Luna,
I
know this was about your feelings, your struggle with intimacy, and your
decision if you want the potential possibility of going down a path that might
have brought love in your life. Either your feelings for me are muddled
and you pushed them away or the potential connection you felt possible was not
strong or preferable enough to warrant your continued investment of
energy. It is a choice. That is all it is. You are one
hundred percent entitled to your choice and any choice. I do not know
your whole situation or considerations. The way you see the world is
autonomous and my view is simply my limited personal perspective.
I
am not and have not been writing to try to change you. I was never trying
to make a plan for you or us if you may look at it that way. I was
offering what I have to offer, that is all. I am expressing what I have
experienced and been going through, because of what it made me feel and think
and where that registers in my life.
Things
end some sooner, some later, no big deal. The problem is I have never
experienced the potential roots of a connection like this in my life. Key
being potential roots, clearly your reluctance to open up and our limited
timeframe denied our growth, but what I felt I saw as possible at what you
appeared to be in your core self for lack of a better word felt like home, like
Odysseus finding home, despite the tragedies. I am not an idiot. I am not
naïve. This was that real to me. Your nature stood out that much to
me.
People’s
logistics can bring them all sorts of places, add baggage, backstories (the
place they’re born, siblings, parents, schooling, religion, etc.) Those
are surface. Those change based on what others choose around us when we
are young and tilt the angle in which our projectile fires into the
universe. What I focus on is who a person is innately in her spirit, in
her nature, who she would remain if all those logistics were completely jumbled,
the spirit of that person would remain. You transport them in time, change genders,
change race, etc. their core remains.
I
felt like your core struck me like lightning and maybe mine did to yours
too. I think it freaked you the hell out. I don’t know. It is
very hard for me to evaluate the connection you felt towards me. You are
very guarded. You emit so little.
You
seem to reject being cared for. I think of when I tried to give you a hug
on the sofa after you were telling me about your friend and me feeling like I
was intruding like how dare I think you needed that form of comfort.
Later you let me wrap my arm around your ankle and then hold you in bed with my
arm across your back and you felt to me like a calmed lioness. You take
time to warm.
You
push and pull. You ask for the kiss and you slap me away. You like
setting the gauntlet. You like the tease. You like creating the
show, but ultimately I think you like being kissed by someone who will play
with you the way you need to be played with.
It
is your nature. I am drawn to it. I salivate at the acumen of my
poetic senses activating to read you. It is like what I was built to do.
I think I understand it, but it is difficult to be right now trying to decipher
if I am in part experiencing its grandest form.
I
think you are in a phase, maybe o’er a decade long where you cannot be in a
committed relationship. I think you have had your own Odyssey. I
don’t know. I don’t even know when you got divorced. I don’t know
if you were dating somebody or people a week before you met me or while you
were seeing me. You didn’t share or give us time to get to that
point. All I know is that life works in phases and right now it does not
matter what I said, wrote, or will write, you need to be where you need to be
and contemplate what you must.
I
know if anything me writing to you only solidifies your desire to move away
from all that I represent. Such words probably connote the ideas of
feelings and potential commitment to an idea of feelings. Like the
maleficent angel or faerie I compared you to before, I know you will probably
see me as a bringer of chains with such talk of us having a connection.
I
think my words made you feel like I was starting to plan your life for you,
like my discussions of how I would feel if this or that were to occur maybe
felt to you like rushing you through an airport terminal forcing you to board a
plane. I was not meaning to imply any
plans. There was no plane ticket, no plans, just a man appreciating spending
time with you.
I
write to share my consciousness, what I am feeling, what I feel moved to share,
it is an organic spiritual thing. I write about all sorts of things past
and future. That does not mean that is my present or my intentions for it.
I am complicated.
I
have not written any of this to argue or politic. I firmly believe in the
power of volition, that we each choose, and we repeatedly choose each day and
in each moment we re-choose.
I
do not believe in manipulation or external control, simply saying my peace as I
feel it in the moment, attempting to be empathetic and open to what the
universe is sending me and flow my ideas back into the universe.
I
am a spiritual person. I am not religious. I deal with the subject
in my writing constantly. I do not know if its kismet, fate, God,
serendipity, the universe, an interconnection of all things, but if I had to
explain it, for me it is this urge that drives me to write a poem. I feel
it in my being like this piece of the universe must be written now or it will
pass me. Its energy will flow to another or be lost forever. I have
trained myself to be perceptive of it and to ride the waves when they come as
they affect my daily conversations, interactions, and perceptions. I
often will stop down whatever I am doing to obey the call when it arrives,
especially with my poems.
I
have written you so god damn much over these weeks I feel like my soul has been
exploding and I am exhausted from it. My gut and mind ache. I feel
like you came into my life and I did not expect to feel and to think and to
experience what I did. I just wanted to date, have a good time and meet a
few people. I did not want to get serious, because I knew I was not in a
place to do that.
