.......And Crawling.

On the floor
in the corner
my skin, crawling.
Shed away
I might be the same.
Laying wide open
my skin, crawling.
Awake with each other's ghosts,
huddled unwavering,
haunted habitual
my skin, crawling.
I never wear a disguise.
What I call normal
I can't really swallow.
Wish for an angel to tender me safely
my skin, crawling.
Neglecting the telephone
and alienate cowardly
all the others who
wish they could kill
my skin, crawling.
The air conspires with insects
to win back the spoils of
my skin, crawling.
Patchwork and fragments
cut out from stimulus.
I am not stone,
I am skin.
And crawling.

i'm 28 years old and sometimes i feel like i've accomplished nothing.
oh sure, i've learned a respectable amount of lessons and had a very intense and colourful set of experiences that have shaped and continue to shape my life.
it'll be years until i can start a family, years more to afford one.
i'm an isolator. i need training. i need breaks. i cannot expect them.
i have a lot to give. i have trouble finding ways to offer it.
i accept too much difficulty too eagerly.
i dream. both ways. i am a creature of conflicting principles.
i often change my mind.
this is not stone.
neither am i.

i used to take a train in to work every morning and afternoon. there was a woman i couldn't help but stare at. i always felt sort of like a creep but she was just so beautiful. in a classical, wholesome sort of way. much too innocent looking for my current state of disarray.
i caught the train at the easternmost station, so it would be there for about a half hour before making its way west. i used to sit in the same seat, a high window, on the road side, watching passengers arrive. many were regular; some were not.
one morning this woman arrived and got onto my car - what the? - and proceeded to bound up the stairs quickly, say good morning, and pass me a slip of paper. i scarcely had enough time to blurt out "morning" and she was gone, off the train, into the passenger seat of a truck, and away.
my heart pounded in severe confusion. it was a cross between hopeful desperation fulfilled and dread.
the note read:

The reason you catch me staring at you is because you are beautiful.

beautiful? me? i'll tell you i work a blue-collar job. high-tech, but blue-collar. at the time i was a scruffy, unkept bit of a mess. beautiful?
well, i vowed to approach this beauty and say the same thing. after all, it was me who was staring at her, right?
she wasn't there for the rest of the week. and during this week, my resolve weakened a little more every day. i began to have doubts. i picked her for thirty-something or late twenties. i can't say why. but i was thinking things like "isn't a note a little bit elementary?" and things like "i could never introduce her to my friends, therefore it could never work."
it was two weeks before she re-boarded the train. i was petrified and avoided her. after that week of avoidance there was no turning back. i would get off extra-slow on the way home to give her time to get away. show up early to allow me the same.
i felt like a shit. it still occasionally haunts me. how could i have done that, knowing my own fear of talking to strangers i wish to talk to, girls i'd like to ask out on a date. fuck. i used to wish so badly for women to approach me, as i can't approach them. when it happens i still fuck up.
i know if it was me who gave that note, i would probably not do it again, having got the cold shoulder. i shudder with the possibility of what i might have done to diminish this other person's self-esteem. how i diminish my own.

it was actually 12, but i thought it was 11 at the time.
now it's 10.

i'll be there soon.
such excitement in uncharted territory.


your first fragments, hot off the presses.
be patient, gentle readers; the fragments may be sporadic, but they'll keep coming.

Holiday Wishlist

logged on to media.
not asleep
and dreaming of 11.
unpopulated feelings,
empty plates and crumbs
and wishes of joy
and your smell in my head
and my urges still hungry
and a house squared away
and my bed not fulfilled
and my needs still amiss
and your promise impending.
this midnight, i'm sleepless
with black hair unending.

this isn't a blog; it's an organizing system.

check back from time to time and you may find a gem or two.
i promise nothing.