If My Eyes Sparkle

This is me, I am paper
~ burned and torn.
Ripped at the edges
~ crumpled, worn.
Lost in this place
I know all too well.
Tumbling through darkness,
My desolate hell.
Finding immaculate hope
When you look at me.
As if you could, maybe
~ like what you see.
My voice an echo
~ my hands shake.
It’s buried inside of me,
So fucking ready to break.
Now I’m scared of you,
In this whole new way.
Letting go has never felt so close
As it feels being here with you today.
How do you do it,
Look and see right through?
The things I hide, my bruised little secrets
Lay there open for you to view.
I could always control it,
Holding on so tight.
Then here you come,
Radiating your beautiful light.
Bringing to the surface
All the things I pushed deep.
My prince, you ended
The blackest hundred-year sleep
You say my eyes sparkle,
Maybe it’s true
But, my darling, that sparkle you’re seeing
~ is simply the reflection of you.

Rappin'

Now and then as we past time she does these little rymes ~ raps. It's something that always makes me smile. These are from our time in the hospital:

Rollin’ the dice
Once more than twice
feelin’ so nice
As I slowly entice
Her feelin’ so down
In her hospital gown
While the nurses come round
All she’ll hear is the sound
Of my voice speaking sweet
As I turn up the heat
& make her heart beat
To the rhythm of words that I speak
She’ll forget where she’s at
& be blind as a bat
To her day gone off track
As I make her relax
forgetting all pain
Her discomfort I’ll drain
And her joy pours like rain
As she’s got me on the brain

*The one below is from memory only ~ above she wrote out when I asked her to.

Playing Yatzee
All that I see
Is the girl in front of me
Smiling sweetly

Freak Bitches Don't Like Boys Who Wink

His name is Paul; a few of the girls in the office know him from high school. I’m not going to pretend that he is unattractive, he is cute ~ dark hair and brown eyes, a nice face and his complexion is always colored a suntanned gold. Only there’s this air around him, and you know that he knows that he is a nice looking young man. You know, just being near him, he believes that he could have anyone he chose. The two I work with are prime examples of why he believes that ~ giggles and blush and peppy-dumb-blonde answers whenever he come by the office. I smile a small hi-how-are-you smile and I look away. I focus on whatever is at hand and try to attempt to suppress the gag reflex as he hits shamelessly on both of them.
Today they were not in and, forced to man the desk, a simple smile would not cover it.
P: Hey there! (Toothy smile and cheesy wink.)
Me: Hi, you can go ahead back, no one is back there. (Smile, eye contact and quiet dismissal.) (Nothing rude.)
P: Not to busy, you could probably get away for lunch, huh? (Stupid smile, never fading.)
Me: We’re busy, just not crazy.
P: Lunch?
Me: I brought it.
P: You could get away though, if you wanted or someone wanted you to? (The wink again, it’s as if his right eye operates on its own.)
Me: I wouldn’t want to. Thanks. (I get up and, still smiling as bile reaches the back of my throat.)
I begin to walk away, as politely as possible and as I reach the door it happens ~ that young man lets his inner insecure, jock, high school boy out.
P: Thanks, for what? Damn girl that aint no invitation. Lunch with a freak bitch, purple hair…
and it trails behind him as he walks away. At first rage fills my chest and makes it hard to breathe. Rage that every time I see him I with hold mean laughs and ugly comments, go beyond that to be polite, POLITE, and he is still so childish. Then rage washed away with laughter and a happy smile that stayed almost all day ~ freak bitch, purple hair. It’s been so long, such a long, long time since someone has tried to use that to hurt me. In that time I have grown comfortable with me, who I am, what I like. Since that time I met her and she liked me in the beginning because I had that “freaky-ish” style and I was different from all the girls around me. Freak bitch with purple hair and baggy pants and dark eyes and glitter…Freak bitch, why thank you Paul. Thank you very much I might almost go to lunch next time. Oh, dang, I forgot that freak bitches don't like boys who wink.

