The sheer distinction alone
making you stand out
has become the ability
to notice me -
if I smile
you see
that I inhabit the same space.
if you are allowed
an unfiltered angle of my eyes
you might understand
that I am
scared
not mean
uncertain
not aloof
it all comes down
to the fated stars aligning
a siberiean window of being
coughing at the right time
or simply whether or not
I choose to lift my face to meet you

So...Good-bye and stuff. You know, don't you? I mean, don't call me or anything, 'cause then I won't be saying no, and we all know I need to.

"I'll bide my time/ until I find /that you're listening..."

And another thing, while we're at letting go and moving on - stop looking down your nose at me. Assuming the air of "better" b/c you think you have it more together than I do. "I don't know, but whatever...*knowing, mature chuckle*

Just wait. When I do come into myself, there will be no stopping me or questioning my motives. It will be so blatant and in your face, none of y'all will know what hit you.

"Fighting the battle of who could care less..."

From some song that I heard on O-rock...fitting, isn't it?

So I am fed up. Not like, "Kelly's pitching a fit dear God everybody run" fed up, but fed up in the sense that I am over listening to myself speak. Yeah, I know I'm trying to work everything out. Yeah I know that you can talk to your friends (the true ones) until you are blue in the face if you really need to, and they will listen and try to help or just listen and try not to scream "shut up already with this woman of the world nonsense! Humble yourself and get a man, a job a HOBBY, something!!" I KNOW how to fix most of what ales me, and have an inkingly of how to deal with the stuff that I don't know how to fix entirely. I appear to be in what they call at work the "land manatee" stage, where I'm slow moving, cumbersome, and basically taking up space with the sheer weight of all that stomps around my head...

Off to work, to be continued later...

"Because then you get leftovers. Shrimp and lobster are never leftover. Meatloaf is. Do you like meatloaf?"

Could it be any simpler?
The universe is waiting on me...
but do I have to?

Oh. Good. Lord.
I am le tired.

Trying in vain to keep myself awake for a coupla more hours...so forgive if this gets bramble-y. It just goes to show you that sometimes fun comes with a price tag. No sleep. Drama. Mishaps. Delerium. Tables at 4:10, those bastards.

Maaaan, I can't fight it anymore. I'm going to bed, I don't care if it is 6:30 in the evening.

You kissed me...at the bar...?
And you, suck it up, mister.
Was that really Michael Jordan?
Mack is the name, number stealing is the game...
hanging out with the most popular man in St. Augustine.

I will settle here, on my perch, and look at you down the bridge of my beak. Thus has been the weekend. My thoughts volley between: him, him, him, or HIM, San Francisco or oh my God do I have to live in Florida anymore, should I go out or take the rest that my body truly needs, caring or really not...at all, ever...

One day someone will look at me and say, "Kelly. I know." Oh how the breath will rush out of me then.

HEY, LIFE!?! Will you please stop throwing these loops at me? Thanks. Really appreciate your cooperation on that.

And when I say loops, I do mean of the fruity variety..."huh. Did that just happen? Wow." Which is why "wow" has become the new nickname of choice...how are you, Monkey? You know what I'm screamin' don't cha? Just when you think you've found your path, some powder-incensed angel with plastic wings and a crooked halo shows you how many more whacked out curves there are going to be along the way.

Even those that understand me don't get it.

Something weird is going on.

The cat seeing invisible,
tremors calling at all hours looking to be nuzzled,
the snow in the rain with a faint meow.

Oh, what you must think of me.

Who ARE you, little man? You sprang forth into my life from a litany of non-existence, recognition taking shape in a pink house where you barely registered me, but in my reverence, I absorbed every detail of you.

A conquest of sorts, I was not good enough, type enough, tan enough...one of the enough's that I will never measure up to and don't really care to. For you to look upon me and try, no matter how meager and fickle the effort, was a triumph within itself. You will never know it, and I will forever fall short of understanding it, this need, but there it sits on a ottaman in my brain, because it is relaxed now. It has BECOME.

Pride, in being nothing to someone.

For a while I tried to take it back. Then change it. Make the nothing into some semblance of feeling. Now I realize that effort in this manner is futile, and I am more saddened by the apathy with which I regard the situation than the emptyness it is in my heart. I can feel without loving, is what I have learned. Something passionate can be mechanical and predictable and I think I might die before I settle for that in my life. Who knows, maybe I will.

