Why I Do What I Do

Why do I write? Someone asked me the other day. I did not have an answer for them. "Because." I told them. Now, if I had asked a question, and someone responded with "because", I would have wanted to drop kick them. I hate that word. That word means one of two things. It either means you don't actually have a reason, and you're just spitting out the one thought that comes to mind, or you have a deffinite reason, and just don't care to share. Laziness. That's what it is. And in any case, "because" does not apply to me. I do write for a reason. But it is not one deffinite thing. Not that I can fully express. Now, however, after I considered it, I thought of what I should have said.

I write, like most others, to draw connections between the past, the present, and the future. I write to make sence of the things that didn't make sence when they happened. I write because it's the only way I really know how to keep a solid record of time. I take what people call black and white, and make a mess out of things, creating this big blob of grey. It's like squirting paint on a canves. Imagine it. The sound it makes, squeezing the bottle until nearly all it's contents are on the stretched vinal. Then take your hands, and rub them around in the cool, sticky paint until the white and black are no longer two seperate colors, and instead, they are so blended together that it is a big puddle of grey on the canvas, and on your hands. Who wouldn't want to do that? Yes, it gets a little dirty at times, but even still, it's a good kind of dirty. And finally, I write to bridge the gap between reality and the imagined. What we feel, and what we do. Between truth and lies. Because there is no set definition of reality. What we feel rarely coresponds to what we do, and there is truth, even in the lies. I write to show pain, happiness, pride, fear, helplessness, and love. I write because often, I cannot find the words to speak it. Because nothing, to me, seems as real as when it is writen down on paper, where I can see it. Where I can show it to the world, and hope they understand, too. Where I can draw the image with words, exactly how the sky looked that night that two young, innocent, and sweetly nieve kids lied on the grass, holding hands under the crisp autumn moon. I can express the was his hand felt in mine, warm, and fitted like a puzzlepiece. I can show you how the ocean smells just after the rain, and the way that salty, miosture holds onto your lungs peanut-butter to the roof of your mouth. The sound of a friends voice, raised in song, so full she was almost in tears. The taste of hot spaghetti prepared moments ago in a kitchen where time stopped and the only thing that mattered in the world was that the sauce not boil over the brim of the pot. All of those sencory things, that you would never get to experience if I didn't write them down. And all of those things that I am afraid to forget. I write because the people are too great, and the life is too precious, to be forgotten.

Dawning

As the summer fades,
and slowly,
Comes to a close,
I realize something.
I will never get those days back.
As I am here, trying to keep up,
The world is hurdeling around me,
Doing laps around my breathless body.
Yesterday, I was two years old.
I was dreamind wide eyed,
Into a kalydascope,
Dinosaurs spinning around,
Glitter and water dancing around them.
Now, I sit here tonight,
Typing on my computer, and no one is listening.
No one hears what I am saying.
And no one would get it even if they did.
I am sitting here, talking to you,
Or the invisible, non existant something,that I have chosen to call "you".
I have to make plans.
I have to live my life.
Im going to have to leave home, away from the comfort,
And the safety,
And the acceptance,
And venture out into a world that I don't understand,
And that scares the hell out of me.
I AM afraid.
Not because I'm growing up.
Because I'll never grow up again.

(exhale)

This waiting is making me crazy.
I know you are trying to decide between me, and someone else,
And it's killing me.
I wish it was something you just knew.
It's my fault. I told you to take your time.
Of course, for once, you listen.
It really doesn't matter.
I've already proven to you, myself, and the rest of the planet
That I am not going anywhere.
I tried to move on, and it felt wrong.
It wasn't there.
I realized, I don't care about him the way I care about you.
It was impossible to even think of him in the same brainspace that thoughts of you were once stored.
A great friend once told me,
"Once you truely fall in love,
You will never fall out"
Well, let me tell ya,
It's a blessing and a curse.
I wish I didn't love you.
I hate that I love you. But I do.
And I just want it to be over.
I need you to either take me back,
Or tell me you can never see me again.
Then I need you to dissapear.
Because I will always love you.
And seeing you hurts.
And while I'm here waiting for you,
I'm getting used to being lonely,
And that's what scares me the most.