Make Me Stay

She always says that I keep things bottled up. I always felt like I wasn’t the person everyone knew, like no matter how hard I tried to show them what was hurting inside it just wouldn’t come across. She says I’ll kill myself keeping everything under my skin. Maybe. I smile and say that most of what she thinks bothers me simply doesn’t and that what does I let go of. She says that there is a big difference between letting go of small things and letting go of those things that are wrong ~ I know what she’s talking about. She says, “Jesus, Rae, fucking yell! Fuck! Say something – don’t let her do this to you it’s fucking wrong, it’s just wrong!” I smile at her and she shakes her head. She says that something’s wrong and without think I say no. I don’t lie, only I do. Things are wrong but what would I say and why?
She always says that I keep things bottled up. I just shake my head and look away. She says that I should make a stand and I say that I’ve come to believe that walking away is best. Why fight? So that your torn and broken heart cane bleed more, rip beyond repair, to drag out the pain and despair, so that as you fight the world can see how much it’s killing you and the world can frown and shake its head with disappointment when you fall to the ground ~ your battle lost. No, thank you, I’ll just walk away and spare myself. Still, I wonder sometimes…
She put in a CD and turns up the volume, our windows down and lakes breeze makes my hair dance and curl. She closes her eyes as the music starts and when the lyrics roll I focus on the blue lights of the furthest sailboat. The girl sings to her own Leo ~ I would suppose ~ about how she adores her and yet can not have her so “Fuck you and your untouchable face, fuck you for existing anyway…” I know, oh boy do I know. Then another I totally understand and then “Make Me Stay” and as it plays she ask me what I’m looking at out the window, I hiding I think, “The boats.” I say.
“Well stop.” She laughs. “I can’t see your face and your reaction to the songs. I know you get them.”I nod and turn to her. As that last line touched my ears I almost cried. That’s it ~ exactly. I just really and truly and so-badly-it-hurts want someone who will make me stay. Who will stand in my way and keep me still. I want someone who will make me fight and who will win and keep me. I think I might want her to make me stay. I think she's the only person ever in my life who I believe could make me stay.
She always says that I keep things bottled up. She's right and she knows that, even though everyone who knows me would say that I keep nothing inside, she knows I do and it works because she takes it from me with out my having to say a word. She sees it and makes me give it up, she is heaven.

"Make Me Stay"
I'm gonna turn and walk away
you can wait til I am far alongthen run and come and catch my arm
and say you'd die if I were gone
I want to hear you call my name
it's too easy just to say it soft
I don't like my language
watered down
I don't like my edges
rounded off

I can't always wait
for your circumstance to improve
you know love is loose it
shifts each time you move
go ahead, put my back against the wal
lgive it all up or don't give it to me at all
you never know this could be our last night
so step back step back into the light
so I can see your sillouette
I'm not done looking yet

save the profile for the camera
give me your eye to eye
You know I know all your secrets
and you know all of mine
mostly - I don't go for the soft focus and the fantasy
I need something real I can think, and say and see - so
I'm going to turn and walk away
you wait til I am far along then run and come
and catch my arm and say you'd dieif I were gone
yes I'm going to turn and walk away
you can watch me go
or you can make me stay

C M C

Well hello everyone, it’s a damn shame that just as I was starting to really blog again I get kicked in the ass and wind up sitting hospital bound for two days and just killing the whole roll I was on. Don’t worry, yours truly is doing fine. Atrial fibrillation, “A-fib,” my heart rate was around 168 a minute and there were some side affects ~ I’m feeling much better now. (That was Thursday and Friday.) The stay was even quite pleasant as I spent the time with the lovely Korrynne and my dear Leo. Leo and I played Yatzee and had a pretty good time; she rapped like she did on Mardi Gras and, after encouragement, she wrote one down for me. (That will be posted, it’s so darling.) She brought me diner, home cooked turkey and mashed potatoes her mother had made, she stayed all night; curled up at my waist as I petted her head and stroked her neck. Now I’m back and things will start popping up at a faster rate since many ideas have been scribbled in notebook and napkins while I could not log on!
Oh, so say a prayer that I have a healthy, stroke free, heart failure free life ahead if me and PLEASE pray that I can get approved for a mortgage loan from a participating lender and get help with my down payment and that that happens before the end of next week!Thanks!