The end of the world as we know it in 20 years?
Can I get an apartment please?...
or just a path in this world to follow...with stops along the way to love, family, fulfillment...are you out there still, or have you wandered away too?

These are the things that I worry about. I know that people have been predicting the end of the world ever since the world was created...but, you see, I have soooo much to do before this deterioration and ultimate demise. Have you ever read "Alas, Babylon"? The only book I have ever regretted reading (that and Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man...shudder...fade into Joe Babe's voice..."compare and contrast, com-PARE and CON-trast...fools!" Sorry, I'm back. Revisited AP English there for a moment.) Anyway, that book scared some of the sense out of me (stop wondering what happened to the rest of it.) It was my first revelation of the fact that the world that we live in is indeed not permanent and we're (crazy humans) not doing much to keep from screwin' it up. God, I could go on about this forever, so I won't. Point being, I still have to do some meaningful things, meet him (man of my dreams) and them (the kids that I will someday torture), and write a book of poems, and stuff (I'm an adult, cross my heart.) But this freaking voice in the back of my head keep droning "yeah, like global warming or nuclear warfare is gonna hold off for you." Ok, Pandora's Box. Back to the pit of my stomach from whence you came...

I hate online apartment search engines...sure they have technical names but I'm not sure that I care. They trip me out a little. I find them quite depressing. 'Cause, look-it. You put in your price range and all, and the computer screen practically laughs at you as it spits back "no results found in your price range, sucka!" Frustrating point numero uno. Numero dos, I haven't a clue in the universe where any of these places are. Crack town? Snob Hill? Murder central? I dunno, but the world's supposed to fall at my feet, remember, so please to find something reasonable, safe, roomie enough with a bay window and some good, light...thanks so much. *I'm waving at you from my parallel universe.* Mucho frustrating point numero tres, how in the hell will I go about looking at these places? How am I gonna find the hidden fees? Are my neighbors going to be morons who vacuum at 2 am? How the HELL am I going to be by myself in such a big place?

School or work?
Residency?
Taxes?
Unexpected expenses?
Car?
Coming home?


AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Talking myself down and reminding myself to breath, I will be taking my worrisome self off to bed now, where I will undoubtedly enact several more bizarre dreams in my head. And to you I say, Good Night.

Making the actual decisions is not the hard part. Figuring out which decisions to make is the clincher.

HEY YOU GUYS!
Do you know how much I love you?

We all know the story. She moved around a lot. She's seen a lot of things, met a lot of people, and left them all. Either her heart gets torn up every time, or she conceals it in bubble wrap and packing tape, then locks it in a steel box. You all know which option I chose, and damned if I didn't end up losing the key.

"Screw you, think I'm cold, but I'm not getting hurt. Yeah, lonely, solitary. But no ouches, mmmkay?"

Yet another mantra. I am strong. And if you can't hear me cry silently, then you don't deserve my pain.

I have left people, best friends and loved ones, and I've cried and moved on. Away. Literally. People have touched me, changed me, helped me and hurt me, but there are very few that I miss. Survival of the military brat, I'll wager.

Sometimes I happen upon other lonely souls. And I guess that's why I tend to collect these shadows. The unstable ones whom I love fiercely because I identify with them,(a love that is akin to a candle flame just before it burns itself out - bright fire turned to dark extinction). The ones that I will always turn the porch light on for at 3 AM, because they need me, dammit. The ones who take what they need from me, and give little back, because I can be that strong. tut-tut. Even when I know I might be hurting myself, it makes me feel to be loving. And eventually I find the right ones to love.

You know who you are.

I feel like I'm thawing. And instead of melting away, I am warming up and changing shape. You have helped me to open my box. You have given me a foundation that will never budge. Evolve and grow, but it is not moving. You have made me laugh, and called me out, intentionally or not, to make me cry. You have danced with me and listened to me and given me the faith to dance by myself. You have made mistakes so that I can learn from them, and waited (or raged) on the sidelines as I made my own. You have made me understand that it is possible to love, and drift, and connect, and leave, and always come back to the very center of the knot of love and friendship that you have helped me to create.

If you were gone, I would miss you.

When you do leave, I will always love you.

