Guarded

I will remember

today as the day

you caught more 

than my attention.

You commandeered

my heart with kindness

and commanded

my focus with sincerity.

Do not maroon me 

now that I've tasted

the gold and silver

of companionship.

Do not pirate my
guarded emotions.
I have been swindled
before and there is little
worse than the aftermath
of deceit. 

A generic, yet vulnerable post about love and such things...

We all have ideas about love. For me, ideas are all I have. I don't have life experiences or extravagant examples of love gained and love lost. Infatuation, attraction, liking, those are things I can write about with vast knowledge. But love? I might as well be writing about mathematics.

I can only speak as to what I see. The majority of the time I ridicule individuals in relationships. "I hate couples" is not a foreign phrase to me. I shun friends who begin spending a lot of time with their "significant other". I am forever claiming to be alone but not lonely. Sometimes, I avoid friendships with single guys. Because I am afraid of feeling something? No. My pessimistic perspective says that I will lose their friendship anyways. After all, the last things I want is the scrutiny of jealous girls.

But here is the vulnerable aspect of this post. Well, first a disclaimer: I don't do vulnerability well. I avoid it endlessly. And the times that I do put it on, I wear it like a baggy coat. It doesn't look good on me. I normally end up crying, and I hate crying even more than being vulnerable. End disclaimer.

I am devastatingly afraid to love. To be blunt, I am a control freak. I plan out my life years in advance. I walk away from situations that are not planned out. It drives me crazy to not have a plan. So this whole "love" thing frightens me. I do not understand it, so I avoid it, like mathematics, or science. In addition, this idea of being stricken with love is strange. To be stricken with lighting, a bat, a fist - these are all negative things. I cannot turn my brain off. I have been taught the denotations and connotations of words and yet suddenly when "love" is mentioned it is OK to be stricken, to fall, sick, etc. Sorry, folks. It doesn't work like that for me.

In addition, this whole "love" thing has too many what ifs. Like, what if my heart gets broken? What if HIS heart gets broken (I can be a very mean girl)? What if a perfectly, decent friendship is ruined? What if he is secretly married? Or secretly a creep? What if he hates my writing or singing? What if he thinks I'm too ambitious (wouldn't be the first time)? What if he dies!? I'm Jewish; being melodramatic comes quite naturally to me.

In reality, it comes down to this: fear and pride. I hold on to these distasteful qualities to shield and protect myself from others. Because as truthful and vulnerable I may be while typing right now, I can't guarantee the same any other time. If you ask me about this post in person, I'll cringe away, similar as to how I shrink from emotions.

Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes the longest post of this blog. Now I need to go and do something to regain a comforting level of disconnection.

Untitled

You are not the

cornerstone of my
strength nor the
foundation of my
happiness.

But you may dwell
in the home I build
where strength
and happiness
are served on platters
at parties.

But we can link arms
like a duplex, sharing
front lawns and back
yards, maybe even
the insides that keep
things running.

But sometimes, you will
knock on my door
and receive nothing.
Know: I am inside,
slow to answer,
waiting for that
confirmation, it's you.

After all, I've been
waiting.

Metronome

I found a writing prompt online and these were the guidelines: "write a three part poem using metronome". So this is my attempt. 


I am a little off beat. I sing
in the rain. I'm like rain,
falling at the wrong time. I'm
like music in a foreign
language.

Can you hear the tip
tap of the drops? I move
to that rhythm. Join

me and let this
metronome guide our
next steps. That is,
as long as you don't mind
Bollywood music
and splashing in puddles.

Cheers to the weekend..... and to honest blog posts.

I'm trying to think of something to write. But maybe that's my problem: thinking. I'm always over-thinking things. I replay scenarios in my head until I am either comfortable with the projected outcome or dissatisfied enough to sabotage something. This is vague. And there I go again, critiquing as I go.

It has been a while since I've done this: written without the backspace button dictating my next sentence. Maybe, even in this public place I write, there is a space for some unedited, raw, honesty. The type of honesty that might not make sense to everyone, this is it.

I'm thinking of this past year. It's amazing how many things have changed. It is amazing how many "I'm crying because of this movie and nothing else, of course" moments I've had. It's amazing how many people have walked away and how I am grateful for those who have taken steps closer. But what amazes me the most is my vast understanding as to how limited I truly am. I am ending this year with an "aha" moment, an epiphany. I have yet to decide whether this realization is negative or positive. I am leaning towards positive.

In more detail, here is this epiphany:

• I cannot change how other's think of me if they are not willing to create a relationship with me.
• I cannot mend friendships that are so severely broken. I have to be happy with forgiveness and peace.
• That boy will never notice me, until he does... and then who knows what that means! Really though, Bonnie Raitt was right; "I can't make you love me if you don't". Goodness, I can't even make myself love.   
• I am one person and I can't take on the world alone. Well, I can. I just don't want to.
• Even if I am entirely over past, hurtful situations (which I am), they greatly effect how I go about my relationships every, single day. It's not fair to myself or these other people. 
• I cannot make decisions for people, even if they are the best decisions. 
• I absolutely despise cancer. And yet there isn't ONE thing I can do to combat it... not one. It's the most helpless feeling.
• I am most exhausted when I can't fix your problems. But the truth is, I can't. I just can not. As much as I want to. As much as I try. As much money I spend or tears I cry or conversations we have. These fragmented sentences mirror my fragmented attempts. But maybe if I realize this, I can sleep at night knowing that I've done all I can. 

And if you've made it to the end of this post, congratulations. That was impressive.