Our Bodies Burned

We were young
and our bodies burned
we fought desire and lost
over and over
and over
I resisted the tremors and aching
But your hands taught me to surrender
You caved first, and much more often
that made it all the sweeter
It couldn't be helped,
you desire for me

There was never anything wrong here
Not between us
Not while we learned
about passion
about lust
about the sweet things

Then we forgot
and moved on to others
where it was never the same

Will it ever be the same?
Was the feeling contained in you?
those blue eyes and that bold soul
Or was it mine to hold
and I've simply forgotten how to find it?

I'm dying to feel alive
Like I did
Like we did
When we were young
and our bodies burned.

Another Verse to Torture the Other Self

She breathes sunshine
And absorbs the embers
She loves a boy with a slow touch
And empty blue eyes
She smiles with novocaine
And brushes her hair with dreams
She sleeps on fire
And dreams better
She dreams brighter
And she wakes and turns to frostbite
To find they were just dreams

You Just Make it Worse.

You never made me feel any less alone.

I just want to feel less alone.

As long as you're here...distract me, please.

Despite My Faithless Bitching...

Something good happened.

We Don't Match Up

I'm bending over backwards, and it's pissing you off because it was never what you asked for. The problem isn't that I'm doing it, it's that you're not asking. I need someone who asks, wants, appreciates. How needless for you to handle it all on your own.

The way thoughts collide

If I could paint it (I am awful with a paintbrush) the scene in my head would be like your name crashing into his, and the colors would reflect the conflict within me...the way the emotions sore, and then drop, and run together to make the shade of brown of my hair and eyes.

You were a lesson to be learned, I just never realized it was all about someone else, not you. It was never you. Thank god you never cared, or this might have really hurt you.

Can we leave the past in the past? Call it friends?

No wait...I'm still not the whole picture, not a whole person. Give me a decade or so to fill in my gaps, maybe then I can leave you be and not glean from you the things I lack.

I'll call you when I get it together. When I'm a person who deserves a friend like you.

Crazy much?

I just wanted you to know, everything is fine...I know I tend to forget now and then.

The Taste of Hope

You feel like sunshine on my tongue, and I roll you there, hold on to you for just a few seconds more before swallowing you down. I'm holding off the moment of truth when you're gone and I brace myself for your after-taste. Don't be bitter. Don't be lonely. Don't be dark. And even if you are, come back quick. You'll never know how much I need you here.

But just this once, be sweet.

New City, Old Problems

I'm in a new city now, living with the significant other I can't decide if I love. So many things I left behind me, so many things still haunt me.

Something bad happened to me when I was sixteen. I am now twenty-three. Is it normal to still be stuck? There seems to be no way through it, or around it. Maybe I just don't have it in me to get over something like that. I was hurt. Hurt all the way through to my soul. I will not, I cannot be a part of world where that kind of hurt exists. This is not the world I expected. I expected so much brightness. I expected something genuine. Even if it means I am never happy, I will never be a part of this place.

Unless it's on my terms.

I want to be connected. I want to feel the sun on my face and not regret it. I want one day to not wound me through and through. I want rightness.

Tell me there's someone out there who can put this right. Who can make me feel worthwhile. Who can make me feel it down to my bones, this is where I should be. Right now there's no reason for anything, to do anything, to be anything...No reason at all. Here's to hoping I find a reason.

What You Should Have Said

I'm beginning to realize that all the songs I love hold the words and sentiments you would have expressed had you been the person I thought you were. The person you should have been. The person you owed it to me to be.

I put every little bit of me into loving you.

For you to turn around and not deserve is seriously fucked up.

The Reasons

I'm thinking up all the ways to delicately tell you, sorry, but I'm holding out for someone who doesn't suck quite as much as you. I've got a list of reasons to leave a mile long for leaving. And then, there in the back of my head, a voice whispers "A mile? Is a mile worth enough to break a heart? Surely, you should wait until it's two miles." And then another "Would you really be breaking it? Clearly it cannot care for you so much as to break...look at the way it treats you." And then another "You know it doesn't matter anyway."

