Your Three Words

Thanks to ABC, GMA Good Morning America, I-Caught, and the Y3W project for making me cry in my coffee all morning. Excellent idea.

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Your Three Words

I Liked You

Because you were strong.
Because you were selfless.

I remember being on your arm in a crowded subway without a care in the world.
I remember thinking you would take care of everything.

You were broad shouldered.
You were protective and strong. So strong.

You were so very alone, and I didn't know.
You were silent on the outside while you were failing on the inside.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and there you were looking out the window.
There you were aching, and I didn't know.
There you were. The real you.
The hidden. And I didn't know.

I had liked you because you were strong, because you were selfless.
But knowing how hard it was for you to be those things
Made me like you even more.

In the night and in the silence
I learned what strength really was.

And it was in that darkness
Where I saw for the first time.


"Wise men wonder while strong men die."
- Breaking Benjamin

Not This Way

It's hard to not like somebody. It takes a lot of energy. And time.
It occupies you, and makes you spend yourself in an unhealthy way.

It's not good.
But there are so many people that are really good at it.

It's hard to have those moments. Those hate filled moments. Hard for me, anyway. They last twice as long as other moments.

Hate is strong Word.
In both directions. The people that do it, and the people that claim they don't.
People say, "Oh there's no body I really hate." Is that true? Are all those people running around out there not hating any body?

Anger is easier then sadness.
Hating is easier then forgetting.

Most people will take running away over kneeling, any day.

Some things are unforgivable.
Some people have to remain unforgiven.

And with any luck,
Those are the people we can forget.
.

Cebidae or Don't

I really fuckin' hate it when some god-damn monkey has to be self righteous.
I mean, anyone who'd say any shit like:
"I don't go to strip bars because I don't have to pay to see a girl naked."
"I don't want to get in the middle of this, I don't want to get between the two of you."
"I don't need to drink to have a good time."

Do you think when you say something that asinine that everyone oohs and aahs and feels impressed by self-proclaimed superior you?
No. Everyone rolls their eyes. And stops inviting you.
Then you and your uppity-ass are all alone. Is that what you wanted?

When you make it a point to make sure everybody knows you disapprove,
You can bet everybody is going to make damn sure you're excluded.

Listen, ya little monkeys. You aren't better than any body else. I know this. I'm a monkey, too.

But I am the monkey trying to build the nation.
You're the little monkeys trying to tear it down.

Left

"This is my favorite funeral home." I say it to him, to pass the time, as if everyone has one. A favorite.

First he looks at me like I'm a little confused. Then he nods and he says, "We've been to a lot of wakes here." The time is passing.

"Yeah. We have." I'm looking at the vintage map wallpaper and the real wood paneling. There is something about this place.

Time passes, and you aren't close anymore. Time closes in, and you aren't passing. You aren't more.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

I take a sip from my flask and I pass it to him with the time. "At Chris's funeral last year."

He nods again. He sips the Chambourd. "God, that's sad."

You don't go to the wake for the deceased. You go for the remaining. You go for the wife, crying in the front of the room, in front of us all. In front of time that right now isn't passing. You go for yourself and your sins. You go for connections and apologies, regressions and regrets, transgressions, and remembrance. You go for the people you care about that are left behind.

I take the flask back. I can't take anything else back.

I remember a dinner. Graduation, a million years ago. Eight of us sat at the table. Four of those people are dead now. Half. Half are passed. And half are left behind.

"When was the last time you saw him?" I wonder. I ask.

He tells me. About the last time, and the time before that. About things left and passed. Then he says, "I need to go."

"But you just got here."

Time passes, and you aren't close anymore. Time closes in, and you aren't passing. You aren't more.

He pulls his coat closed. "I know. And now I'm leaving."


I stayed for hours.

.

Caught

He hands the pad back to me. "You can't use this. The title of this poem is a line from a song." He points. "This is a song."

"What?" I look at it. Catch and release me. "It is not. It is? Shit. I wrote that years ago. Who wrote it before me?"

"Well, Queens of the Stone Age recorded it." He sings, "Catch and release me, what the hell were you thinking of. You know why."

"That sucks." I toss the pad down.

"No it doesn't. It's a great line." He laughs.

I throw him a sharp glare. "I know it's great a line. I wrote it."

"You did not!" He laughs harder.

"I did! I really did! I just didn't write it first!" I slam my hand on the floor, to punctuate.

"You may have. Who knows. You just didn't copyright it first." He picks the pad back up.

I stretch out my leg as I lay on the floor and kick it out of his hand. "What is wrong with you? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He shrugs and lays down next to me on the floor. "Has this happened to you before?"

"Oh sure. Lines, plots. The basic premise of one of my novels was a movie 12 years after I wrote it." I roll my eyes. "On the one hand, it really sucks. And on the other, it's cool to see I was right. It was a big hit."

"I can't imagine what that must feel like."

"Yeah, you can. Have you ever had real feelings for someone, and you finally work up the nerve to ask her out, and just as you're about to she tells you someone new just asked her out?"

He sits up. "Yes! And you know you've liked her for longer. And you have all these feelings. And you feel like you just missed the boat." He nods.

"Yeah." I turn my head, still laying flat on my back on the floor and I look at him. He gets it. I can see it. He gets it.

He lays back down and looks at the ceiling, remembering something I did not know, but that I hit. Head on. "Queens of the Stone Age sucks."

I smile. "I love you too."

Fiction 1A

That strong silent character only works in the movies.
They stand quiet and genuine, slightly removed, slightly distanced,
They let you think what you what
They don't defend themselves.
They don't need to
Because their virtue shines through in the end.
They are defined by the other characters around them,
Who accidentally reveal their goodness
And stumble upon their truths.
In reality, those strong silent characters
Have no one around them.
No body,
To do the defining.
So the truth is,
In reality, in conclusion,
The strong silent type
Does not exist.

I want to accommodate you, but not really.

Husband on phone from our place in Vermont to one of his business clients-
"Yeah you can use this phone number..... yeah, you know .... just don't call it."