More Thoughts on PolyamoryPolyamory is very difficult in practice. On paper it makes sense, the theory is good. But to behave in this way is unbelievably frightening to some people. Most people? Maybe it's me, maybe it's the way I go about friendships. If someone becomes interesting enough for me to invest time in, they seem like an intense, intelligent entity that I can learn from, I get excited. Share humor? Yes, motherfucking yes. And when I become dazzled I begin to love the person. It's not that I suddenly fall in love and set all my hopes and dreams on any one person, it's that they have afforded themself the unleashing of the unconditional.
It sounds like I'm laying a trap. Most people that I encounter feel safe and secure within the societal boundaries of entitlement and expectation. They're used to being told they are bad if..., they are good if..., and to me that's not a correct way to go about it. I have my opinions on what
a flavor of maniahttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYdq0ABH3so
Yesterday was a manic day for me, but I was also depressed. Or rapid cycling between the two? I'm not sure. It's like being locked in a cell, alone, half tied, and then being forced to think through molasses. Depression - all alone, empty, no energy, crying if there were tears to be had, but there aren't, because I feel so little that sadness is a casualty. So is sleep.
If I'm in a downward spiral I start getting paranoid that I might be like this all the time, and then the only reason I can ever read anyone else is because I'm a massive empath. I'm a master of sarcasm, but on days when I'm manic I can't make heads or tails of what people are saying. I have no humor, things seem literal that aren't intended that way, and there's no sarcasm font to help me on these days! It leaves me feeling hurt and confused, worse than I'd feel left to my own devices,
cageTrying to nurse the tiny glimmer of peace
Empath, still. Don't be like me.
Negativity exists at the periphery
The wail of the masses crawling at the gates
I have no strength to ward them off,
I'm still trying to nurse my own little glimmer of peace
I feel my self burning out like a star losing its furnace
My brain is full of burning wind
There isn't even rage, it's confusion
Frenetic, the system shakes from within
I don't know how my brain doesn't fall apart.
Each thought that's clear has to scrape against its confinement
screaming metal loosing its paint, thoughts full of rust.
Open the door, let me out of my cage.
shatterI'm trying to be normal. I don't know what that is, though. Not this. Not feeling like my heart is a ruptured fountain, like my brain is a maze of glass shattering from the inside out. I'm not whole right now, my inadequacy is a prison. I reach through the windows to touch the glowing forest out there, only to have my palm scorched by the sun while the world sifts as sand through my blistered fingers.
If only someone would care enough to give to me. They only come around when they want something. Spade a slice of me onto your plate. Moist veins draped over skin and rib still seep their juices on to your plate under a picturesque cloud of meringue. You come back when you want more, and I always open my arms to your trowel. Eventually my carcass will dry up and rot; seek your sustenance elsewhere.
But no one wants to come in this place when my juicy bits of glass are strewn about. Who would give their time to cl
thorn castleGravelly spines are the bricks of this facade
None shall again abuse
that which lies inside.
Once the door was open
and cheerful young lovers
traipsed across the barrier.
the drapes and tapestries
not to their satisfaction.
Slamming of the door
Stamping of the feet
my what a lovely abode,
if you're not made to abide it.
No longer a home,
armaments bloom on this fortress.
Once and again a shaft of light
pierces stormy windows;
a glimmer of lush furnishings.
Someone seeks shelter from the night in the archway of the door.
Will it open?
BrokenEvery time I shatter I
hope to god my feelings don't fall out;
someone will see them and tread upon them.
I remember clearly the other side of the hourglass
when I was me
Free spirit, strong
Spending my days reading, drawing, sewing,
listening to records, watching mtv,
Play-doh, stuffed animals, dolls,
When I used to make the rain dance,
when I could see the music easily,
when I was confident in myself,
when I knew my purpose
and I felt loved.
I can see this memory of being me from my own eyes
Trying to sift through the weight of the memories
piled year upon year,
I am an outsider in these visions,
all the time I have not been me.
Surely it's not accurate, my calamity didn't begin
for a couple years after that,
didn't descend into mortal darkness totally
until five more upon that.
Oh but to feel that clear sense of self again,
What wouldn't I give
to have the clarity and simplicity,
and all-knowing complexity
like I did when I was three.
I want to shake this hourglas