And there it is. The truth. It doesn't matter anyway. And the possibility that this could hurt you, well...that's a possibility I'd like to avoid. So if it doesn't matter....

Stay. And so I will.

Last Night

The reason art often resonates with a person is that it expresses a feeling better than most could do all on their own. When someone we consider to be sublime does this it give the work real meaning. But consider for a moment if someone who felt nothing, who expressed nothing, created exquisite beauty before your eyes, better than you could yourself. Add to that your only desire in life being to create something beautiful and memorable to just one single person. The moment you realized that your best would always be lesser than their mere idle amusement...Well that moment would crush you.

It crushed me last night.

Packing.

We're taking that step together, and merging our habitats into one. It's a new city for me, and I wonder, will I find places to hide all my secrets? These sidewalks know where my steps lead. These sheets know what I transgress. These walls hold me. What about the new ones? Will they be as kind?

Every piece of me has been boxed and labeled. Tell me, what happens if you open the boxes and don't like what you find?

I am no dream come true. I am no beautiful discovery. I'm just fucked up and searching, waiting to hear the right words. You've come so close...just a beat or two off. And how could I not love you with your laugh that builds low in you, and explodes out of you with force enough to make everyone else smile? And those sex-demanding eyes that go from blue to green and back again, I'm at your mercy. Everything about you promises to be kind to me.

So yes, of course, everything is packed. What choice do I have?

Used to...

I used to write all the time. Writing was the only thing I could do to feel my soul, and know I wasn't entirely useless. Words freed me, allowing me to live a life outside of the one I was not currently enjoying. But then I started to enjoy life. I used words to express love and devotion, rather than to escape. I meant them so strongly, felt them with my whole self. A funny thing happened then, when happiness left me. Words left me too. My favorite friend whom I could always turn to, the one place I felt at home, the only comfort in my dark, dark world, left me. I couldn't mean anything the same way. I couldn't find the right way to say anything anymore. A tiny part of me, and my favorite piece at that, had died. And now everything comes out sounding like sharp shards of glass, disconnected and jutting out in objectionable shapes. Finding the absolute right word that a given sentence hinged upon used to be my special skill, now I am left tongue tied and ill expressed.

And sad.

But I have to say good-bye. Things have changed and being a wordsmith, crafting sentences into compelling paragraphs, my love affair with words, well, we are no longer one in the same. There was a divorce. A separation. Now moving on is the only way to be happy.

Why does it feel as though I am cutting my heart out?

I should change my name...my face...every identifying characteristic so that I can be this new person who cannot call themself "writer." Truly, I, or the I, I used to be am lost without this.

Sometimes I Write Poems...

the point of completeness

drink to the point of panting
listen to the point of loving
kiss to the point of fucking

eat to the point of hurting
love to the point of knowing
fuck to the point of sleeping

let me
fill you up

Twitch. Twitch. Ah Caffine...

Here's the thing.

You walk in, and suddenly I'm floating. You leave and I realize, I wasn't floating, I just wasn't drowning.

I was doing fine before you came around, blissfully unaware of how bad everything was. So put it back the way it was before you came along with that million dollar smile, and those mannerisms that make it seem like the air around you is sparkling. Return my frown to it's rightful place where that half-broken smile now appears. Suture up my heart, and don't rip the stitches back out this time. Yeah, I'm a gorgeous mess of a person, but you can't keep pace with this rushing maddness. You're meant to run that straight line marathon most people call a relationship, not get tangled in my wilderness of confusion. Please let yourself off the hook and accept the things you lack the stamina for. It's not your fault I'm such a fucking mess.

It is your fault if you keep making promises you can't keep.

What?

