A Confession

Here we are. At the two year expiration date. Did you know that I have never had what I thought was a close friendship last more than two years? They always got fed up with me and decided to phase me out of their life. I was the cancer than they needed to cut away. Me? I was cancerous? I have been spending my entire life trying to figure out what is wrong with me. Why doesn’t anyone want to remain friends with me? Am I that unbearable? I keep telling myself that I am not, but it seems to be a pattern in my life. Obviously, I am doing something wrong. It could be that I am an intense friend and most people hate that. But all I have ever wanted is a friend and would do anything to have and keep one. Literally ANYTHING. I just want someone to talk to, have fun with, someone who understands me and most importantly: actually wants to be around me. Being the only friend I know how to be, though, drives most prospective friends away. What a pathetic irony. I don’t want to tell anyone this because I think it makes me sound pathetic.

This is why I cannot figure out why you even take the time to care. But you do. You care enough to deal with all of my capricious emotions and insecurities. I don’t think you understand them completely, and I think they piss you off a lot and yet you still care. Why? I’m not worth it. I am a huge insecure, pain in the ass and YOU’RE STILL MY FRIEND. Even when we have the same fight over and over again: you still listen. Even when we have the most pointless conversation that goes absolutely no where: you still participate. No matter how much all my shit pisses you off, you still do this stuff because I need it. This is why I am so confused all the time. Not a single friend in the past would have ever done this for me. Not a single one. So, the reason I ask about the “state of our friendship” is because I am so damn confused as to why YOU take the time with ME, when no one else has ever bothered. And the reason why I am so intense to you sometimes: because somewhere in the back of my mind (the part that gets clouded with irrational emotions) I am so afraid that I am going to somehow screw up the only real friendship I’ve ever had. I cannot tell you how much thankful I am for you. You are the only person who ever took the time to see through my outside shell to me.

I have never once told you that this is what you mean to me. Though, knowing you, you probably already knew that somewhere deep down and I never really needed to tell you. But I am going to anyways: Thank you. You are and forever will be MY BEST FRIEND.

P.S. I don’t believe in two year expiration dates anymore.

A Response (Untitled)

How do you know when you’re dead?

Does anyone really know?

Is it any different than living?

Better yet, how do you know that you’re alive?

Here’s my hand, I’ll show you.

Mommy’s here, baby.

Let me warm the silence

Huddle near my voice.

Breathe out, Breathe in

Three, two, one

I’m coming

Digging with my soul

Into your tunnel of despair

I will try to bring you light

Show you the end of the tunnel

I have rolled the rock away

Rise again once more.

Happy Ending

I’m that girl who still believes in the happy ending at the end of the fairy tale. Maybe it’s foolish, but I don’t care. I think it leaves a little open to the imagination. Sure, maybe Disney magic is unrealistic and unnecessarily sappy but it sure is nice to think that everything works out in the end. And you know what? It seems to me, that it pretty much does. Hope can come out of tragedy and a lot of laugher and wisdom can come out of foolish mistakes.

Trust me. I know.

Just a Short Story Rattling in My Journal

“Today, it seems as though the world is falling apart. A part of my has shriveling and died, blown away like dust in the wind. My soul is bound and broken on the floor and I cannot muster the strength to pick the shattered pieces and tape them back together. Oh, how I wish to be free of these shackles of torment. Nothing can save me now. These will be the last words that I will ever write.”

James stared at his computer, counting the blinks of his cursor. It was mocking him, calling him a coward. He would never go through with it. In fact, on the one hundredth blink, James would hold down the backspace button, until ever single last letter of his pathetic misery was erased. He would then slurp down the cold remains of his watery coffee, kiss his wife goodbye and head off the yet another day of work; whistling through the entire ritual. He was a coward.

Africa

Aid Operations

And covert manipulations

Help or hinder?

You be the decider

Are we feeding the hungry and clothing the naked?

Or starving a culture and stripping its dignity

Rumpled and tossed in a Western hamper

I am my brother’s keeper.

But are you Cain?

Or are you Abel cuz I can’t tell

The difference between the truths and the stereotypes

You create, perpetuate and sell

A saver or a savior? Dare I ask the question:

Are either really needed?

Warnings of misplaced intentions are never heeded

Cuz last time I checked a savior has already died and risen

And He never left the “saved” in a Western media prison

Is rocking out with Bono in your red Gap Ts

Actually about aid or making television scenes

I guess you have to determine if the ends justify the means.

Mirror

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Who’s the biggest fool of them all?

Actually

I think its plain to see

That the biggest fool of all is, in fact, Me.

See, I’m wandering lost

With a broken moral compass

And at what cost? Can I trump this?

It would be easier to sell my beating heart on ebay

And take the money, go to amazon.com

And buy on that’s plastic and grey

Cuz plastic takes 10,000 years to decay

Into radioactive free radicals

Giving me time to put my emotions on sabbatical

Stored in dry ice

Until they cool off

And I can keep their capricious whims from rolling a dice

Gambling and making a mess with my life

Now it just seems pointless to compose a requiem for this illusion

For I have recently come to the conclusion

Of its existence

And its tugging persistence

That everything is subjective

But I question: subjective from whose perspective?

You can look at this with the objective

Of finding a solution to my emotional pollution

But I don’t see how

because you can only fix the here and now

The past remains the same

And it would be insane to entertain the claim of otherwise

The best I can do is apologize

For the fool that is me

That I see

In the mirror.

Stutterings

Is it possible to stutter something profound?

Stumbling upon greatness

But really? Is anything coincidental?

These thoughts, festering and brewing in your mind

Waiting and waiting and waiting

Building pressure

Ready to pounce

Possessing your tongue

Spewing forth and erupting

Like some kind of volcanic word vomit

Whisper Something Profound

I have a confession to make: I hate words. They completely confine those things that seem limitless; making you feel inadequate because you can never accurately capture anything with words. Their permanence is appalling, forever recording thoughts, feelings, experiences, and people that are forever evolving. I wish I had something better than these limp, pathetic words for my self-expression, but I am bound by my limitations and must make do with what life has given me.

All I can do is offer you my words. I hope that they are enough. More importantly, I hope you listen because I don’t know what else to give you.