my mind is blank this morning. maybe because i’ve slept a bare 4 hours, or maybe because the night before was such a storm. either way, i’m finding it hard to figure out what it is I wish to articulate, though I could swear there was a thought in there worth exploring (at least so it seems).
oh yes. “For the Love of Pain”.
Of recent, my heart has entertained rather daring and vast emotions for a young man, who in reality I barely know. I saw him, hanging from a tree (literally) lol… and then found my eyes drawn to him as he went about his business. It is no joke, and it is no crazy when I tell you I saw his aura, his soul, the energy zone around him more bright and beautiful than star dust fire works. My interest sparked, and then in some matter of days, a nice to meet you, questions here, a run into there, little hi’s little see you around.. I mean nothing that would warrant a falling in love by any kind. But I did. Again, please know that my in-loves are very different than the advertised definition. The poet in me found him to be a world I wish to explore blind folded. I wanna walk about his mind and heart learning of him only what other senses can tell, like the sound of his heart beating, or the salty scents of the oceans he loved diving. of course, all these sensations i confessed, and scared him away like you won’t believe. HAHA. he did mention he was afraid to hurt me, for I have too soon swooned. and then I decided to just adore him from as far as I can tolerate. (now that’s a bloody struggle) but then I wrote.
“My darling, you cannot hurt me. For even my pain for you, is sweet on my lips- a fountain for my words“. He ignored that message. lool. yes yes, i’m ever crazy. anyway… the whole point of this story is to get to the pain. the pain of knowing my hands will always crave his face, but will never taste it. the pain of acknowledging even my crazy in all this, and that even though I have no idea what chance it is I want, i still don’t stand it. Pain in knowing that the men I have loved the most today, and still do.. the men who are my sources of words and poetry, who course through my veins and I have no say in it… they are all unreachable, untouchable, .. married, gay, too young. and yet here I am jumping into the pain of loving as though it was a tub of honey and yogurt. i’m gobbling up the pain, I wait for moments of solitude and silence and I rush to my broken heart. broken but determined to love without question, without condition, without the ego who demands a return. (this remains a battle) … because it gives me, yes, words. it gives me a river of rhyme, it gives me… poetry.