Two men walk into a bar. I walk into the door.

I was never very good at learning from my mistakes.

I was never very good at realizing a mistake when I made it.

People always tell me that mistakes are necessary;

that once it’s made, you can move on and succeed where you once failed.

I call bullshit.

What about the lasting feelings from that mistake?

What about the endless repetition of watching yourself falter time and time again?

Every time I think of my mistakes, I imagine what I could have done differently.

One more step to the left.

One more wipe on the rug.

Knocking first.

Not stopping to stare.

Holding my tongue.

That last one especially.

That has always been my Achilles’ heel.

I can never seem to shut up when I need to,

and I can never seem to find the right words when I want them.

My words have become like a crutch, keeping me from falling back into darkness,

because how can you need light when everyone is laughing?

It’s common to hear that laughter is the best medicine;

I disagree.

Laughter is the best defense, but it is sorely lacking in healing power.

To heal, you need to let someone in;

let someone else wipe away the pain.

Laughter helps you keep the pain at bay;

it keeps the ones who can change you for the better outside as well.

Maybe someday I’ll learn how to keep my words in my head

and listen for a change.

That would be nice.

Just listening;

to words from other people;

to a comforting phrase, meant to help you up;

to the the teasing of a friend;

to the beat of a lover’s heart;

It’s been a while since I’ve let myself do that.

It might stay that way for some time.

For now, I must resolve myself to looking;

looking for the person who I will let myself listen to.

Only in the end

When all that we know is lost

Is love understood

What do you do when the weight of the world seems to be against you?

Do you fall before it, praying that the worst will be over soon,

or do you stand up and face it?

If it tries to cripple your psyche, do you let it?

Do you wait idly by for the end,

or do you say ‘fuck that’ and fight back with all of your heart?

I’ve never known when to fight and when to give up.

The answers always seem to obscure themselves behind my countless questions.

It’s that lack of knowing that scares me.

How will I ever know when I am right, if I don’t even know what to do?

Sometimes it feels like there never was an answer,

that no matter what, I would falter.

When does it become time to quit, and let everyone else worry about life?

Giving up is easy.

Giving up is painless.

Giving up is an answer.

But giving up would still leave me with questions.

In fact, it would leave me with all of them, along with one more:

‘What if?’

What if is the most poignant question I have ever been asked.

‘What if you went left instead of right?’

‘What if you waited just 30 more seconds?’

‘What if you kissed her?’

‘What if you didn’t let her leave?’

‘What if?’ is the only question I know of that has no answer.

There is no way to turn back the clock and do it again.

‘What if?’ is the reason I’m so terrified of getting close.

‘What if?’ is the reason I’m so terrified of letting you get away.

If I don’t let “What if?’ get asked, then ‘What if?’ I fail?

I don’t know.

Is it worth risking getting hurt yet again?

I don’t know.

I don’t even know if I truly like you.

Does anyone really ever know, or is life just a mass of people looking for their answers?

If that’s the case, then I don’t feel so alone.

As long as everyone is lost with me, I think I’ll be ok.

Have you ever looked in a mirror and hated what you saw?

Have you ever stared into the eyes of that person, that stranger that stands where your reflection should be?

When does it become alright to hate yourself for what you could have been, might have been, should have been, instead of what you are?

That person could have helped you climb out of the hell you are in.

That person is strong.

That person knows when to let go of the hurt.

When does it become alright to change who you are, to take the worlds perception of you and throw it back in its face?

Why is it that people tell you never to change who you are? What if who you are is like a severed brake line, destined to send everyone with you careening into a tree?

Maybe it’s time.

Maybe it’s time to tell them to fuck themselves and change.

Change is scary. Change means new. New means you know nothing. Nothing means you have everything to learn.

So take that leap. If you see that you have nothing left, change. Become someone you look up to.

Sometimes it’s ok to walk on the wrong side of a moral. Sometimes that moral doesn’t apply to you.

Sometimes, sometimes means always. And always is now.

Now is the time to change; take back what you lost; find a new way.

And once you do, you will forget that mirror. And that reflection. And that hollow stare.

Instead, what will walk away is that could have been, might have been…

Is.

If I could find you lying right beside me, that would make me happer than you could imagine.

And yet, I turn to face where you should be, and all I see is air.