Re: Your Comment

“An Irish man learning French and teaching English… experiencing cultural diversity.” He wrote of his online blog. “Dreamer worker, warrior” He lists under About Me in his curiously less than revealing Complete Profile. I don’t know exactly what he means, but I know the words and I know what I mean when I use them. I know that lately this life has felt like a battle and I have been so surprised and proud by the warrior I found inside myself. He is a Virgo thirteen years older than my Sagittarian self; yet – without knowing him and with little to go on – I don’t believe he’d use my inferior age to negate the intelligence of my statements. He signs his emails “Collie.”
His first email made me smile, it’s been months and I don’t think that anyone other than myself, my darling Korrynne have bothered with this blog. Naturally it felt nice to receive a polite comment and, curious as to the person who left it, I checked out his blog. Colm Maguire, as it turns out, is a very interesting person who seems to be chronicling the rapidly shifting ups and mind blowing downs of his fast changing life. His passion and fire fill each outraged rant, and each perfectly timed apology for them. His entries inspire comments that are ridiculously long, but that can’t be helped, sorry.
An intelligent creature emerging slowly from his own bloody battle with life, still emerging just the same. Emerging ~ despite every mundane thing which would like to break his will, and very well might have at one point.
His second email came the day after I sought council in one of my dearest friends and confessed that lately I had been plagued with the thought that writing was not what I should do. Maybe I was just being foolish as we Sagittarians can be when we follow a dream long after it should end. She said, write but don’t pin hopes on it. I sat that night and thought, if not hopes, what is worth writing for? Then his email on some silly comment which became and entry of it’s own. He thought it was rich and well written. Well written? Thank you ~ SO much! He wrote a few very, very nice things but at the end he topped it all. Just for my writing, of which he’s read little, he wrote. “Thank you for you.” I read it, surprised ~ both by the lovely statement and how very good it made me feel. I read it and reread it and I thought, “So there it is, write I will.”
Collie ~ thank you.

"I Know You More Than You Know Yourself"

"I didn't mean to upset you, or hurt your feelings."
You didn't do either. Aiming for the twenty ~ miss the board completely.
"You are upset."
No. Aiming for the twenty ~ hit the three.
"You get this face, your mouth all tight in a line and your ears a little up. I can tell."
I'm fine. Aiming for the twenty ~ miss the board and hit the ground.
Steps up to the line and aiming for the seventeen hits the double seventeen. 17 ~ closed. "I feel it, Rae. Your nerves are bad and they've been bad since you got here. What happened?"
Nothing. I'm fine.
Aiming for the sixteen ~ she hits the nineteen. Taking aim again she pauses and looks at me. "I can tell by your face and by the way you move. You seem really off and something is bothering you." Aiming for the sixteen ~ hits the tiny triple sixteen. 16 ~ closed. "It's either something happened at school cause you seemed okay in the car when we passed or-"
How could you tell by passing in the car? Aim for the twenty ~ hit the garage door, well above where I can reach.
"You seemed okay and sent that text message right after, maybe that was just seeing me. Maybe this has been with you all day ~ did something happen at home?"
No. Aim for the twenty ~ hit the twenty. I still need two more.
"See, your facial expressions and everything. Girl, I know you more than you know yourself. I think it drives you crazy."
Sideways glance at her face, green eyes locked on me. Aim for the twenty ~ hit the twenty. Reaching up to gather the darts she steps up behind me, reaching the one that split the wood of the garage door. Her body pressed against mine and her feeling so warm. I want toturn around and kiss her, I want her to turn me around. I have nothing to say to that claim of knowledge. She has proven herself extraordinarily insightful in regards to me and I wouldn't argue that at all. As for the thought that it drives me crazy, I would rather her believe that then go through how I actually feel about her knowing me so well. I think that I am not sure if she figured me out or if I made it easier for her then ever anyone in my life. I wonder if I opened like a book or if I disclosed my secrets in letters, either way. I love that she knows me, only it scares me a bit. Should she decide that she no longer wants me, it will be a direct blow to who I am ~ the girl she knows so well. Three darts and she needs only her bulls now.
I step back up to the line. I like this game ~ you step up and shoot. No strategically plotting against someone else. If you miss it's your fault, if you hit it's your victory. I'm not very good at it, but I like this game. Twenty ~ hit the triple eighteen. Twenty ~ hit it.
"That's it babe, twenties closed. Nineteen."
Drive me crazy that she knows me more than I do? No, excites me, warms me, makes me feel good that she cares to know me at all, and that it interest her enough to get to know me more. Makes me happy and sad. Hopeful and hopeless. But, it doesn't drive me crazy ~ so maybe she has more to learn yet.

