I don't know if love conquers all.
I do know it conquers me with alarming regularity.
I don't want to build my life around you.
I want to include you in the building of that life.
Saying goodnight you leave,
sentencing me to a bad one.
I do all right alone and better together.
But I do very poorly when semi-together.
In solitude I do much. In love, I do more.
But in doubt I only transfer pain to paper
in gigantic Passion Plays
complete with miracles and martyrs and
crusifictions and resurrections.
Come to stay
or stay away.
This series of passions plays
is becoming a heavy cross to bear.
I ceremoniously disposed of all the objects connected with you.
I thought they were contaminated.
It did not help.
I'm the one that's contaminated.
Oh this one is going to hurt.
I am falling faster than I said I would
or thought I could.
And you aren't helping any.
You're so comforting and creative and beautiful and fullfilling.
I am falling.
I will flap my arms and pretend to be flying.
Catch me with your smile.
Let's hope you value your freedom with me
more than you value your freedom to be free.
How many more times will tears be my only comfort?
How many times will I see that the potenial is, dead
and that our love was really in my head?
How many times will I give up?
And how many times will I want you so bad that nothing seems good?
How many times with you?
How many times with how many others?
Hold on to your hopes my friend.
Squeeze them in your tepid clammy hand
until blood runs from them and trickles onto the floor.
But what if your dreams are made of clay or cotton candy
or gossamer wings?
What can I tell you to do with them then?
Well, whatever they're made of and whatever you do,
don't offer these dreams to anybody.
Because I offered mine to somebody (you) once
and that somebody (you)
turned them into rocks and threw them back at me
from behind their (your) wall.
And I hope if this ever happens to you,
you will write a better poem about it than I just have.
Why must I always fall for chicken shits
on ego trips?
You were the best of loves
You were the worst of loves
And you left behind several unintended gifts
Through you I re-recognized my need (uh, desire?)
for one significant other to share my life space with.
You commanded in me an unwilling re-evaluation
of self, behavior patterns,
relationshipping and a
corresponding change of attitude; i.e: growth
I'm nicer to people.
I'm more in touch with my feelings,
the things and persons around me.
And of course, a scattering of poems,
the best of poems, the worst of poems.
That never would have happened without your disruptions.
Maybe I shouldn't have expected you to be home these past two days.
Maybe I shouldn't have looked forward to this weekend so.
But I did.
Maybe I shouldn't be feeling this pain and loneliness
and anger and alienation
Maybe I shouldn't love you so much
But I do.
I am sure your reasons will be good
They always are.
But my pain is real
It always is.
I cannot love half assed.
I must love well and intently and creatively
or the forces within me turn back upon themselves
Do you want love
or do you want someone to drive the
lonliness from your life?
Do you want me
or would anyone do?
Do you want love in return
or just to respond?
I was not put on this earth
to test your reflexes.
I am currectly afflicted with the world's number one crippler.
INFATUATION FIXATION PARALYSIS
Commonly refered to in non-medical circles as
Any spare comfort you have to give would be most appreciated,
although my ability to receive may be temporarily impaired.