Reaching out, I stroke your ghostly memory, brushing away a single golden hair.

Your eyes light up at my touch, pushing back the fear that plagues your soul, tears away at your heart.

Eating you from the inside, the emptiness tries to consume you, and leave behind the shell of the woman I gave my heart to.

Where it came from, who can tell. Maybe it was the lies spun for you, the heartbreak dealt to you, the “what ifs” in your life.

Whatever it was it tore you away form me.

I gave you my heart.

I gave it because I loved you.

All that I was came about because I loved you.

And now you are gone.

Lost to the darkness that won in the end.

How can it be that a bond so strong could be torn by a single fight?

Could it be that your demons leaked out and began their work on me, bringing me down in a self-destructive spiral?

Is it fair to say that you were the one who nearly killed me, nearly emptied the space next to the one who needs me by their side?

I will never truly know.

But you are gone now, and all that I can do is reach out, and pray that I find someone to fill the void.

And I will search until my dying breath.

What do you do when the world around you is flying by?
What do you do when the ones you love are moving on, discovering themselves, and all you can do is watch?

Falling behind the curve, failing to make the grade, left in the dust, maybe just a little bit broken; forgotten.

How do you explain how it feels to see the world rush by, and all you want to do is grab on and let it take you along?

I would give anything to have our past not be so screwed up. I would give my heart to not have it hurt this bad.

People tell me: “She doesn’t deserve you. She hurt you. Leave her in the past, where she belongs.”

To them I say: “Yes, she hurt me. Yes, she was my past. No, I shouldn’t care about her like this. But I do. Because in the time before it hurt, I was never happier. I could stare into her eyes forever. I wish I could be staring at them now. I felt so safe. So…whole. That’s why she will always be a part of me.”

If I could have someone like that now; someone who I could talk to; someone who I could hold when things got tough; someone who would tell me it’s all going to be fine as the world burns around us. And truly mean it. That’s someone I would never let go.

I feel lost, but I know that somewhere, someone is waiting for me to walk past. And when I do, I know that they will stop me, and take my hand. They will hold it tight, and whisper, “I promise, that as long as I’m here, everything will be alright.”

Turn back to the hartland

Back to the place you once knew best.

Now all you see is a land ravaged by strangers.

You let them in to see what you had to offer,

but instead they took your fertile soil

and used it for their own needs, leaving nothing but a barren wasteland.

Even then, you still let them in to cultivate the remains into something beautiful.

Again, they tore away what little you had left

and left you with the barest of hope

to bring back the paradise that was your heartland.

But even now, in the bleakness that remains, a spring gurgles to the surface.

Maybe it will lead to nothing.

Maybe it will lead to a flower.

Maybe it will lead to a garden.

Maybe it will lead to a forest.

But I don’t care.

What I see now is enough for me.

What you see as your waseland I still see as a paradise.

And that will never change, not as long as I let you into my heartland.

Take my eyes and leave my soul.

Feel my heart as I run from you

after leaving my blind.

Stumbling over the disjointed past we have;

tripping over the broken hearts in your wake;

falling off the cliff that you tried to push me off.

The air whipping past, tearing at my clothes;

ripping away what little protection I have left.

Nothing could have prepared me for you.

The long nights spent in your arms,

running my fingers through your hair.

I thought that would never end and I would hold you forever.

You saw into my heart, and loved it.

You gave me peace from my splintering life.

But eventually, your hugs lacked their strength.

Your caresses forgot their tenderness.

Your kisses lost their passion.

Your eyes lost their love.

What remained was a shadow of our past.

You no longer wanted what I had to give, so you broke me down.

You tore me to pieces and left me to die.

I gave you my heart, and you crushed it in your hand.

I let you into my soul, and you set it on fire.

Now all I can do is run.

Run away from you, and off the edge.

I know not what will be waiting for me at the bottom,

But I know that it will be away from you.

How do you explain the mist inside your brain

when you try to write a piece of prose?

A snail tethered to a tortoise moves faster than the writer

forcing a rhyme out to appease a deadline.

Finding that spark,

that little push to get my mind going

is harder than finding a leprechaun’s gold in Atlantis.

Taking nothing and creating something is a talent

reserved for those with something on their mind.

So give me a hint.

Give me a clue.

Otherwise, I’ll simply be staring blankly

where my words should be.