I Dance with Daniel

We live in a world of pretense.

You expect something of me.

When we walk,

when we talk

we are judging.

We love categories.

But not with him.

With him I dance.

I know the steps,

like they've been there all along.

The steps are me,

something so familiar but frightening.

And when I'm with him I don't think

of which steps to take;

I feel,

like when I feel the music I dance to.

With him I do not pretend.

He knows who I am,

and that is refreshing.

This is not a tango we dance,

it is more like a pas-

it's slow and entirely open.

If he places me in a category

it is not to tell me that category

is somehow unacceptable.

When he judges me,

he deems me worthwhile.

He won't read this,

for that I'm happy.

But I wish I could tell him:

thank you for dancing.

to the person who bought me a thong

Thank you.

Although I do not know what to do with it,

I had been wanting a gift.

You see, Daniel promises

he bought me something,

and although I can't find

it he insists it's hidden

somewhere in the rubble of my

crumbled heart.

Underneath my sweaty sheets where

I toss and turn in the summer heat

and my mattress that has yet to see action,

are the remnants of hope

tossed aside like a pair of old gym shoes.

Filed between my chemistry notes

and Spanish folder is my joy,

neatly stored for future use

but gathering dust as we speak.

Beside my Moleskines and tubes

of watercolors are brightly colored

pastels of peace of mind, waiting

to be rubbed and smeared

on the blank sheets of

my future, their tips still whole,

unused.

And there, encrypted and saved

in a secret file on my C drive

are my dreams, waiting to be unlocked.

You know,

I don't care that he has lied to me.

You see, I searched my room.

I found no iPod or fancy hat,

but I did find a map

marked with Xs on all of my treasures.

I think I'll find them soon.

I think I'll use them too.

a movement to normalcy

My greatest fears:

abandonment

and feeling weird.

Last night, I faced both.

We went to the bridge.

Blue candy mixed with Mountain Dew

made the lights magical.

My friends made them real.

I almost didn't go.

I left my room to find them

gone, but my fears were

unwarranted. "We never

left you, and we aren't going to.

Now, come back here; we miss you."

And so I went,

to hop a fence and sit and watch

bright lights reflect on moving water.

We talked of home and crushes,

embarrassments and favorite music.

We laughed and listened,

stayed silent and felt the wind on our skin.

You know, I'm not normal,

but that's okay.

Daniel says to ride the weird.

I'm interesting and exciting,

and that's ridiculously good.

I'm interesting and exciting...

the thought of it is pleasing.

Life Lesson

I'm needy.

Like a cat, I howl

until you pay me attention,

and then I bite when I'm done.

Ken's gone.

He's leaving forever

and I'm not sure he'll say goodbye.

Daniel's busy.

He needs to talk

to more important people

of more important matters.

Life lesson:

you don't matter.

You're an

insignificant,

forgettable,

whinny,

little,

brat,

and no one wants you.

But, you're their amigo,

which means you pretend

until pretending isn't enough

and something has to end.

Feeling Scared

When I get home

I need to be alone.

Something's off

and it's pretty clear

that alone won't be enough,

not to fight this fear.

Yesterday I told a secret

and now I have to live with regret,

not of the telling

but solely of the waiting.

Bill's in another land

and my letter is in his hand.

What did he think?

Did he read? Will my heart sink?

My soul knows something's aloof,

but it can't quite find proof.

My mind says use logic,

but then I would not be neurotic.

So fear is what I live with,

knowing I won't be normal this year.

But, bi-polar is good enough

to stay near to in the clear.

Borderline

Patient must have five of the following:

1 ) Frantic efforts to avoid abandonment.

Like last night, my greatest fear.

I thought your betrayal of trust

would last forever. How could I hold on

with all that fear going on?

2 ) Unstable relationships alternating between idealization and devaluation.

You're perfect,

the best friend I've had.

You listen, you like me.

You even enjoy my company.

But, you never text,

and you've never called.

I always go to visit you.

