of right and wrong with your own two feet.

one who knows that asking why? is a matter of spirituality and not of disrespect.

he would say that the greatest thanks we can give for the gift of life is to live it to the fullest. and remind me that any god worth his salt has a sense of humor. for lent we would indulge in all our favorite things...as a symbol of our faith of course.

i think this man would understand how i feel in mountains. he would understand how i feel in cities. that they are both forms of temples. one erected in honor of the earth. the other in honor of life.

he would forgive me for all the idiotic things i did with vanity and unhealthy levels of hedonism in my heart. and his forgiveness would mean more than that of any priest i ever faked hail marys for.

for him, i would give up everything. but that's just it, a man like this would never ask me to.