I Needed You

This kind of desperate inspiration
is like fingernails scraping
the walls of my empty room.
The last time I left
you were right there, right
where you're supposed to be
& then you were walking away,
you didn't see me put my hand
against the window to wave goodbye.

I figure this much:
Tonight I owe you something
I can't put down on a page
For kissing the tears right out of my eyes.
You'd be amazed at
how easy it is for me
to get over the things that hurt
when you put your arms around me.

Baby, your name lives on my lips
You're the kind of think I thought
I could only dream about.
But imagination got the best of me.

I always thought I wanted something real
When in fact I wanted something true.

I needed you.

I still believe.

I still believe in the resilence of the human heart and the validity of love; I still believe that connections between people can be made and that the spirits which inhabit us sometimes touch. I still believe that the cost of these connections is horribly, outrageously high...and I still believe that the value received far outweighs the price which must be paid.

~ Stephen King

Anyone Who Touches Me Breaks My Heart

Maybe it's because I can't handle being alone
And the men that I find just don't give enough
Or they are not there enough
It's either me or them who's never enough
But I know there's a word for me
And it is: Hopeless

Maybe it's because I've faked so many orgasms
I might have forgotten what a real one feels like
But I still leave them breathless,
And so tired they can barely move afterwards
But they still have enough energy
To get up and drive home, or just
Make me take them there
Or they sleep on the couch or the floor
Just never next to me.

Maybe it's because they all know
I'm an easy one to use
Every man knows that
The women who can't even
Look at themselves in the mirror
Must be good in bed
Because they only care about pleasing others
Not themselves.

Maybe it's because I've always hoped too much
To hear someone calling my name
Though none of them ever do.
Some can't even get their tongues around it,
I try to explain it but no one listens
So when I'm screaming and crying:
"I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know who I am"
They just say 'Baby, come here'
And before I know it
Their tongue is in my mouth
Shutting me up
As if that's what it will take
To make me whole.

Maybe it's because I know
I'll be used until I die
Used for my money or my car
Or my bed or my poems
Or for my tongue or for
What's between my legs.
They will take and take and keep taking
And when I try to say
"I deserve better than this"
They won't even know
What I'm talking about.

I guess I wrote this back in 2003 or 2004. Now that I am putting poems online, I am really wishing I had dated these, but maybe I thought they would be timeless, or I thought they would be kept secret in my notebook forever.

When I decided to post a poem tonight, I was thinking of this one, and I swear when I opened my notebook the pages fell open on that particular page.

When I read these words, I can remember the time I wrote this, I remember why and for who. I remember the exact way it felt to be used and taken for granted, and I wonder, deep inside, do I still feel this way about myself? Do I still think that I am hopeless, and not worth real love?

I guess it's just one of those things I have to figure out about myself, and I'm glad to have a creative outlet in which to do that, still.

Ever tried, ever failed + You're Gone

Eighteen straight days of blogging ended because I went on a date, was irrationally let down by the date, and then I wallowed in a stupor of weepiness and melancholy with Alisha for the last two days. 

Saturday morning, Elise and I were sitting at the kitchen counter stools and she tried to slide her stool closer to mine but just ended up smashing one of the legs down onto my right middle toe. The pain was brief but intense, and shocking. Tears instantly welled in my eyes the moment it happened, and from there the floodgates were opened and I was in deep trouble. 

I could barely stop crying the rest of the day.

Thankfully I have a friend who will take me as I am, or at least as she knows me to be, and help me. Just by being there and being her.

If it weren't already so late at night, I would have more new words for you. Instead, for now, this:

You're Gone

I decided months ago that I never wanted
to write another poem about you again,
but when I woke up this afternoon I realized
it was you I had been dreaming about
and I woke up recalling the exact caramel color
of your skin, each meticulously placed freckle,
the way you and gravity worked so hard to
make your hair fall just so over your forehead -
I was dreaming of all these details
burned into my memory after all these years
when I woke up I knew you were the only thing familiar
and for an hour all I wanted was you.

I went outside, stood in two inches of snow,
tried to warm myself and melt away your image
But my mind held on, reached deeper, and
remembered one club night in New York
when I was dancing with you, and in once instant
you were gone. I turned around
expecting to fall into your open arms and
you were nowhere to be found.
For the next hour I searched for you -
Searched men in black shirts and pants,
searched hundreds of brown eyes that weren't yours,
reached for hands that didn't know mine -
I lost you.
But just as I was giving up, resigning to
go back to the dance floor and hope
that you'd find me, you did -
Wrapped silk arms around me, and led me home.

You will never lead me home again, what's more is
I will never wrap my eggshell skin around you again.
I will never get close enough to let you crush me.
I'll never again look into your eyes
and say 'I love you,'
I'll remind myself every day that
you don't deserve me anymore.
I'll remind myself every day that
It's over, and
you're gone.

Promising.

I went on a date last night, a promising first date. Promising because we liked each other, clearly, as we are going out again tomorrow night. He even texted me (before ten in the morning!) to tell me that he enjoyed last night and was looking forward to seeing me again. Promising. 

But I can't lie - not to you, not to myself.

I didn't feel the sparks. I didn't feel giddy or swoony or light in my heart. I didn't look at him and think "Yes." I looked at him and thought, tentatively, "Maybe." 

It's not him, it's me.

I think there comes a point in every perpetually single girl's life where she thinks she is never going to find someone - and for me, that point came and went a long time ago. Worse, it's not that I didn't think I would ever find anyone, it's that I DID find someone. I had someone.

I had him, and I lost him. 

It's been so long now since I've seen him, you'd think I would have forgotten things about him, but no.

It's been three years, five months, and twenty-two days, and I haven't forgotton a thing, and I know now something that I wasn't so sure of yesterday:

I am not over him. 

I think to myself, Yeah. Maybe I'm going to be one of those women living alone with her books and her cats and hopefully my daughter will visit me often when I'm old, because certainly I'll be alone. Because who else could I possibly be with? 

But then I think: This is it. I've made my bed - I did this. And now I have to lay in it. I have to live in it. 

I could be one of those women who drown themselves in vodka and bury themselves into the arms of men they do not know or love - or I could find love. Real love. The kind where they love you back so hard, they don't let you walk away. 

So I did this.

I met him at Paul's Pasta and we had dinner. We had a great time and decided to carry on our date at Azu in Mystic. We probably had too many drinks, we had great desserts, and we talked until my mouth was dry and my cheeks were sore from smiling. I couldn't stop smiling. 

It's promising to laugh with someone. It's promising when you have simple things in common, like favorite books, and movies, and basic human morals. The date lasted five and a half hours, and the whole time we didn't really talk about anything serious, and that was a sweet relief. 

It's promising to know that I can do this now, that I can put myself out there, that I can be the one to say Let's just go out, let's not waste time talking online for weeks, I have no time to waste. 

It's promising to know that I have the strength and the will to try, even though I don't want to have to try, because I still just want him. 

But we're going out again tomorrow night, and I promise - I'm going to give him a chance.