Another Sun Soaked Season Fades Away

It's almost over.
The sun sets one last time,
Heavily below the endless blue.
As the weather begins to turn,
And a breeze begins to chill,
Longing fills my soul.
Where did it go?
Was I asleep?
How did we miss it?
A season like a flash of lightning.
First it's there,
Breif,
Beautiful,
Distructive,
Then it's gone,
And only the ember remains.
My sunsoaked soul burns for you.
Missing you, even though you are right here.
All summer I waited,
All summer I prayed.
And I can go on waiting if that's the rice I have to pay.
But as the sun sinks one last time,
And the gold, orange and red
Turns to grey, blue and white,
As the cold begins to set in,
As reality brings lonliness like a ton of bricks,
I'm asking you,
Begging you
One more time.
One more chance.
Don't venture into the dry season alone.
Not when you have warm, open arms right here wanting you.
I'll share with you my invinsible summer.
But until you come back,
My summer song can't sing.
Come with me to a place where seasons don't exist.
I can show you...
Oh so much.
I am reaching out,
Out into the vast, endlessness of summer.
Back into the memories,
Back into the sun,
But it is getting farther and farther away.
And it isn't reaching back.
Goodbye, summer.
Maybe next year...

For Someone With My Last Name

I've been thinking of you for a while.Trying to understand why you don't care.Why you never come to visit.Why you barely know me.Why I have to come to you every summer, and act like it's all okay.When I get to thinking about that, I hate you. Or I want to hate you. Then I think about who you are, and end up hating myself. Hating myself for not being able to hate you.

You're an artist. Those hands have destroyed so much, but the few things they have created, have been amazing. I know I got it from you. I know that the creativity in me, the ability to see like an artist, and feel like an artist, that is because your blood is running through my veins. The imagination in my heart, no. That comes from someone else. Somewhere else. You never taught me. Never once did you take me aside, and help me understand myself. You never showed me how, or even let me observe you. So I know that my heart, and my mind does not come from you. That is the part I have control of. But it's in my blood. In an undeniable way. Someone just pointed that out to me, and it all made sence. The blood in my veins is blood I am ashamed of at times. Or blood that I wish I could be ashamed of. But it's there, and it's because of you. So I guess I should thank you.

Coolhand Luke

I walk in, and you grin, and make some offhanded comment about how I'm late, or look confused.
I smile, roll my eyes, and sit down next to you.
You pretend to be gruff, and grumpy.
You joke, and tease, and act unapproving of my lifestyle,
Of the spaztic way I think, or dress.
You don't often say much, and what you do say is pessimistic.
You rarely make direct eye contact, but when you do, you hold it there.
And I can't help but notice that it is all very familiar to me.
But I can't quite put my finger on it.
Then something goes wrong.
I get knocked down again, and you show up, without even being asked,
To pull me back up.
You go from distant and harsh,
To gentle and sweet.
You're there.
And I know what it is.
You're my Luke Danes.
We're just friends,
But we're not friends at all.
We love each other,
But we can't stand each other.
We need each other,
But niether one of us will admit it.
We tryed to be more then friends, and we failed. You bailed out.
You were scared.
Your life was too complicated.
And I waited.
I tried moving on,
But it wasn't right.
Now you're back again,
And you say you're on the fence.
You have two roads to walk down,
And one road to choose,
And I know you'll take your sweet time.
But when it all caves in,
And the rain starts to fall,
And everything starts to end and begin at once,
You'll find me.
And I will be here.
You're my Coolhand.
And whatever role you choose,
Friends, or otherwise,
I will be here.

Confusion

Which Way is up
Which way is down
Which is the quickest
Escape out of town
Things fall apart
And spyral and sink
It happens in seconds
So I try not to blink
Nothing else matters
To me anymore
Nothing is helping
I can't find the cure
If everything ends
And nothing can stay
What is the point
Of trying again???

Now, maybe you'll see that I am right here. Seriously, who else would sit and listen to their ex talk about his failed relationship with his previous girlfriend. Who else swould say, "I'm sorry she hurt you" and actually mean it. Who else carries that capacity of love to you, and is cool with you being honest and upset in her arms, knowing that you say you don't love her anymore? Come on. How long are we going to do this? Cuz I could go on forever, but I need to know if I have to.