You're busy, busier than me.

Everyone needs you, so you don't need me.

3 ) Unstable self-image or sense of self.

Who am I?

A social chameleon.

For every situation I'm the proper Patrick.

Oh, he's so kind.

He's so extroverted, so gregarious.

He's so easy to talk to.

He's shy, emo.

He's happy.

He's depressed.

Who the hell am I?

4 ) Self-damaging impulsivity.

Like the time I ran Tim's box

cutter up and down my wrist,

feeling the cool metal

but never piercing skin.

5 ) Recurrent suicidal or self-mutilating behavior.

My favorite.

I spent a year wanting to die.

Hi, Mom and Dad,

glad you could make it to my

I'm suicidal chat.

We'll call it Kevin's intervention...

jackass.

6 ) Emotional instability.

This looks like bi-polar...

guess what I am.

7 ) Chronic feelings of emptiness.

Like how I am worthless.

Anusia called me on the

phone and told me I'm great,

that I'm important,

but I'm not.

What have I done?

What makes me special?

Nothing.

I'm just weird.

8 ) Inappropriate, intense anger.

I'm sorry I got mad and left

the room. I took a shower

to cool down, chilling my body

and soul. You deserve better.

9 ) Transient paranoia or dissociation symptoms.

I used to think I could

foretell the future.

I experience deja vu

so frequently that it must

be real. I must have dreamt

this, right?

****

Well that makes nine.

I'm right in between.

Borderline: the imaginary

state between neurosis and psychosis...

aka being fucked up.

There are stories choking my heart.

Her story begins with

acid wash jeans

and closed fist beatings,

midnight screams

and vague notions of nothings.

His story is full of

healing scars

and tattooed feelings,

ancient poems

and feeling alone.

She's all about looking good-

high-end fashion

and men with passion,

attention to detail

and half-price retail.

He's in love with drugs-

cheap thrills

and easy girls,

fast highs

whatever the price.

I'm in love with them,

her bright blue eyes

and "Love" tattooed across his wrist.

Her determined gait,

and the way his fingers jitter.

I'm in love with them,

but she's and empty shell,

and he's forgotten how to love;

she just wants lust

and he can never sit still.

I'm in love with them,

but they don't love me.

I'm in love with them,

and their stories choke me.

The truth of feeling

Today was a good day,

and now I'm reduced to journaling

by lamplight in my room, while eating

peanut butter m&ms, of course.

The m&ms are a coping mechanism,

the journal a habit of thought.

You see, neither really do their job.

It'd be easier if I were not.

But the truth of the matter,

if the matter is what you want,

is that feelings are fleeting

and fleeting they're permanently not.

I once saw a raindrop, perfectly clear

drop like a gem from the sky.

It shone and twinkled like a wish toward my eye,

and I tell you wish I didn't, not in that moment.

In that moment there was only me

and the drop, twice refracted, once reflected.

All of everything in the sun on rain,

I was everything in the ebb and flow of a sun-shower rain.

In reply to He Puts Pen to Paper

But that never happened,

and it never will.

Because I don't love you,

I still refuse to.

Because for me to love you

I would need some things.

I would need to touch you,

I would need to touch your face.

I would need to kiss you,

I would need to know your taste.

I would need to know you,

both your mind and your physique.

I would need to need you,

and all I have is want.

I really want to need you,

but love you I cannot.

Pasamos Juntos

Amor,

pasamos juntos.

We walk together.

Yesterday, I went to the beach,

and left footprints in the sand.

Then, I walked back,

being careful to step in each one perfectly,

and walked again with bare feet,

so that I could pretend you were walking beside me

holding your shoes in your hand

and wearing that pretty yellow dress.

We walk together.

When I go to the store I buy

a pint of cookie dough

and eat it with two spoons,

one for you.

We walk together.

I drink wine on the porch,

white, your favorite.

Two glasses awaiting the sunset.

Amor,

pasamos juntos.

We walk together

Remember that when you feel alone.