Of course I don't want you to go...but you can't stay. We both know it. In the end you'll go, so let's just skip ahead to that part and save ourselves the time and the pain. You don't deserve to end up hating yourself for this, and neither do I.

Why are you smiling? No, don't say that. No...don't kiss me like that, it isn't fair and you know it. Sigh. All right. You win.

Ramble

Darling, please understand I didn't exactly mean what I said. No, no I know that that doesn't make any sense, but if you listen I swear it will. When I said that thing that I said, that I now cannot repeat without you crying, I didn't say anything anywhere near what you heard. No, no I am not saying you misunderstood...I'm saying that I said what I meant all wrong. I meant...I miss you...I meant...I love you. And don't look at me like our fight had nothing to do with those things. It had everything to do with those things. That's what I am always trying to tell you. Do you think the thousands of things you do in a day would matter to me at all without those things? I have to remind you of them so often so you know that your actions carry extra weight these days. As do mine. How am I doing with that by the way? Are you happy? Have I accidentally hurt you at all? You have to let me know if I do, because if I've hurt you, I've hurt us both. To get back to the point...I said what I did because I am an over-sensitive fool, head over heels in love with you, whom you should always be gentle with. Does this mean I am sorry? Of course it does, haven't you been listening? Yes, yes I am sorry. I love you.

Tell Me to Give Up, I Swear I won't Fight You

Life is kicking my ass right about now.

Imagine discovering you know who you are, and you have all along, but a long time ago you found a reason to hide that self because, through a series of heart breaking events, you learned there simply was no place for you in this world.

I had become so good at pretending to be someone else that I forgot about the real me. And then I found that person again in a moment of truth. It was all I could do not to fall down on the ground and weep.

How many times can you tell yourself that there is no place for you?

You can save me any time you're ready...my hands are thrown up and I am admitting defeat. I just want you. I just want a break from the anxiety. I just want to feel better.

Love Letter

Dear Love,

Hey, it's Jude. I'm just checking in, giving you an update. I'm still searching for you, though your friends loneliness, hopelessness, and exhaustion are kicking my ass. Maybe you could speak to them about it, if not I understand...they are your friends after all.

I still don't understand why you hide yourself from me. I'd be such a willing and deserving vessel for such a precious commodity. Haven't I given all of myself every time you've fooled me into believing I found you? I think I've passed every test you've thrown at me. The tenderness, attentiveness, and patients I've shown...

Well I suppose you have your reasons. I hope you change your mind. If you do, I promise to be worth the decision. I think you know that already though. I'm going on a little vacation this weekend...maybe you'd like to join me? Meet me at the bus station downtown. I'll be the one with the internal bleeding and the incorrigibly hopeful smile, you be the surgeon with good news.

Sincerely,

Jude

Rightness

This has been on my mind all day. A girl at work mentioned for the hundredth time that she thought she found "the one," and I wanted to sit her down, look her dead in the eye, and deliver the most moving, witty, and well defended argument against the concept that there is but one person for each of us. I decided to hold my tongue and spill my thoughts out here.

I do not, for one second, believe in the concept of "the one." The idea that there is just one right person for everyone is simply ridiculous. I believe the chances of making it are higher with some people than with others. I believe in rightness, but I also believe rightness can be found in any number of persons.

Rightness is the essential ingredient to it all...somebody who when you see their face everything seems to be in place....it makes you think "but of course." And it isn't any sort of quantifiable set of traits or actions. And it could never be the same from one person to the next. It is ineffable. When it happens you just know you have to be with that person, as much as you possibly can be, in order to feel right, to feel happy. There presence of absence is at the forefront of your mind. Their moods are all you see. You'd do anything to touch them. Your conversations with them become like gold. And should you be so lucky to touch them, kiss them, these things become sacred holy acts of your own personal religion created in honor of your mutual love. Not that they can't be dirty as hell. I've had some fairly violent sex myself. But I digress. The point is, the pieces fit, you feel at home. Wherever they need you to be strong, you are, and wherever you need them to take the wheel, they're capable. And what someone else says good or bad cannot shake your faith in the two of you. You know, and cannot fighting knowing, this is good. This works. Everyone of course has moments of doubt, but when the doubts die in the moment that you hear their voice once again, you have rightness.