You
spun my head around in a whirlwind of that same spirit that I feel when I
create my poems. You drench me in it. You are intelligent, soft,
quiet, contemplative in this one side and wild uninhibited madly sexy and
inspirational on another. In some ways I barely know you, in others I
feel like I saw your soul. I am flummoxed in trying to figure out which
is truth.
This
prompts my spiritual persistence and confidence to write to you. I felt
like I have waited thirty-five years on this Earth and I have never had a connection
like that. Not with the woman I was married to, not with anybody.
There is no way you could have known that, but I hope you felt it in my
poems, because that is at the core of all of them.
Maybe
that scares you but I am just being honest. Some things in life hit you
in the gut and they are just obvious by how you witness a person is built and
how you know you are built and how you feel that either clicks or does
not.
Your
reaction to me made me feel like you were surprised at what was happening.
From the first conversation we had I think some of the things that came out my
mouth blew you away. I got the impression you have not gotten close to
anybody like me. I think you got to be the core-you around me. I
think you were surprised at how I saw you the way I did in my writing when you
were not even trying to reveal to the level which became exposed. I think
you were scared all of these other things you do or have done in your life to
shield your kind-scary core were going to blow the chance we might have had to
pieces. You basically made that happen. I think you were even more
afraid of this going somewhere and facing the idea of change.
If
you confused my talk of how happy I was to be sharing this time with you with
my urge to dictate some manner of subsequent progression then I apologize for
the confusion. I am not a lost puppy. I do not fall in love
easily. I am passionate. I love deeply and big and bold, but the
emotions come in layers. I was at the impetus. I wanted to go together
or not at all. That is why I called you the way I did before Namese and
asked for you to pace with me. I could feel your struggles to enter such
arenas where your back gets exposed.
The
last letter I wrote in that poem about love, obviously it was not about me
loving you or you loving me. It was about what love appears to be or
might be to you in your life and why you appear to taunt love and act like you
do not want or need a love that soaks your core. It was how you appear to
have designed your life to ensure that you stay by the wall with your back
protected in your personal life and in your careers where the public sees you
and how that might relate to your relationship with love.
There
are many forms of love in this world, but none more than to be seen as yourself
in your core, truly seen and exalted and empathized with. None more than
to be loved for who you are and savor how your core complements another being
and them with you.
That
uniting is what creates universes. It is the spark of everything I
believe in. I believe that we are all connected. I do not believe
in soul mates. I do not believe there is just one person for any of
us. I believe we can and may be with many throughout our life.
Maybe that is us for a span, maybe it’s not, but I sure as hell felt something
and I am not entirely certain if it is that you did or did not or if you just
are not in a phase to handle something like me and that potential right now in
your life.
I
have this expansive polarity between my light and dark sides. Sometimes I
am reserved and quiet and watching the world and my head is in contemplation
mode and others I want to tear this world apart. When the fire hits me I
am consumed and I ignite volumes. I feel so deeply, passionately and my
feelings explode in a panoply of writing and thoughts.
I
have written so much to you and I do not care how it makes me look. I
hope you understand what is at the root of why. I worry a bit you will
think I am crazy, creepy, or possessive or something worse. I can say I
am not, but if you think that then you do and I guess you do not know me at
all, but I think you know why I have written all this stuff to you.
I
am writing because this moment in my life and maybe yours is bigger than a
month or six. At least I think it might be to me and I will regret not
riding these moments when that spirit hits me to write to you rightly or
wrongly, if you think I am a madman or pathetic or worse. I don’t
care. I am writing until the feeling to write you leaves me, which it
will, but it has not yet. I figure you can just delete and never read my
emails or poems and I am no more intrusive than a Groupon.
Simply
put I am a writer and I have spent my life looking for a muse to travel my
journey alongside. I always knew I would have to go to her, to prove my
worth. Her nature like a folded crocus would never come to me. I
would have to woo for her to open and bloom for me. I would never tear
her roots, just smell her pollen and smoke poetry into the winds of the Earth
inspired by her scent.
Maybe
it is like you just knew from a young age you wanted to be a stripper or a
dancer. You knew that fit you. I knew I was born to be a writer and
a poet. I feel like I have traveled so far and dream of where the words
that pour out of me will still take me.
With
you I saw this quiet watcher by the wall. I took that to be the real
you. You find your spots and speak, but for all your showmanship in your
alter ego it seems to me that you use that to balance yourself out. The
back curtain or the side of the stage is just another wall. It is always
there if you need it. You decide when the show is over. You call
time and set the parameters on the therapy session. I get it. They’re
all you. I am a paradox as well and I am drawn to contradictions like the
beautiful ugly of New Orleans.
