In the Looking

In looking for god, for relief, for the answers, you find yourself.

Dear girl, there's so much more to see. The lessons and struggles are endless, but you've got me and I've got you. What else can be known? Nothing, it's true. The trick is realizing we don't need to and can't know another person or truth. We are the only truth. Others are merely unknown, outside adventures to pursue.

The Hardest Wound to Admit

Why does it have to be to love?
It would sound like a bad line, were it not so real to me now.
In my psyche, played out over the past many years.
No turning back since age 19, since the first time I ever knew it.
To love.

The crux of all salvation, of humanity, of our survival.
How do I battle a draw to something that is so innate?
Can't measure it on a scale or in a glass.
It's love, it's life, it envelopes everything.
It is elevated and glorified and sought after above all else.
I wish this were a joke.
I never took it seriously before,
but now I can't look away from the truth.

I have a problem. A problem with love.
Use it, abuse it, lose it
bend it, mold it, manipulate it.
Any way you can take it, I have.
Dreamed of it,
cultivated it at all expenses.
Chased it beyond repair.

Never realized I needed to watch my steps,
monitor the levels, and get help to ween myself off.
Let it snatch sanity right from my grasp,
gladly gave it over,
in the name of love.
Glorious, all-consuming, lose sleep, love.

Found the strongest, longest dealer I've known.
Took me so high, with caring, returned love.
Lost my mind when the supply was withdrawn, when the strength was lessened.
My god, I lost my mind.
Bent myself into every shape imaginable to get it back.
Damn you, you took it from me. That good stuff.
Until it wasn't. But I didn't care, I used it up anyway.
Every last damn drop.
I used it and yelled at you for it being gone.

So now, here I am.
Detoxing and cutting myself off
from this love. This love drug.
Except it's l o v e I'm talking about.
The everywhere, need-it-to-thrive love.
Like food for the soul, for the heart.
That's what it is.
The word most present on lips and minds and in your pants,
love.

I do wish I knew how to quit you.
I have to learn, I must.
I may not be much, but I'm a fighter.
I fought with you and now must fight this.
Grapple with the reality of this addiction,
this attachment,
this can't-think-about-anything-else-for-one-second
love.

So even though it was all about you,
it wasn't you, per say.
You were the dealer of the supply.
You didn't know what you were giving me,
how I cut it up and made it what I needed it to be.
A god damn junkie.
It's so crystal fucking clear.
A love junkie, through and through.

Must regulate it, cut the flow full stop.
Relearn what it means to know it, to use it, to lose it.
And not to confuse it with other damaging substances,
but this damn drug split my life in half.
Broke my heart and mind wide open,
a festering wound of fleshy wreckage.

Detoxing and calculating
the time it might take to feel relief.
To build some structure and rules and
12 or more steps from here to wellness.
The struggles and jokes, they never will stop coming.
Here's just another damn wreck to work my way through.
It's funny because it's not. Fake, were it not.
Maybe you didn't wreck me. It was love.
I should have read the label.

Turning Lemons into Sun

I realize I need to forgive myself. For looking away, for taking it personal. For not acknowledging the signs. For allowing love to make me stupid and blind.

Maybe the person I'm really angry with is myself. I relied on hope and love and fear. I should have relied more on honesty and realism. I lied to myself. I knew what was going on, I just didn't like what the signs were saying. This is the part where love doesn't feel fair; I suppose it isn't. What's the lesson?

That I was so caught up in wanting to be loved that I forgot to make sure it was the right love. And when it wasn't, the smart thing to do would have been to end it. The most we can hope to do is lessen suffering. Life is suffering, it's true. I gave into pleasure and forgot about the pain, about what it was telling me.

Can I forgive myself? For the lies and manipulations and avoidances. I'm angry at myself, I feel that now.

My god, I wanted to be loved and worshiped and cared about. I wanted it so badly. Even when I felt it slip away, I couldn't let the memory die. I held it together, tried to posses it.

I accept that it was real, but not always right. I accept that I tried to control it and lost my mind when I realized I couldn't. I whipped my own back and asked for dominion at your feet. I molded myself into a cage of my own making and convinced myself I wasn't locked up. I let myself believe I was delusional and you backed it up.


I accept that it was love. The fire and the sparks and the care I felt were real and important. A stand alone love. We both felt it, were maybe too cowardly or scared to let it go.

I am grateful to have known it for a time, thank you. I can forever be warmed by those many memories and times together. For I have known such a beautiful love, even if it wasn't mine to keep. For a time, I held it so near and it warmed my entire being. What a gift. I want to see the glory, not be angry at the pain. It just is.

Give me lemons,
I shall turn them into the sun.

Even Un-prescribed Burns

"During each burn, non-native plants are removed, allowing prairie plants more nutrients and room to grow. Prairie plants can survive fires since they have deep roots and grow from a point underground. A prescribed burn is a crucial component in prairie restoration."

Shop Locks

The china shop that I am.
You meandered around, seeing all the nice things
the broken bits
and confusing spectacles.
Saw and wanted the finest pieces,
held them near for a time or two.
Never to stay for long.
Maybe not a bull,
but unaware of the impact of a swinging bag.
I let it exist,
believed it to be true,
strong enough.
But I am a china shop.
A beautiful, packed shop.
The fragility and openness I no longer dismay.
It's ok, maybe you didn't know.
Never met one like me.
I left the door wide open, didn't believe in locks.

You helped me locate the key,
thank you.
The brokenness isn't so bad,
the bittersweet of the pain is tolerable for now.
Now I have a padlock
and duplicate keys.
To keep it all more secure and stable and able.
Thank you, my lost love.
You taught me to take the good with the bad,
to know faith and heartache.
Broke some pieces along the way,
but there is more to see, more to share.
The lessons are important, I suppose.
The lock on this china shop
will keep me safe.
It'll be ok.
One day soon I'll forgive the carelessness,
the jaded conventions of friendship
and proclamations of fidelity.
My lock is working just fine
and the glue is stronger than a gorilla, too.
Thank you for teaching me how to beautifully break.
I'm still here, you see.
Standing and breaking and irreversibly shaken.
Can't look away from the truth that I am.
A lovely, open china shop.

Do you know love?

"...good love has nothing to do with what they are or what we harvest from them. Good love is the way in which we love them — it’s us loving their very being, us loving their essence, us loving their ups and downs and imperfections and dumb complaints and irritations and short-comings and differences, for fucks sake, us loving their decisions — each day.

We fail to realize that the answer to “why?”, in true love, is something more like “because I choose to.”

Source: https://medium.com/@krisgage/most-of-what-we-think-of-as-love-is-bullshit-a745b3b999a

"They all want to jump your bones," she said.
"I can't share my bones right now."