Because inadvertently, I made that love, given and received, a part of me. Each person that I have encountered has made a mark on my soul.

You are my soul.

As much as I am my own, and cherish that difference, I would not be the different that I am without you.

Oh my God, all of the ways that each of you mean to me.

"I don't feel Pale."
"Are you Irish?"
"Religious Satan."
"You do sound like a mad monkey."
"Just re-align your chi." "My chi is too spastic to be aligned."
"Forget it all. Just go."
"Let's go shoot some turkeys."
"This is my baby-girl. She's wonderful."

Why do I smile when I want to shriek?

Anger: "A strong feeling of displeasure or hostility."

Rage: 1. Violent, explosive anger. 2. Furious intensity, as of a storm or disease. 3. A burning desire; a passion.

Fury: Violent, uncontrolled action; turbulence

Disappoint: To fail to satisfy the hope, desire, or expectation of...

I was that girl again
yay
for the rigid snow
in Florida

One day
the Unwelcomeness will settle
until then
I will float with a grin

and a cry
"I want to leave!"
too much and
so much for Sundays

"Nice? Really? Are you sure? 'Cause you know, there are plenty of girls out there who understand how to deal with this kind of thing. Me, well, I think my head might just explode."

I should be in a bubble. Not for diseases and such, but for like, interacting with other people.

"What's with the girl in a bubble? Is she sick?"
"No, just emotionally inept. Apparently, she knows how to deal with morons, but give her a nice guy and sheesh, it's like handing a vampire a cross or garlic, or something."

Maybe come with an instruction sheet. A sign proclaiming that I only seem like the queen of the non-reaction. God, how I would love to find someone who could make me react. Melt. Come down off the high horse that I've been kicking the rest of them in the face from. Gonna take a lot...case in point...

On being single...oh, come on, you guys knew that this was coming...

Who knows when I will admit defeat?

So it's good, right? 'Cause I am super independent. Makes my skin crawl to think of having to answer to someone -

Boyfriend: "Where are you going?"
Girl afraid of commitment (it's not so much fear as it is the desire to avoid all unnecessary bullshit...why are you laughing?) : "What's it to you, nosy...wait, that's part of being in a relationship, huh? Yeah, my guy friends and I are going out for some beers...don't wait up! Love you!"

Right. Hope that works out for you.

Ideal situation:
Boyfriend: "Good deal. Have fun. I'll probably roll with some buddies (or otherwise entertain myself). Call me if you need anything, and oh, by the way...can we make a date for sometime later in the week?"

Sure, when the temperature gets a lot cooler down below...to quote One Tree Hill (I only watched it once, really. When some mysterious muscle spasm had hold of my legs and I was unable to reach the T.V. to change the channel. Honest. Seriously, stop laughing)

Even more ideal situation...wanting to tell you what's up with me, without feeling threatened, or stifled...or the strange urge to run away with my hands in the air screaming "Noooo! You'll never get me! Never!"

What would really happen -

"Gonna do what with who? Hu-uh. I'm comin' with you."

Or worse...

You just don't care.

The employees at the DMV were nice to me today...and I am the worst over-packer in the world.

"Hmmm. Should I take the red boots, too? 'Cause the other boots have heels on them...what if we do some walking?" *sigh*

And God forbid that I am not entertained for every second that I am awake. I have magazines, books, music, stuff to write with...all b/c I have the attention span of a gnat and might die if I had to just sit for two minutes. I am going to be gone for 5 days.

For as many times as I bleat "I should've been born a boy!" I am far too into accessorizing. Although I do know of a certain boy out there who packed more than I did when we went on a 7 day cruise, so now I feel better!

My Mantra? "Still holding my breath!"

Goodie! Another drunk one. Which I have convinced myself I cannot be bitter about. Here's why. You go to a bar, odds are quite high that you are going to meet drunk men. it's inevitable, really. Like going to the beach, and meeting a surfer. Or working in a resteraunt, and meeting a crack head.

Making Some Old Stuff New

Bits and pieces. Examples of what I have to pick through to display coherence.

Who cares what you think. Read this, and bite me. I don’t live for you, breath for you, exude passion for you. You just happen to inhabit the same planet that I do, we might chance upon sharing the same space every now and then...for a heartbeat or longer...whatever. The point is I don’t need the approval that you think I should strive for. Don’t want it, if it means that I have to act like you. You live in your perception of the time that you are here, and I’ll live in mine. The less that we try to change each other, the better.