New Border

"You curl everything."
No, not everything.
"Those curlies I mean, on everthing."
I like them.
"You need a new border, everything is the same."
Not the same, it's never the same.
"Oh, I mean some varriation of the same thing like the stupid tattoo."
Stipid tatt-
"I didn't mean stupid like that, I meant how they were almost all exactly alike, only with tiny differences."
I know what you meant.

~ Amazingly stupid. Again.

Your Sweater

I couldn’t sleep, you see. There were just so many things going through my mind. So many mental video clips and audio reels and you know how I am, I know you know how I am. So I thought, go for a ride, clear my head with loud music and high speeds that turn the road into a hypnotic blur. I dropped my keys getting into the car and had to crouch way down to the wet cement to reach under the car for them, cut the back of my knuckles on the under belly of the Saturn. Drop myself into the seat and then it happens, that magic thing that happens when you are near me. My nerves unwind and my muscles relax. I smell you, it’s your sweater hung over the passenger seat.
How I * that smell wasn’t as sweet and dear and intertwined in my heart. How I * it didn’t offer such a strong comfort. How glad I am that it does. I run my hand over the soft fabric and gather it in both hands, holding it to my face. Your smell and the beautiful memories, as detailed as the finest china. The pressure in my head drains and I feel good and relax, like when you curl in my arms and I fall asleep stroking you like a kitten.
If I said that I decided not to go for a ride, only instead I slipped back inside holding your sweater. If I told you how I didn’t have to drive for hours until the sun came up and I finally became too tired to go on. If I whispered gently into your ear about how the simple act of burring my face in the soft folds of your black sweater was all I needed to find that hidden passage way to the my delicious dreams of heaven, would you think I was crazy? Curled up here, the scent of your skin so real and close ~ I feel somewhat crazy, and happy and just so glad to be alive. So glad to know you the way I do. So grateful that you forgot your sweater, almost as grateful as I am that in some bizarre twist of fate you found something you could like in me. Almost, maybe a little more right now.

Safe / Alive

Safe is what you feel when you have a routine in life ~ sure things, clockwork. Safe is what lies underneath the boredom and resentment the frustration and restlessness of life. Safe is why you stay still when you feel the energy crackle inside of you, just under your skin ~ because Lord knows you cannot walk away or change direction. Not without a well thought out plan, not without the correct budget or the necessary means. (I should include here that when I use necessary in that sentence I meant it in the way that it has come to mean in the “civilized” societies of today; necessary means ~ all those things which make life comfortable and easy.) Safe is nice and I guess well enough for most, only on the other side of safe is ALIVE.Alive is when you step, or get knocked, outside the proverbial comfort zone of life. Alive is when you are stark raving mad with fear, up all night with worry, have not only hit rock bottom but have smashed into it face first and you lay there, tiny broken bits of who you thought you were, consumed with questions. Alive is after you stay at the bottom for a while, when you start to heal and you stand yourself up to have a look around. Alive comes from having all of those fears realized and yet, still breathing, still smiling over some silly child hood memory. Alive is unleashing all those self-imposed regulations, embracing the electricity and focusing the restlessness. Finally, alive is after you’ve taken the fall and you begin to find your way, thinking that you are wondering aimlessly, and then you get the answer to one of your questions ~ you look ahead of yourself and you see that all of the answers are there, just waiting to be found and you know ~ KNOW ~ that this will turn out as it should be. Not knowing what it should be, well yes that causes some stir of insects deep inside your belly, and that is just lovely!
Welcome to the living it's beautiful!