Rightness is both freeing and crippling. One the one hand you've never felt better in your whole life because this person provides you with the best sort of self-esteem anyone can hope to find. But on the other hand...take them away and what is left? A mammoth fucking whole, that's what. Rightness cannot guaruntee you that it will work out and all the bullshit that comes at you in life won't take you out, all it can do is give you a sporting chance.

But am I so pessimistic to believe that this sporting chance could only ever exist with one individual? No...not even I, in all my negativity and lack of faith in my chances of happiness, could believe that. How could I when I see so much potential? Don't get me wrong, it isn't a common thing. But if I see promise in someone once every few years I am incredibly lucky. The possibility is so much to have, and being grateful for it, well that's all you truly need to make it work enough to have a chance.

But here I am a hypocrite. It takes just the slightest flicker of possibility to make something beautiful come to life, but this tiny little hope of greatness is not what I look for, not what I hold out for. I hold out for that incredible, the instantaneous, the undeniable rightness to break me, to make me whole.

Sick? Sick how?

I have some tea and a horrible cold...It makes me think of you and your warm arms. You could always save an unsaveable day. There I am passed out on the couch with no blanket, having lacked the energy to reach for one, though I was freezing. And there you are, cradling me, laughing to yourself at my weakness. Where are you? I'm freezing....I wake up and realize I've always been alone in this apartment. You were never here. My god...you're not even real.

Jude, It's Late...Leave That For Morning.

I'm sitting down to write. Maybe that's why I can't. The emotions flow and I have to follow the words where they'll take me, but I don't want to go back to this place. The words always lead me back here...back to this...back to saddness.

Is it worth the fight for happiness if at the end I'm too exhausted to feel it?

I speak of giving up so much here that I think you, the reader, may believe I actually have. Don't let me fool you, I only wish I could. The fight for rightness, for certainty, for clarity, for happiness is all I've ever known. Weary as I may be, there is hope in me. If I could give that up then I could stop fighting, perhaps find some peace. But my glow just won't go out...

Tomorrow could be a good day. Tomorrow could be the day it all changes. This hope could crush me, and it probably will. Again, and again.

If I write enough, for long enough...will I write this longing from my bones? If I get the rest out, will the loneliness finally leave me alone? Is there a number of words I can reach that will free me finally? Until then I'll put on a hell of a show.

Why is Nothing Ever Simple?

I just got back from seeing my best friend. We went to a movie and had some food. Sounds fairly standard, probably fun. It was not.

My best friend has this habit of feeling bad for me. He does all kinds of things for me all the time even though he doesn't want to because he feels if he doesn't then I will be upset, or sad, or whatever. It makes me crazy.

I know, you're thinking my best friend sounds pretty nice, right? And he is, don't get me wrong, he's the best of what's around. But here's the thing...It isn't real. I'd rather he just be himself. If he wants to sit around and be pissed off and do nothing, then let's fucking do that. That was what he really wanted to be doing tonight. He had a bad day at work and he really just wanted some sleep and quiet time. I'd rather have what's honest.

No one ever understands this. They think what I really want is for them to just be happy and hang out with me. Not at all...but I'm tired of explaining myself. I'm tired of fighting for honesty. I sit in silence and think about fictional people who are comfortable with me and with themselves.

My best friend really is a great person...I can call him in the dead of night to come pick me up anywhere in the world and I know he would do it. I can talk for hours about things he doesn't give a damn about and he will pretend it's the most important thing in the world just for me. He just doesn't ever let me do the same. Nor does he really see me clearly...but then again, who does?