******************

Exploding would be too dramatic for my nature, even though that is what I long for. If anything major ever happened to me, it would be me, imploding. My insides would cave in on themselves and disintegrate, leaving my body an empty box. Looking from the outside in, nobody would even notice that what was essentially me was gone. I would function the same, look the same, smile the same, but there would be nothing of me there, and no one observing me would be any wiser. Exploding would display what is inside of me, and we all know that I am not comfortable with that. Never say what I truly feel ‘cause then I might not be the sweet one. Never say what I really want because then I might not get it. Have fun, but never to the point of ridiculousness – God forbid I look like a fool. Distance is the attitude that I adopt, fear and diffidence are what rule me. While I long, I don’t know quite what it is that I long for. Sometimes I covet the characteristics of red – bold and deep, striking, hard to miss, strong. Most of the time the attributes that I possess are those of sage green. Silent, soft, becoming a part of the milieu. If even-keeled is what I am, then why can’t I be happy with that?

******************

December 16, 2003

To have a conversation like that with someone is like poetry. Magic, movement, art, life. As I want to live it. To explain myself so thoroughly, to be understood and to actually understand, myself, what I am saying, I cry quietly because it is so touching to me. It is hard for me to communicate. It is hard for me to discern how I feel, almost until the minute that the feeling or thought is upon me. To do this unplanned, is startling to me. To reveal myself so well, and not have record of doing so to reflect on later makes me choke with panic. I did not know that was what I wanted until I talked to you. Explaining myself to you was jointly explaining myself to me.

My thoughts are so jumbled, because of this huge release. I don’t want to lose how this makes me feel – I’ve felt the flame flicker and is so in danger of flaming out. A part of me screams that it is done, now just do it. Another part of me wants to get this down so that I can understand, and not keep perpetuating the cycle.

******************

When I understand
My eyes are only one way
Romeo is mine.

******************

As my body shakes
I wonder about reserve
Still I turn over

******************

The Beast

Slouching with booth posture at Denny’s
watching Teddy grin cheerfully at the drunken idiots
while you marvel at what he’s not saying
and what you would be,
with much gusto and gesturing.
I think it makes him better,
(if there was such a travesty
as rank of quality
by temper or ones take on life,
never mind what money’s supposed to get you)
his Adaptability and detachment.
Makes him the tree that stretches
instead of breaking
from the strain of all that social wind.
He may be the next Plato
for all we know.
You think he’s simple, oblivious.
Seems to me that he has the beast
by the same horns
that impale us.

They Think I'm Crazy

It is amazing how hot a face can get when it flushes. All that blood rushing up so quickly that it makes your head appear like a luminous red light bulb. Apparently this causes a chain reaction, too: after my face turned all of its shades of crimson, my hands start to shake and my mouth gets as dry as sand. After a drought. In Arizona. The reaction is so violent that a person who knows me intimately but not at all was able to notice. Curses! This would be hideously galling had communicating my feelings, however platonic, not been the goal. But so it was, and there I was squirming with the foreignness of it all.

Then I get the wedding invitation...dun dun DUN. Not even the real one, but a WARNING one. I swear to God, these things are engineered to torture those of us who cling to the single lifestyle. Yes, I am perfectly happy with my life as is - body image, plans for the future, marital status, or lack there of. No, I do not care the slightest bit about what these people (who sometime remind my of 13th graders, choosing to take the high school social dramas with them into adulthood) think of me. Curious, though. I mean, really thought provoking. The minute that my nosy little hands seperated the flap from the glue on the envelope, I started thinking " 'K. I've got x amount of time to make my body look droolably amazing, create a plan for my life so that I don't have to claim waiting tables anymore, and find me one hell of a good looking man, even if I have to trip his ass in a bar." Curious indeed.

2:17am

The older i get, the less I care. I sit in my car and bob my head, writing furiously, maniacly as the minutes flow past the baby hours of the morning. Florida School for the Deaf and Blind campus security stopping to check that I'm o.k. because I'm looking half-cracked with the motor running and the dome light on. I look weird but I feel just fine. Normal would be the problem for me.