Movie night

I couldn't write this again. I tried. When I saw you in my door frame. Each captivated in images projected on a screen. I scream for freedom, windows too small, roof does not reach up high enough. I could break that space, touch your finger tips, and crawl for my sins. Your voice penetrates my ear to my brain and makes my heart beat ever faster. I just want to be your lover, and you, your friend. I try to remember all that I wanted to be. If I could stay in that space forever, could I? Just because I wouldn't be anywhere but there. I wouldn't matter. I could be enough for no one. That's enough, for me. I want his touch, not yours- present one. I want his love, not yours- present one. I could want him forever.
I want to drown my sorrows out of a pixel of thought, forefront in all other extremities. I could afford to be absent from me. It might be beneficial for us all. But I want to be better for you. Only you.

Compose

I am home. I left early, yet again, and arrived late last night to a warm bed and familiar surroundings. The exhaustion that I felt made me want to write; to funnel my energy into paper for remembrance. I am obsessed with fragments, I always have been in my writing. I feel that what ever you write should reflect an inner soul and not seek to recreate, purposefully, the outside world around you. I sometimes break my writing up into two categories: the interior- where I let the soul transgress and whether abstract is a word or not is of little concern- and the exterior- where I use what I feel on the inside as a motivation to captivate my surroundings. Either way both need the other to survive. I did not write last night, I never write when the inspiration is there. Instead it comes randomly and is very fleeting. Most of the time I lose the thought before I can ever write it down. I suppose all those past words are floating lopsided out in time. Is it correct to say that I am halted by my words and confused on where to write them? Either way, I know what is a calling. One can not dwell on the interior so much and not need to recreate a fallen era of words that is lost in the modern books called "literature." Seriously, if I see another Stephanie Meyer book called "the best book I have ever read" I might consider hitting them with an extra copy of Faulkner that I have lying around.

He that shall

As I was walking back from class today on campus I heard someone speaking that sounded relatively like Barack Obama. Curious I go over to the crowd to discover someone speaking about homosexuality. I did not stay long enough to hear his speech for I walked away when he raised his Bible and said "The Bible says that homosexuals shall be damned." I got so angry. The Bible is not a weapon. It is not a means for anyone to shout their opinions as right or wrong. The word of God is not a bullet to be used to spread your crusade of what is righteous to others. No man can pass a judgement on another man that says the way he lives is wrong and damnable. I hate when Christianity turns to hypocrisy and God is used as an excuse to shout insecurities.


"What is it that you want when you go to church Gabriel?"
"I want others to know that God should not wear their face. "
His eyes paused and came out of their trance to look down at me.
"Why do you ask? What do you want Shelly?"
"I desire a nameless church."
"I think that is bordering atheism"
"Aren’t you one?"
He looked at me for the first time as if he saw me, and looked within me and saw my confusion.
"I am not an atheist Shell. I believe so deeply within God that I do not need to shout my insecurities about him so loudly like others who are unknowingly bordering disbelief. "
I was ashamed. How stupid could I have been so stupid to not realize.
"I do not know what I look for."
Go with what you said. Look for a God that has no name.
"When I question God I feel like because I am questioning him my belief has faltered. And so I stop. "
"God has given us the knowledge to question him. Do not feel ashamed when you look out in the world and question what you see. "
"I do not know what I see. When I think of God, I see you. "

source

I'm doing what I do best- procrastinating. Today has been one of those days where I just sit around. Although I've read two chapters and am on my third for my exam on Monday, I have no remembrance of what I've read. My mind is boggled by someone far away.
What I always feared about relationships is the fact that someone would get to know me. I like the chase. Just exposition, not the story. The more you know someone the more they disappoint you and I didn't want to be someone's disappointment. I fear that once you give yourself over to be viewed as flawed that person can walk away with your flaws; that I am no longer myself but shared, broken into many different pieces. I fear that things between us will not work. I know that my mood on this is because of my overall mood lately. There is nothing wrong with me but yet I feel this way. My relationships with all people are failing and my social skills are falling into yet another low. I don't feel like trying. I over think conversations and what is said. I think into the future and plan it out and all the time it ends up short and fleeting. I think about and plan what I would do if we broke up even though I should be enjoying this time we are together. I plan things that I will hold off telling him till the future, till the right time, for maximum effect. I don't say what I feel when I'm angry for chance that it should end. I am a lap dog. I fear that he does not know me, all of my layers of me, and I fear his misconception. I am so ashamed of myself, of my past, that I don't understand how anyone could still love me if they know. I don't want pity I just want an understanding that I am not weak. I want to be held but not out of necessity just for the closeness of feeling. I want to be small and fragile but not a child. I just don't want to lose him and my paranoia is ruining my relationship with him.

I could write you into being

This is not the sound of an unraveling. This is the sound of words mixing, love protruding and leaving a space. In its absence a time has formed; one of empty bottles and barrels that were once filled with satisfaction. I drank them empty of their sins for lust of things. The liquid of your mistakes seeps into my body and I have made you whole. I am left in a state of inertia and stoic becomes my phrase of mind. If lack of movement was a mood, I am in it. If you were a choice, things would be much simpler. If humans were an object to be found and bought, meaning would cease to be important. There is not quality and quantity, there is no need for satisfaction. Just the unending sound of numbers marching and fingers typing to form one single thought for the mistakes of t-
Each sentence is a fragment- a fragment of a thought- independent of the other, making sense in sound but not together. They tell a story, separately, combining to form an essence- not a story.

Common Sense

I am a variation of self locked in self. I am an item of clothing thrown over a shoulder forgetfully- by need of want for normalcy. I am the unwanted smile on a face wrinkled in frowns- gestures unfamiliar always seem unnatural- I am forced. I am the fungus on your skin and I grow, fester, and bleed out your insecurities for the world to see. I make you known. And I leave you naked on the pavement, skin stretched and legs wide open revealing all your subtleties. I have made you forgetful of your past. Things you once knew you now know you have forgotten. I am that knowledge of inadequacy. I have traded your innocence, for it came out of a man driven by lust. I was his reason. I have raped you of a soft touch on skin, of a love of quiet places and contentment at home. I have left you battered and bruised thinking that everything is not enough.

What if I had never met you? Would you be the same?

Wallow in your own blood sweat and tears
For in all those years
I missed you
You never came back to say you were gone.

A remembrance of your fingers
Of your impression
Which lingers
On my skin and in my mind
Which holds it there for all of time.

I could have loved you not like the rest
but I measured it out
and can now say at best
Ero's is a fool at love-
he counted but then lost his mind.