Tag: poetry

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I’m now alone here

House empty and beige

Windows wide open

And the tiredness

Finally seeping in

A failed lynchpin

Staring out to the trees

Understanding, at last,

The cause for the distance

And realizing

That I can’t carry any more

Day 21 Week 21

I won’t talk about the during-move blues, other than note that it was one of the most stressful times I have had in a long time. I blew past my breaking point and burned out twice over. I wanted to cry, a lot, and I wanted to not deal with that shit anymore.

And then, it was done.

How am I doing now?

First off, I am relieved. I am also grateful for all the help we managed to get. I’m not even happy that the hard part is over.

I am sad. Still in mourning for the house-that-was in my apartment-that-is. My favorite ideal future of a giant house with our individual spaces, of all of our hobbies intertwining, and metas and friends visiting often will never happen. Relationships have transitioned and bonds sustained damage. There is, as I noted above, a distance I can never cross.

I did enjoy organizing and decorating with my remaining nesting partner. We made the place ours, and the vacuum left behind gradually filled. And it has been satisfactory as we settled into our slightly modified routines (the shortened commute certainly helped). Coming home feels, well, like coming home.

I am not happy, yet. There’s recovering from the physical, mental, and monetary stress. I may need another month.

But I have a bittersweet contentment.

That’ll do for awhile.

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This still counts if I post it on the very last day of October. Happy Halloween. I was hesitant to post this. Depression is a bitch.


Whether it’s pure coincidence, metaphysical weirdness, brain chemistry, or yet another example of my moral failings, the roughest time of the year is upon me again. I have a pretty good previous month to look back on, but that doesn’t matter. The veil is thinnest here, the one between my insecurities and happiness. I’m haunted by my mistakes, supposed and otherwise.


But, I wrote a poem. And it started off with


Between Deftones and an oat milk latte and still flying high from Janelle Monae

I stopped caring.

“I Wish I Could Float”


And maybe it will stick this time. The Not Caring (Too Much).


I thought it funny to have my birthday party on the last day of September, technically Libra season, but I also declared that month my Birthday Month so y’all can’t be mad anyway. I suppose it’s my way of demanding space from a lifetime of feeling like I’m always someone’s backburner afterthought: whether it’s being dehumanized by society, de-prioritized by algorithms, simply ghosted, left on read for a month, or the consequences of setting myself up as the Low-Maintenance Person Thing.


Some of it I’ll just have to live with. We all have busy lives, some more busy than others, and as I keep saying: the years since COVID-19 hit the scene have been particularly tough. Answering texts isn’t exactly as important as trying to survive. I allow grace for that; to not would be hypocritical of me. And some folks just don’t think about me as much as I think about them; I can’t change that but I can adjust accordingly.


But I can be mad at say, Facebook, which only exacerbates my loneliness.


Because I’ve forgotten that we are alone by default.


Perhaps this is just me rationalizing my sometimes-crippling desire for closeness. But– hang on– wait– you can find a whole buncha quotes that have a more positive spin on that concept. A quick Ecosia search spits out a few by, like, important people or at least people with really recognizable names. I especially like Welles’ thought on the subject. I even reblogged it on my Tumblr once, with a graphic from Final Fantasy XIII. Trust me, that combination worked.


We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.

Orson Welles


I’m currently in the process of crystalizing my own “spin” on being alone and/or lonely. Put simply,


I’m open,

Show up

or

Don’t

“I Wish I Could Float”


That is definitely a work in progress. It’s just a touch too flippant. I need to convey something softer, too, and that not everyone gets such an invite– only the ones that give a shit about my existence.


I was an only kid for the first decade of my life, so I’ll be alright. And I’ll be okay in the end, because in the end we’re all alone anyway. But that doesn’t mean we all can’t keep each other company.


I’ll let you know where I am– especially when the “being alone” is revealed as “loneliness”. I’ll reach out when I can, from off-hand “I’ll be here, tag along?” to “We haven’t got lost in IKEA for awhile, now” to “date me, you walnut.” If you’d like to spend time with me, that’s awesome. If no one responds I guess that’d suck.


Keep me company. If you want to.

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2015-02-27 (It was also posted to StoriesPortal, ne’e TaleVault, but as of this posting I’ve been unable to bring up the site.)

“What the hell did I just watch!?”

I shut off the television in disgust. That was it? Is that what this… Disney… had to offer me? Awful, just awful.

At least that Danish Andersen fellow had the sense to make the sea witch not give a fuck. You want the thing? Here’s the price. Steep, but fair– the price fitting for the intent. That’s how we roll.

But this?

They made her outright evil. A vindictive thing that wanted power. She was gorgeous but she outright conned those merfolk, stacking the cards against them. And for what? Shits and giggles. What a fucking shyster.

And the fact that Ursula was fat AND a bad guy was not lost on me. They ain’t even subtle.

No wonder I couldn’t get much business anymore. This drivel was dripping from the land and into my undercurrents. It pisses me off. If these landlubbers were eating this stuff up, you know the merfolk are too. The superficial stuff like looks, not so much, but my last customer was terrified I’d turn her into coral or something.

I’ve wondered why, and now I know.

Also the obligatory , but damn.

Which is why I’m sitting in my seaside condo seriously considering cursing my neighbor. “Oh, you’ll like this movie!” Damn ho don’t know me at all. Because not only did they tarnish the reputation of sea witches, but there was a happy ending.

I hate contrived happy endings like this. Someone should have suffered a little more. The prince should have been struck blind, like in that other fairy tale with the thorns.

Okay, Yung. Deep breath. She only meant well.

At least the musical numbers were on point, though. Ursula had some pipes on her.

I sighed, and pop in the sequel… or prequel, whatever. Disney made a ton of these things. Another evil sea witch (sister?), probably more songs.

Business is slow, so I might as well trudge along with watching these.

BONUS: Poetry. That’s What You Get (For Walking On Land) / To Ariel

2015-02-01, which inspired the above story. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a big fan of The Little Mermaid and its fanfiction- esp. when messing with the Disney version.

Chalk it up to mere vindictiveness,
A nastiness,
Jealousy–
And every stereotype a sea witch can offer
While being impossible to scrub clean with
Disneyification
(nudity and oral sex and rough words and hedonism and technicalities,
just the sort fanfiction writers love to write about)
But:

I’m still stewing over the fact that you got away–
That, while my precious girl was happy for a while–
Her homage got a happily ever after.
For fuck’s sake,
I cursed Dumbo instead because you are out of reach.
So let me try this the old-fashioned way with illwishing
(and limericks, I guess).

It doesn’t sound too bad– if you’re naive.
You don’t know how crushing yearning can be
Unless you’ve been there,
Honey.
And we’ve all been there, haven’t we?

Yet I can’t bring myself to be too harsh.
But, this is just the flavor
Of curses
That I like.
So I hope you hear this:

I hope not that each step’ll be full of knives,
But each time someone looks at you
In longing
Your knees’ll crumble and you’ll be unable
To walk
For days.