What She Means Is

One entry found for Amaze.
Main Entry: 1 amaze
Pronunciation: &-'mAz
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): amazed; amaz·ing
Etymology: Middle English amasen, from Old English Amasian, from A- (perfective prefix) + (assumed) masian to confuse -- more at ABIDEtransitive senses
1 obsolete : BEWILDER, PERPLEX
2 : to fill with wonder : ASTOUND
intransitive senses : to show or cause astonishmentsynonym see SURPRISE- amaz·ed·ly /-'mA-z&d-lE/ adverb

When I use the word it is because it is one of the words most suited for her that I have found in our ugly unromantic language. Amazed. I use the word and mean that it hurts to look at her for she is much to beautiful. Amazing. I say that and mean that I have always believed in angels and heaven though never thought that I would have such flawlessly awesome proof of such things. Amazement. I am lost in when she makes love to me, for when she does she touches something that is not physical and releases a deep locked energy within my soul.
When she says it to me, about how I never hit my target. When her eyes fill with awe and she says she’s amazed by the fact that I didn’t know the answer. I hate when she uses such a beautiful word for me. For when she says amazing, it isn’t in the thank-You-God-for-this-magical-being-I-have-come-to-love-with-all-myself-and-all-I-am way that I say it about her, she means it in an awful way. She means amazingly stupid.

Anyone Can Read

"You use the same name for everything online?"
"Yep."
"An online journal anyone can read?"
I shake my head, and laugh kind of smart. "No, an online blo-" Then her question hits me and I look up. Her green eyes are a prison and she's holding me with their steadiness. Her mouth with that oh so slight curl in the corners and I know that by my face she now knows how much I've poured into this 'little project' I started last December. "Yes, a blog that anyone can read." The sweet sarcastic which was going to correct her use of journal and not blog had simply fallen from my voice and in it's place was quiet vulnerability. I am aware that I am not good at bluffing or hiding what I feel. With her it is even more pointless than ever.
"That's kind of stupid, don't you think?" Her smile spreads as she knows she's gotten her point across.
"No, it's cool and if people read it and leave comments it's good. Just that they don't know me." I am trying so hard not to sweat, sitting across from her at the glass table. "You can't!"
"Why not? Anyone can."
"Yes, but you know me." It's more than that. It will change how she is around me, it will change what she thinks of me. She will read it and not want to be my just friend. She'll want this psycho far away. She'll take it wrong, I know she will. "It's nothing bad ~ at all. There is a lot of you and things I've said in ways, just that there they are raw and dreamy and mine." God, I'd love to share it with her, I so badly * I could ~ only, if it did do all the horrid things I fear it may ~ I'd hate it and right now I so truly love it. I'd never be able to write and feel good hear, I'd only sit at the screen and *I had never written anything so that she would not have gotten scared away or turned horribly off.
"Fine, I wont."
"If you do you just need to tell me you did. It's only fair."
"Why?"
"I need to know that you know all of that, I have to know that you found it."
"So you could change what you write?"
"No." ABSOLUTELY NOT! Why write at all if not what I feel? "No, just so that I know. It's only fair."
A laugh, small and cunning.
"I think I would be able to tell anyway, just by changes in you."
"Now it's like a challenge. To find it and to see how long I could keep it from you."
"No, no challenge! I just think I'd be able to tell."
"I'd have to tell you really quick after, I know I would."
Good. I hope she would.

I don't think she'll find this place, if she does and she would take the time to read it all ~ I wonder if then she'd understand. I hope she'd see what I wanted everyone to see every time something real enough (to me) to make it hear happened. I would hope she's fall in love with this tiny, but, God so gorgeous, little piece of cyber land and decide that she wanted to stay and inspire more loveliness forever, or as long as things are beautiful between us.