I
do not know if you are drawn to me in a similar manner. I think you are
attracted to artists who you can lure and inspire. I think you are
attracted to cerebral men who can stimulate the part of you that devours
books. I think the inner turns you on and is what is worthy of your time,
but I think you are wary of getting interacted with in a place you both want
and do not want a man to go. So being with a man like me is dangerous.
A
straight forward physical thing is more harmless, fun and in the moment, less
potential complication, but being with someone like me exposes your core.
You need a lot of self permission and reassurances to allow that to
happen. I think you are attracted to sexual exploration that spawns from
an artist’s creativity. I think you are also attracted to someone that is
ultimately responsible, honest, to be a rock, reliable and when the hurricanes
come he knows what to do, does not freak out, and can handle. I think
these are most of the reasons you pursued me. That and I spell words
correctly.
I
think soaking this in you needed time and space to put me down to sort this all
out. Maybe you would figure it out later and use some pale excuse like,
“Wow I ruined that. Severus really did reach that part inside of me, that
core, that unmalleable center that I cannot help but be.” You might feel
that way some months from now and never share such regret. I do not want
that to happen.
I
want you to see the entire picture of my end. I want to stand in the
street naked for you to run me through. Look me in the eyes when you
sting me and say you have not longed for a poet somewhere in your being.
I have always been the boy calling out naked emperors my entire life. I see you behind your tasseled armor and
reluctant tongue. I see you behind your stinger and silk.
I
am opening my heart trying to give you a space to relax the burden of your
satchel. Let me hold it for a while. I will return it to you
unchanged, but let me be your respite as you venture out to the land and dress
in your new clothes for them. Let me be your secret keeper as you keep
theirs. I see what they do not and I see a beauty of an entirely
different element.
Everything
in my poetic soul, says that there is no way I would have felt as alive as I
did every second I was around you and be able to translate that onto the page
if there was not a purpose in it for our mutual reflection. I could not
have faked that if I had wanted to. Frankly I did not even want to write
you for reasons I explained in other letters. It claws at my soul for
faith.
I
have always wondered why God gave me this poetry. Why was I made a
writer? Writing to me has been so very much a curse and the storage house
of my demons. Writing has been my paint brush and my guitar, my
instrument to sculpt beauty and pain in this world. Writing cracks the
whip to my back. Writing has brought me friends, lovers, and isolated me
like no other force.
Recently
I was at yoga in a deep mediation doing some restorative practice. I have
been trying to give my thoughts of you away for the universe to take them back,
because it hurts. With my eyes closed blocking the world. An idea
surfaced like a bubble from my cleared mind focused in the moment. I felt
the reason I was made a poet might be for you for whatever this exchange is. I shed a tear lying on a bolster, my
ankles wrapped in a blanket bleeding my soul in a candle lit room.
I
have walked this Earth and I have never met anyone who has inspired me and
drawn me to feel my most alive natural self. You stimulate this piece of
me that is just plugged in like in some zone that no one ever has. Maybe
that is temporary, but it sure feels real.
The
only thing I can compare it to is if a complement exists in that my words reach
a part of you no one ever has and you did not think possible. If I have
done that for you given how little you tried to emit and you feel a manner of
what you understand spirituality to be in that, then it has a place.
Otherwise my inspiration remains the vagabond I was before I met you.
Then I am truly lost and continue this Odyssey.
I
always loved psychology but I never read or really got into it until the past
two years. I think of many things. My spiritual path away from
religion. My path through music with punk and soul. What happened
in the first few months of 2014. My divorce and my perspective on what I
want in my life. My quiet nature with my artistic fire. I see so
many things that have prepared me for this crossroads to fit with who you might
need and who I may need to be the best me.
I
see purposes in all these things to get to this moment, especially in my
writing. I find it hard to see how anybody but a writer could ever reach
the real you. You’re like an
Indiana Jones movie with booby traps. Writers, especially poets can walk
through walls regular people can’t, because we train to notice everything, the
little details that make a person who she is. We treasure them because
they make life worth living, the graces and the faults. It’s like we have
a mutant power.
Sometimes
these letters have felt like a quest, like a blind man having to use other
senses. I think of the fires I was forged in before I met you. The
little you told me of your adolescence and upbringing harken shadows.
Maybe we are made from the same fire. Maybe we cannot burn each
other.
You
are such an artist and a bibliophile. Your intelligence combined with
your art paint an inner woman who is palpable to me. When I was around
you I felt like I could feel inside your thoughts. I felt like I could
feel inside your feelings. I have never felt that type of dynamic with a
person so immediately and so effortlessly.
Now
you can say I did not get you. That I was off base. That this
connection of you feeling me from your end was not powerful. After all
this silence and rejection that feeling was so real to me, that I have not
given up hope on it.
