Tunnel Vision

You people need to snap the eff out of it!

Tunnel Vision       3/31/15

So damn focused you can’t even blink.

I’m tired of flailing around you.

Purging heaps of advice into your insolent mouth.

You seem to only hear his mumble through my howl.

Focusing only on his speck of light at the end of your tunnel vision.

Your eyes only dart from the places he goes.

Your ears only hear the things he says.

Your imprudent sense of self-worth only revolves around his actions.

We are all still here, too, ya know?

Yet you have placed us within the linings of darkness that surround your tunnel vision.

You have become blind to us and blinded by him.

I refuse to be sabotaged to live on the outer rim of your focus.

Wasting away somewhere in your distance.

If only you’d blink.

A blink taking you out of your tunnel for just one moment 

so you could see all the different specks of light that make up your life.

But you are so implacable

you've destined yourself to stare into his one speck of light for so long

that now all your eyes are merely muddled to see is

all of

NOTHING.

The Third Wheel

This is how it feels to be me.  To be the dreaded third wheel.  I could say it in one word (SUCKS) but I'll stick with the words below:

The Third Wheel                  4/1/2014

It may not be thick,

but I have very deep tread.

Not necessarily fragile but extremely delicate.

Never reliable but always dependable.

These hazardous roads made me tough

but definitely not durable.

I’ve hydroplaned on unforeseen puddles before.

It’s more exhilarating than terrifying.

With my heart’s speed being the only factor,

I’m pretty sure it will happen over and over again.

I’ve slipped on idyllic ice before.

It’s more obvious than transparent.

It didn’t just turn me in a nauseating circle,

it changed my direction entirely.

I’ve been stuck in despotic mud before.

Churning these tires to get out of the trap,

only to flick more dirt on my mirrors.

Pieces of him are still on me.

I’m afraid I’ll never truly be washed clean.

I’ve been stuck in exasperating traffic before.

In fact, this is where I’ve sat for years.

Stalled in the middle lane, horns honking, others flying past me at a rate I’ll never understand.

Only my brake lights seem to be lit.

Mile after mile I can literally feel these tires wearing thin.

Screw after screw I can see them dreadfully disintegrating.

Passerbys become spectators.

This tire is bound to go crashing into their windshields.

Maybe they’ll think of me when they discover the crack I made.

I’m not just some small indention in their lives,

I am an influence on their horizon.

Yes, I could always put my hazards on

to warn you that I’m still here,

but I know you’ve got places to go

and you’ll just run me over to get there.

You’ll overlook the skid marks these tires of mine have made,

and you’ll just drive gleefully past me thanking God that

you aren’t me. 

HELP

               HELP!                        1/7/2014          

I can’t help but think the way I do.

Every hopeful thought is unintentionally preceded by a derisive one.

I can’t help but see the way I see.

A pristine horizon always hidden behind a numinous fog.

I can’t help but hear the things I hear.

Earnest compliments so rarely given that I confuse them with cynical criticism.

I can’t help but feel what I feel.

That I’ll forever be searching for the unattainable. 

I can’t help but be the person I am:

Just a scared little girl in a big, bad world that seems to

mercifully GIVE to others

to only ruthlessly TAKE from her.

I can’t help but think of how unfair all of this really is.

I just can’t help but wonder when someone will notice that I’m still here and in need of some serious

HELP!

Silver Platter

Don't you hate it when everyone around you seems to always be in the right place at the right time?  It always works out perfectly for them and you're just stuck there muddling through the wrong time and the wrong place. Don't you hate it when you feel like people simply feel obligated to hang out with you but don't really want to?  Don't you hate it when people are simply "too busy" for you and think you don't notice you've been placed on their back burner?  Well, I know I hate it. Plus, these burners are getting way too hot for my liking....

My life, as of recent, reminds me too well of those silly e-cards stating things like "Everyone is in a relationship, getting married, or having babies.  And I'm over here like 'I LOVE WINE!' "  So, digesting that feeling whilst lounging in my lamb pj pants and gulping down my nightly bottle of wine, I wrote the following poem:

Silver Platter        

Fill your silver platter with more than you deserve.

Sprinkle it with your patronizing creeds and top it off with your mordant egoism.

You could not help but be mesmerized by the radiance of the silver and how its unsullied light gleamed into your eyes.

You could not help but take a moment of unadultered pride in how easy the platter was handed to you.

You could not help but revel in the hoarding of your blessings.

In this process, you have been blinded by your greedy love.

The stars in your eyes too big to see that I am growing tired of you glorifying my ineptness. 

In this process, all you have done is dressed me in black and white compelling me to serve you.

My arms are much too weak to carry any more of your leftovers on this

damn silver platter.

On Paper

On Paper      8-1-12

I wrote your name on a crumpled piece of paper.

I colored it with hearts and stars surrounding your every letter.

I wrote it over and over again.  Smiling within every thought of you.

I even ironed out the wrinkles with the heated expectation that ran through my hands.

Pubertal, I sat for years upon years, relishing in the wonder of your return and if it would reverse my awkward impatience.

Somehow within the years, I went from wistful writing to sudden scribbling.

It became more of a sporadic event when I realized you were such a nomad--

no schedule, no objective, no theme, no intention,

no point.

But, pubertal I sat for years upon years, adhering to the hope that maybe you had written my name down somewhere in your wayfaring mind.

Upon your return, I was surprised you accepted the invitation to see me.

Your attentiveness was greatly appreciated, but you cut it far too short.

Our ball was in your court, but you let it fly right past you.

Our chance dangled in front of your eyes, but you never even opened them.

I relished in our potential, but you barely gave an effort.

I’ve finally apprehended that my colossal dreams

just can’t fit into your life’s insolvent horizon,

and I don’t even want to try to squeeze my substantial significance into your trivial spectrum of idiocy anymore.

Yet, pubertal I still sit here staring at this old, crumpled piece of paper.

My tears smear the scribbles into stains.

Is it that you are not good for me or am I just not good enough for you?

I can’t seem to do it, but I know I have to.

Since my name has never appeared on your list (and never will),

I MUST muster the strength to scratch you off of mine.

It’s time to finally erase you

and to comprehend the reason why this piece of paper was so crumpled to begin with. 

Gone

Gone 7/7/11


You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
Words from a waning mother to a forlorn daughter.
Words that have resonated with me for years.
Echoing back and forth in the grottos of my detested psyche.

You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
Said with such a veracious tone, I almost believed it myself.
Said in the tone of maternal love that I will always associate with your voice.
That melody I immerse myself in day after day.

You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
So many conversations spoken before that dreadful day.
So many words expressed between our solemn eyes
until our salient conversations abruptly reverberated into a noxious silence.

But you told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone!!
I wish I believed you.
I wish you were right.
I wish you were here.

Because I’m nowhere near okay
now that you are
gone.

10 Things I Hate About You

10 things I wish I would have known 10 years ago

The man you are dating is gay, sweetie.

You will not get married by 23.

You will not have kids by 30.

Your dream of moving back to Charlotte will be hindered by your sudden, mockable fear of solitude. It will hit you like a train.

Your bad luck with men will continue. (and get even worse through the years, if you can even imagine that!)

You will be your own and only company night after night.

Reading PEOPLE magazine will become the only thing on your Friday night's schedule.

You will find that there is a little bit of solace in solitude while living in Atlanta, Ga.

You will desperately wish your married friends were single and that your single friends were married.

You will drive yourself insane, slowly but surely, not necessarily for not knowing what you want from life, but from your life not knowing what to do with your crazy self.