I feel like I haven’t just talked to you all in a while. Not without a topic, or an agenda. It’s been all book reviews and Doctor Who life lessons. So let’s talk.
Today I thought to myself I should write poetry more often. Not because I think I’m any good at poetry or anything. I just miss writing it. It’s refreshing to leave out important transition words and just focus on the details. Like how sadness smells of cigarette smoke and half eaten meals, and tastes like lukewarm earl grey tea and stale rice krispie treats. We don’t notice details like that anymore. That’s what I love about poetry.
Another thing. I’ve got a crush. Well, ok, let me rephrase that. I’ve allowed myself to have a crush. And it really freaks me out, because I haven’t allowed myself to have a crush in a while. Because it always ends badly- and by badly, I mean quietly when I realize that whoever I was obsessing over was obsessing over someone else. Crushes are dangerous things. Allowing myself to hope is a dangerous thing.
The most terrifying thing is that I’m reading way too much into the situation and allowing myself to fantasize, something I haven’t done with a real person in a while. Like, when I daydream, I daydream of Liam Aiken, because Liam Aiken will never reject me when he only exists in my mind. Best relationship ever. Except that pretending only goes so far and I can only fake feeling someone’s arms around me for so long before it just gets sad.
But at the same time, why the heck not? What do I have to lose? Nothing I haven’t lost before. The way I see it, unless I decide to off myself (highly unlikely. I like burritos and Fall Out Boy too much to want to die), I have an infinite amount of love in my heart. And if I give some of that love or affection to someone else and they decide to either take it and leave or just never return it in the same amount, that’s ok, because I’ve got more to spare. There are six billion people on this planet. Eventually, one of them has to work out.
In other news, I’ve been going to the gym three times a week, I hate Robinson Crusoe, and I’ve decided chocolate chip cookies are probably my favorite happy food. And I figured out how to crochet a snowman.
This is a poem I wrote last September that I forgot about until now. It is yet untitled.
When I was born
my eyes
They were a bright, happy
Blue,
Big blue eyes
Just like my dad.
But something changed.
Were they green? Hazel?
No.
Now, my eyes are
Gray.
Light gray, like the
storm clouds
outside my window
raining wretched sobs
that bleed down the bricks
as if all they wanted
was to drench the textured surface
so completely
that those deep red,
those rust red bricks
would never be alone again.
I like your poetry.