Rose's Bloom

Calm yourself because no one can save you
But you
No one can replace you but you and are you willing to do what it takes to make it?
You hate to hear it, I hate to write it.
But you know betrayal and its sting never gets easier.
Do you even know who you are?
The older you get, the more difficult it is to know the answer to that question.
You just want to put your head in the sand and hope everything goes away.
But when you wake up sober and in pain cause you can’t breathe from all the smoke in your lungs, you know the answer.
You’ve done this to yourself. You’ve been on this path of destruction for the last 20 years.
It began as playful teenage angst, and moved into middle-aged nuclear destruction.
It’s not cute anymore, the damage you do to yourself.
Waking up with strangers who make you feel terrible about yourself isn’t cute anymore.
It’s dangerous, not just to your body but to your soul.
It’s damaging to your self-image, which is still based in a teenaged cool you learned from black and white movies.
Everyone you’ve loved died from the cigarettes you still relish.
You begin to see wrinkles, your skin doesn’t snap back and the weight you keep gaining still doesn’t go away no matter how much you go to the gym or how many slim fast shakes you have.
Your mouth tastes like ass and you think your teeth are gonna fall out. Most of the women in your family didn’t make it past their 30’s with their original teeth in their mouth.
More reason for shame. And you can’t even imagine what you must taste like to men. Not that any man has tried to taste you lately. Not even the man trying to be your long distance boyfriend.
Balls!!!
Wilted, that’s how you feel. The bloom is definitely off of the rose. And you’ve never even been married. How’s this gonna work?
Who wants this life? Balls!!!
I know who does. Me. Fuck all the answers I’m supposed to say. All of that supposed has gotten me here, so FUCK SUPPOSED.
I’m supposed to make a ton of money based on my breeding and education. But do I? No!!
So I’m gonna continue doing what I want to. I’m gonna keep going and telling everyone else to go to hell.

Love- Remix

A few years ago a very disgruntled me wrote a poem about love. I was pissed. I didn't believe in it and wasn't loving myself very well at the time.

Today it might go:

Easy chairs aren't so easy when u have to drag them up 3 flights of stairs.
But do U then hate the chair? No.
The chair is soft and comfortable and U love it.
That's more how I'm feeling about love right now.
Nothing in this life's easy.
And 1/2 of our choices are chance.
So why not just make a choice and take a chance.
Even if you lose you win, because you'll learn something.
Something about yourself, about who you think you are, what U believe about yourself in your choice and expectations on a beloved.
In the selfish reality of it, it is all about you.
Because you're going to see what you want in another person and make them creations of what you believe as opposed to who or what they really are.
If you're lucky and aren't judging yourself or the world too harshly; then you can see the beauty in the flaws along with all the parts you readily accept and love.
If you're really lucky,
You get to love the flaws too. I think.
I have only recently experienced that idea (or the idea of the idea- but i'm away from my familiar and what I believe might indeed be severely flawed),
But I do believe it can happen.
Or some form of it.
But what the fuck do I know?

That's how I feel about love today.

love

I wrote this a while ago and have it on my other blog. you'll need to know it to get the next one.

Love

Soft like an easy chair-
my ass.
It's just the mood I’m in right now, I guess.
I don't write about love-
don't want to write about it because it makes
me feel like a romantic fool.
There's no room for romantic notions
in a hyper technologized world of IM.
The time to develop the intensity of feelings
and bonds of trust have become truncated into
smiley faces and empty and
quick "I love you emails" and text messages.
I say it so much that the feelings I used to have
when I felt it is gone.
The heat and swelling in my chest.
The flush of my cheeks.
My hands going numb.
Ears throbbing and mind made blank by an emotion
so intensely overwhelming there was, as
the alcoholics would say, the magnificence of God.
But I say it back to everybody that says it to me and
when I think about how much I don’t mean it-
it only adds to the emptiness I feel
about my everyday existence.
When I don’t think about it but feel how empty it is
All I want to do is drink.
Booze is no muse though.
It only magnifies the desperation of being surrounded by
I love you’s" and not feeling loved.
It does, however, temporarily hide the fact that all of
this means nothing.
Nihilism is on short order after a bottle or two of montepulciano.
And whisky knocks it down that much better.
So love-
I’m writing about love and it’s new status as an apparition.
A ghost of what was and what everybody hopes to attain
Without knowing its true nature.
With no experience base of its highs and lows.
Because sans this understanding of the heart and mind
that relegated it to the dream realm,
the nether regions,
we all believe in reality TV’s version of love.
And that’s some real bullshit.