(non) Sequiturs

 

my little world came crashing down
and when i attacked the
reason, the reason said it was all
my fault, no one else's.

"don't you go blaming me for your
being as nutty as a fruitcake!"

and when your world crashes down
on you, while you're there under
the bed or the couch trying to avoid
the falling plaster, boards and bricks,
there is always someone in the back-
ground saying,

"don't you go blaming me for your
being as nutty as a fruitcake!"

i tried to hold on, tried to keep
believing, really i did, but how
do you hold the night? how do
you hold on to a wish, an act
done with smoke and mirrors?

and of course i screamed (you
would have screamed, too)
and cried and became a
whirling dervish bent on destruction
and your despair. how could i
not? i was real. i was more than
the house of cards i'd carefully
and patiently put together for
myself.

see? it's coming. that thing.
that time.

so what broke apart came back together
(you knew, of course, that it would)
and the world turned and time passed
and each day lived is a battle won in
the war of life and we grow colder
to strangers (if we're not wise, that
is.).

some dawns find me pleasant
and hopeful and glistening like
a new penny ready to travel the
world.

some dawns find me anxious and
afraid and dull, like bad news in
the mailbox, a call with no message
left on your answering machine.

and in between are these days.

alive.

functioning.

re-learning to live with myself and
whomever wants to travel down
this path with me. i don't try anymore
to fulfill someone else's need, to
*be* someone else's need. i just
am.

oh, it gets hard trying to see today
as it is, doesn't it? yesterday adds
its weight to the mix and tomorrow
colors things in much too rosy a
shade, and if you're not careful
you're living yesterday tomorrow.

it feels good not to cry.

i pressed the tears between the
pages of this book (but they don't
look like tears anymore) and i took
my heart off my sleeve and started
mending the hole that was left in
both. and some things i did with
a grim and awful determination.

some things i accomplished with wonder
at the ability to do those things again,
still. dance. sing. write. laugh.

i know you think i wrote this for you,
whomever you are, but i always do
these things for me. i let you in
because i am able to, or i shut you
out because i have to.

now if you're going to be in my head,
i'm going to put you at a piano using
two fingers to pluck out of the air this
tune in my head, two sweet notes played
softly and slowly, near the top of the
scale, but a middle high.

you'll look up sometimes, (i can see your
eyes, they've gotten...something, an
unnamed, unknown something to them
lately. you always try so hard) and we'll
really look at each other and then it will
pass.

nothing is "everything".
the appearance of black and white
is deceiving, a trick designed to
trip you up.

i forget i'm here sometimes.

pardon me, please.

i am done now.

denise
Is it time for your medication or mine?

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