Dreamer

Some days I wake and close my eyes
And pause to breathe in the surprise
Of sunlight streaming on my face--
A warm caress that leaves no trace.

And in that instance of silence still,
There is no fear, no dark, no chill,
As I recall my dream (so dear)
Of love, of hope, of endless cheer.

And I can smell your sweet perfume,
As though it lingered in the room
To keep me company, hold me warm;
In your absence, keep me from harm.

And I can hear your laughter ring--
Peals of joy I imagine angels sing.
It fills my heart, that your smile
Was caused by me, for a while.

And I can see, your eyes, they glow,
They sparkle with passion and bestow
Upon me a Look that takes my breath,
And makes me die a little death.

And I remember all the moments spent
Together at home, at parties, events.
We had fun. We enjoyed every day,
Every moment and in every way.

And that's what made it so amazing:
That maybe, just maybe, I was deserving
Of an every day love given free
By someone so special-- anyone, really.

Then some sound jars my senses
And all around up go my defenses;
It was just a dream, reality knocks:
Things to do, reminds the tick of the clock.

So the illusion fades and life remains
Tedious, dull, indifferent, inane,
But even though the dream's now out of sight,
It was with me once, once upon a night.

Two poems in an hour

Absurd, irrational anger knows no face
At which to scream, to hurl, to disgrace;
And in the waking of abrupt alarm,
This rage grows, unfettered, to harm.

But soft! This savage beast needs to be tamed
To avert destruction of innocuous objects unnamed
And return to a state of still waters, tranquil,
In appearance at least (there's not near enough goodwill).

Back to its cage, this emotion is repressed.
The snarls are quieted from this unwanted guest
And all that remains is an emptiness within:
A drained husk flashing a false grin.

---

The seconds tick by, and you think I don't know
That green is grass and white is snow?
That every minute gone can't be replaced?
That time is a treasure and waste a disgrace?

Why must you make it harder than it already is?
I know my faults well; shall I enumerate a list?
This isn't a problem that can be solved by reason;
I've tried that (to my never-ending frustration).

The guilt eats at me every day,
Every moment, in every way.
Self-pity? A bit, but not enough to rate;
It's the self-hatred that suffocates.

Alas, poor Yorick!

You are deemed guilty of letting
Truth to be stretched like a season
Of soaps, as though the world turns
Around you. Must life have reason?
There is no rhythm to neither
Your deceit nor your cowardly tears.
And yet, is it a lie? Or perhaps
It's the truth hidden beneath fear.
For your words are threadbare and
Tolerance wanes and there is nothing
To give voice, to breathe out a cry
For... something. Anything.

Nausea

I feel ill. And possibly suicidal. But hey, Bono says:

And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass

It's just a moment
This time will pass.

-- U2, "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of"

Hiding

Something my mother said brought me another step closer to understanding why I fell apart then. Why I'm falling apart now. I'm most certain that wasn't her intent. She told me to stop being a turtle. That's the literal translation. Stop being a head-ducking turtle. The idiom, however, translates better as "Quit being a coward. Don't be a lily-livered fraidy cat. Face your problems."

It all sounds so simple. So straightforward. So easy.

It explains so much. Yeah, I'm a coward. I never thought there'd be a day when I willingly admitted to it, except I did. It's always so hard to convey what I'm afraid of, and what I'm feeling, and words never speak as loud as actions. Or rather, saying out loud that I'm afraid of rejection and I feel despair and then not doing anything about it... it's hard to get across the complexity of everything.

So it's easier to hide. In books, in TV shows, in fanfiction... even in news. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that I can be someone who isn't me. Anywhere that I can be someone who has a purpose.

//----------------------------

I'm coming back to this post 10 hours later. Not that it really matters. Life, I mean. Purpose or not, what's there to do but live it? And so what if I'm tired? I'll take a break. It doesn't matter that I have a great job, or any of that. If it's wearing me out, then maybe it's not right for me. I've tried so hard to make it work, but if it doesn't fit, then no amount of denial is going to change the outcome.

Maybe I'll make it. Maybe I won't. Maybe this step is a piece of some larger destiny that will stoke my hero complex. Or maybe... maybe it's just life.

Confusion

Not two hours ago, I was all set to post a nice miserable entry about my ongoing battle with myself, and how I'm losing.

Not thirty minutes ago, I was ready to put up a heartwarming entry on finding hope in the darkest of places, and the resilience of human nature, and not being a quitter.

Well, I'm not nearly as emo as I was two hours ago. Neither am I as hopeful as I was half an hour ago. I'm somewhere in between, and I hope that this is a baseline mood that can be maintained for the next month. If it gets worse than this, all the pressure will cause me to crack like a raw egg. Running yolks will ensue.

I'm trying to make light of the situation, but really, honestly, I'm tired.

Yet do I fear thy nature

Buzz Saw's comment on Akubi's post (Seal Hunt Starts in Less than 3 Days) was:
I don't see how anyone could kill such a cute, defenseless, and pitiful looking animal. Such sad eyes.

This affected me deeply. In a bad way. Because I find it quite easy to believe that a human being could kill, would kill "such a cute, defenseless, and pitiful looking animal". Without remorse, even. Some might see it as a job. Some might feel a dark thrill.

It's a sickening thought. Extremely disturbing. And my greatest fear.

This is all not good, very bad, absolutely horrible timing.