Better

"I'm getting better!"

And not in the Monty Python sense, either. It's an amazing thing to realize that God infuses us with hope we can't control - or kill. More amazing is the fact that He places people in our lives to truly love us when we're at our lowest sludge point.

(oddly enough, realizing this makes it easier for me to be a decent EMT...)

Now I just need to figure out how to carry on a conversation with a non-drunk, non-crazy person....

I write in poetry when I can't say what I mean for real. It's probably some sort of coping mechanism, evidenced by the fact that poetry generally happens when I'm working through some sort of crisis or other less than deliriously happy experience.

The thing is . . .I find this annoying. What I write has feeling, yes, but I don't want to write painful or hopeless sounding trash, so the hopefulness that gets expressed often feels tacked on or obligatory and thus, I hate it.

Besides that, my brain and style are stuck in the SAME METER EVERY TIME. Do I know that poetry doesn't have to rhyme? Yes. Yes, I do. But it doesn't matter, because if I write something that doesn't rhyme, it drives me nuts, and so I search around for just the word to fit my syllabic cadences. Then I FIND the word, and the fact that I found it drives me nuts, because I didn't have to, darnit, I was just writing.

Hmph.

Anyway. I am not doing well these days. Admitting this is probably indicative of a pending betterness, but honestly, I'm not holding my breath. Surface level is ok; keeping busy and getting rid of last week's beyond nasty sinus infection. Beyond that...well, let's talk about something else, shall we? I got mad at God and didn't talk to Him for a while and now things are in such a state that I don't feel as though I have any right to talk to Him. So, of course, I yell at Him. That definitely helps. Until I realize that I have no place to be doing that and so shut up again.

For being female, my communication skills are abysmal.

There wasn't too much to me
When you walked into my life
You asked simple questions
The answers were concise
But minutes turn to hours
Hours turn to days
Your presence became something
I expected in some way

Our tastes in music were so different
Our age and history, too
But you seemed to like my presence
And the fact my eyes are blue
So the minutes became hours
Hours turned to days
And your ever-prolonged glances
Flattered, in a way

Now it's six months later
And glances became more
You wrapped your arms around me
My heart didn't feel so sore
Strength is an anesthetic
When it's not my own
I'm addicted to the numbness
The pretense of a home

A call tonight from someone
Who's known me many years
Made me realize something
That should render me to tears
It's a disturbing thing to notice
In the middle of the night
You never really loved me
And I can't make this right