Bent Words

Bent Words

July 29, 2014

I have a lot to say but not a lot of time or space to make that known. I have a lot of pressure to relieve but not a lot of places to go. So here I am in a moment, in a flash. Wishing I could tell you who I am, wishing I could go back.

Where I knew me a little or at least enough. Where you could easily find me without wading through all this other stuff. Where I could perfectly point to whatever reference was needed. The laughter, the love, the ease, the many words and endless pictures -- something I created.

Now I just feel spilled into a world I cannot contain. Looking around for something I can control, something I can adequately maintain. Iím not trying to ignore you or become someone you never thought Iíd be. Iím just trying to hold onto what I was, so desperately.

The desperation of joy so clouded by what I can no longer be. Independent and disloyal, because all Iím worried about is me. Exchanged for the pressure of making otherís dreams come true. But no one told me how hard it would be just to make it through.

Another day, another dollar.

Another person for which I must answer.

All around I donít think I have enough to give. Never had all this pressure just to make this a decent life to live. So I fear all the time that I fall far below the mark. Not as free as I was in the start.

(from the very beginning of time)

Now Iím tired when the day is done. And with the weight of all the battles I havenít quite yet won. Iím not impressive, not even to me. Iím just trying to get by and thatís not the girl I want to be.

THIS is who I was, who I want to sometimes be. The tears, the tension, the words describing me. The time it took to make these words a reality. I let it rain down so hard that, on the next day, I could not even see.

(just a moment for recovery)

And now I need to take the time to mourn the loss of everything. To miss myself and the way I could cry all night or hit the high notes to dance and sing. To have no judgment passed after a long day was done. For who was even there to say I had lost or won?

To be beautiful in the way it meant to be beautiful to me. When I could define it in an attitude instead of in something you could only see. To never allow a day to die without a momentís recognition. To never allow myself to falter too far away from a situationís absolute perfection.

(no matter how imperfect or unreal)

We wonít be as good as we were then. When we could chalk it up to a hard day well spent. Now weíre old enough to know better and be better than before. Now a little person looks at us and expects a little something more.

So I pretend that life didnít steal something precious from my soul. Something that only I and I alone can know. Something so far gone, it cannot be passed down to you some day. So I try to let it go, as if it were just another day.

How much could it mean?

How precious could it be?

If it could be lost so easily?

The endless nights I spent in miseryÖ Thatís how I know. Thatís how I see. These things were not just things to me. They were what I claimed and cherished and held so dearly.

I walked by them each and every day. Knowing that if I couldnít hack it, they would be there to support me.

(the beautiful words of my ancestors and some by me)

I had my vision. Captured. Of what it meant to have him walking next to me. The love and adoration we once shared quite equally. The distance gapped when I could not be near. The knowledge that if I needed him, he would be right here.

I had the stories created by my own hand. So that someone could look back and, without much effort, understand. How life could never get the best of me. And that I cared, deep down, even if I never got to where I was supposed to be.

Exchanged for rubble. Exchanged for dirt. Exchanged for a lifetime of change and a world of hurt. You cannot give me back what it is I see. You cannot give back what was all of me.

Your words wonít heal or make it go away. Your ďwisdomĒ hasnít got a chance over my disdain. You are a lover taken away too soon. You are the sun rising, the ocean bending, the clouds that choke the moon.

You are the loss I grieve. The life I had to leave.

You are beautiful and so ugly to me.

You are the fear I always knew I had to face. But somehow you caught me off guard for the moment I slowed my pace. You were able to keep up and pass me somehow. Leaving me wondering where it is I must turn now.

You are cruel and unforgiving.

You are the life I have to find worth living.

You are what stops me from falling down. My little girlís smile which could bring a mountain down.

To nothing.

And everything.

You wonít take it away again, my dear. You are not as strong as me. I got this. Despite the future, you are not all that I can be.

You are one lonely little thought Ė tenacious as tenacious can be Ė writhing about in a world full of miracles even I could not foresee.

I will let it bring me back, back where I belong. Where I find beauty in an off key morning song. And a pile of unnecessary tears that she cries for only me. Because thatís where she feels safe and somehow I have made that be.

Not you or your tumultuous thunder.

Not your big, bad loss.

She cries over pancakes and shoes untied and the times we have had to leave.

She doesnít cry over you or your lack of empathy.

She cries over silly things that mean nothing to you and me.

So please God, let her be.

I have never prayed for much. I have never been so sincere. I have never such a goal in mind. Not such as when it comes to her.

Change me, twist me, take it all away. But donít let her down, donít let her go astray. For this is such a lonely place to be. Being everything to everyone but me.

Or your incapacity.

I live for you, my Little Love. Not what I used to be.

That woman is gone, exchanged for something I am so scared to be. Your mentor, your teacher, your guidance. Your light where once no light you could see.

Of all the loss you could be given, the loss of life thatís not worth living, is my greatest fear. For you are our light. Make no mistake. You are our light. You are everything Ė and more Ė to me.

Written at 8:43 p.m.