That's the problem. The crux of it. Nobody sees me. That's why we're here. And my exhaustion over takes me...I no longer see a reason to try. Prove me wrong...just please prove me wrong.

Inside Out, and Almost Always Upside Down

Over the last few years I've become the polar opposite of my former self. When I was younger I would wake up every day hoping that that day would be the day when Serendipity would take me by the wrist, twirl me around, and thrust me into the arms of the person made just for me. Every day I thought it was possible. I saw the potential in every person I met. Hope. Faith. Pain. Disappointment. These things were the things I lived and breathed. They sustained me through a less than happy adolescense and childhood. The hope of love that would give life meaning was all I thought of; I believed it to be the only saving grace in this complete crap world.

Then I thought I found it. I found that person. I spoke about this before, and how it wrecked me. It only did so because being in love, the act of loving someone, and feeling as though they loved me...It lifted me up...made me feel whole. How do you go back? How do you curl up into the ever so small shape of what your life used to be before you loved someone? I grew, I expanded, my heart...it was nine tenths of my body. The whole of me formed around this idea of what life would be like with this love that I had so faithfully pledged my life to. I had it, everything I looked for. Life worked out that way it was supposed to...I dedicated the time and effort, I longed, I believed, I suffered, and here, finally was the pay out. This person who became my whole world. Everything was right in the whole world. All the pieces fit. Happiness. Affirmation. Joy. Life. Love. I willingly gave every part of myself to them.

And then it was a lie. And then I was ripped apart from the inside out. I'll skip the process from that moment when life stopped for me to now, years later...seven to be exact. But here's the end result: over and over I choose to not be in love. Whenever I feel that potential between myself and someone else I put as much distance between us as possible. I adore my safe world that never threatens to be ripped apart. It stays where I put it. I'm on my path and I am in control, and I can be anything.

My other self says "What kind of life is that?" Of course, that side of me is hoping that someone else will see the same potential I do, and refuse to let me run. It's a lot to expect isn't it? And I sure as hell don't make it easy...I can be attractive if I try, trust me I never do. I never put myself out there. I never try to get to know people. My dominant self fears the pain, and rejects the possibility that this someone exists. And further more, that side protects me from the mere thought.

And yet, even with all my attempts, whenever I see the person whom I'm trying to avoid the most, even hear their name...the ache that possesses me. So much conflict in such a small moment...I want desperately...I can't...I won't...they don't...they couldn't....why am I even considering?...oh nevermind.

It's a lost cause.
I'm a lost cause.
I am Jude.

The Patron Saint of Lost Causes

I'm a hopeless romantic to the extreme. I love all those blogs that dedicate themselves to love. I read them for hours as a way to relax.

The funny part of this is I am not in love. I was once and it took everything I had. In fact, I don't even want to be in love again, not really. How could I be when I know what I know?

I know it takes away your choices. Love decides your life for you because you are forever tied to this person without whom you simply could not exist. You lose yourself for the sake of your feeling, for your desire, for your love. And god help you if your love isn't a shared experience. If you're the only one falling, trust me, you will never truly get up. You might convince yourself you did, but always in the back of your head there's the knowledge that nothing's really different...you're just ignoring yourself and your pain.

I know these things, I know the way love cripples, and yet I hope. I hope to again find this insane, life-taking maddness that is love. I desperately want to be swept away in a tide where choice is no longer a reality, and I simply must love the person who has landed in front of me. Except this time...I want them to be swept away with and by me. This time I want it to work.

I fight this part of myself daily. Wanting something so unlikely, so without hope, is insanity. Especially since it's wrecked me already.

So I pretend. I have a significant other. I tell them I love them, and it is true, I do. But here, on these pages, I cannot lie and say it's truly what I want. There is no maddness. No being swept away. It makes perfect sense and we're happy. Not wildly so, but we are happy.

But there in my heart flickers the slightest flame, calling...will you answer me?