Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Working Title: Serrated


Serrated (the Prose)

Sometimes, it's not what you say, but what you don't say.

What happens when someone pours out their feelings to you? Do you respond differently or follow modus operandi? If Difference represents an attempt to change while Normalcy represents resistance to it, then the previous question has been answered. It was to be expected, although Hope for some other outcome attempted to peek in.

Perhaps we were both encased in smoke and mirrors. Or trying to do something a little different because Different was needed.

To have someone so close who seemed to drink in every word and understand; to be there to comfort...a healing balm to serve as some sort of cure to my soul, still trying to recover from all the battles of being so much to someone, who in hindsight, appreciated it so very little. Thinking that perhaps you would want to be free from your cage, not taking into account that your cage was your safety, the only Reality you knew.

I didn't realize how much you would rebel. Or how much you felt that cage was okay.

But my spirit, too feisty, too bold, liking the sense of adventure...even if somewhat careful fun. Still trying to find my middle between being an oppressed soul and getting back to myself—wondering if with the initial invitation, I should have refused, citing needing more time.

But something in you called to something in me, to be a part of you...two weary souls, glad in the company of each other—thinking the level of peace we found in each other would be enough to start some type of foundation, to gradually build. Despite all of the obstacles, mainly being in different stages of life...

Now we are in the same room and yet we both are miles away.



Statements from my lips get lost in translation. Your feedback reverberates in a foreign language.

I know I did not imagine the closeness we once possessed. How can the one who claims to know how women work and what they want makes the one he loves feel like a complete stranger?

How in your mind did you think all the fights could melt by the thrust of your stick?

Your formulas for resolution have never been mine. My passion is still simmering in the cauldron of my mind, spitting fumes of not being understood, not being heard. For you to touch me in this state is equivalent to slicing my flesh.

Why am I not given the time needed to calm down...to get myself together? Why do we not come back to the table to bring closure instead of a physical designed for us to cum closer?

I don't want to disrespect your way, but that has never been my way. I must be way more advanced than the others who stepped before you.

Maybe we have to relearn each other again. Perhaps you, me, or none of us fully took the time.

But I am weary of being stuck in this quagmire; how can I speak so that you can hear me effectively? So my words won't seem to be a foreign language; so I won't bore you with my feelings, my activities, my wants, my needs...I don't feel as if I give you joy; has the magic of me evaporated and you're not sure what to make of what remains?

I want to guide, coach, and inspire. I want us to grow, but how much can I continually do it, so you can pick up the gumption...to start the engine in yourself?

I regret your family was less than supportive whenever a light shined in you or when the worst was happening to you. But I am left to feel the aftereffects of what their lack of care did to you. I am fighting their emotional abuse every day each time you say “you can't”, “you won't”, and “I don't know” without your even making the attempt to try.

You are defeated before you even begin, and when I hear that from you, when I feel at my lowest, should I adapt this attitude as well? You accept it from yourself but you refuse to accept it from me...

This drives me crazy; I cannot comprehend. My heart hurts when I feel as if you don't even try; at times, I cry more for you than I do myself.

This state we are in...the saddest thing of all is that my love for you has not changed; it would be different if it had. It would be a lot easier if there was all this hate, but there isn't.

To want a better life for someone..to see someone blossom and not play victim, to persevere. Yet at times thinking that perhaps I am the crutch that is keeping the development from continuing but fearing what will happen once the nurturing stops—either the person is inspired to being the best or crashing and burning based on his modus operandi and past experiences.

Will there be a roundtable to draft up resolutions or will there continue to be a black hole of silence?

Only He knows.

4.2011.
queen of spades
d. rising

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