I
don’t know if the purpose in the vibe between us had to do with love or
not. I know I am not in love with you. At the moment I am pretty
mad, because I feel like either I misread everything or you’re not brave enough
to say this did affect you anywhere close to the degree it affected me, but you
needed certain rules to make it work and you are scared to ask for help or be
vulnerable to admit desire.
Hell
I have fears. I say shit to protect myself. I go back and forth on
if I projected my fears onto you. I contrast that with you telling me
both how you are scary and how afraid you are of vulnerability. It made
me feel like a kindred spirit like we were supposed to show each other what
could and can be rather than what was and maybe burn our pyres of our fears
together.
Your
fear of the words ‘can be’ and saying what you did to end this was either the
clichéd, “it’s not you it’s me” or a cop out to say you could never be what I
want and judge me and put the onus on me rather than just saying, “I am not
feeling this. Severus you’re a crazy poet and I am just moving on.
Your poetry was way off random human.”
You
chose to walk. You can choose to not walk. You can choose to not
respond. You can choose to think and not know. You don’t have to
have an answer, but however you feel if you are suppressing those feelings by
just running away from getting involved in something that scares you so you do
not even have to consider them, you are missing out. You are missing out
on me.
You
cannot just sit in the role of the desired-one all the time. You have to
ask for what you might want. You have to claim your desire and be
vulnerable. If your soul longs to be heard, say so. Otherwise you
will spend your days undulating in your waters as men sail into rocks as you
coyly turn your head to lure their boats. You will let them taste and
smell your flowered field upon your shoulders. Then you shall cast them
into the sea harvested in the exiting tide knowing it is not they who the sky
cries for in the light.
I
have written before of my speculation that your fears of monogamy,
relationships, being: tamed, domesticated, or vulnerable probably root in your
relationship with the idea of love itself. I wrote the love poem because
I felt like maybe I was put in the universe in that moment to write that for
you. Maybe it is not for you to love me, but god damn it I wanted to try
and I sure as hell wanted you to try to love me in return when you were ready.
Like 2021 or something, you know no rush. Like maybe 2016 for me.
I
wanted to sit quietly with you and read. I wanted to sleep in. I
wanted to stay up late with you. I wanted to take afternoon naps. I
wanted to take you slow dancing to soul music. I wanted to buy a juicer
to make you breakfast. I wanted to get you in a punk pit. I wanted
to go to my brother’s shows with you. I wanted to share my iPod.
I
wanted to show you my blog and give you my version of dancing-almost-naked
public exposure. I wanted to hear your music and see your art. I
wanted to take you to my poetry readings in the Quarter. I wanted to howl
at your shows like a stranger and think about you thinking about me while you
were up there and what we’d do after.
I
saw the introvert in you in how you described your approach to dancing. I
imagine that is rare, that you do it for you, not the applause for some
extroverted opiate rush like most of the women. It reminds me of the
confidence I feel in the emotional nudity at the microphone and why I do
it. I write and spit at the mic for me.
Yes,
I like if people are interested, but I am not focused on getting published or
noticed, it is more about what it allows me to feel and express. You
seemed to dance for you, yeah it’s a job for you, but you seemed to do it for
an inner personal need. I also perceived a lot of confidence in the
sexuality and upfront nature.
I
wanted to cook you dinner. I wanted to go out to some NOLA bistro and
feel how lucky and proud I was to be with you. I wanted to explore our ideas of
spirituality. I wanted to go on road
trips and get pulled over for speeding and watch you flirt with the cop to get
out of it. I wanted to show you my family and my folk’s place. The
way you reacted to it made me feel something.
I
know for you daydreams like those are probably taboo, but I am a poet. It
does not mean poets want to move to those places, it just means the universe
swarms in our heads and we think of everything at once. I do not need to
ever get married again. I do not need to have a kid. I do not need
to live in the same house or even stay in the house I am in. I’d love to
move in the city and almost did before.
I
do not know if I will ever want marriage or kids in my life again because in
many ways they both scare the hell out of me. I do know I want to have a
person to share my time and love who wants to share the cores of who we are in
a way that works for each individual, not some societal expectation.
I
stand up for what I believe in, go after what I want, and do not tolerate being
mistreated. I do not have time for people who do not wish to
participate. That is one reason I take this spiritual feeling so
seriously, because my normal reaction to your departure would have been, “if
that is how you feel, you have to do what you have to do. You know how I
feel and wish you felt differently, but if you do not want to participate in my
life that is your choice. Best wishes.” That is what I have learned
in life is the only way to process situations like that.
That
is what my brain says to do, but my spirit drawn from those poems has taken
over and this string of words is what has happened. I have mixed feelings
about it, but I feel like it is what I am supposed to be doing with this window
of time.
I
know you are afraid of emotions, of going there, of too much, of standing in
the sun. There just comes a line in life where you have to put your heart
at risk. Everything that is worth a damn in life will pass you by.
Maybe you can find love here or there in friendships, short term lovers, nieces
and sisters, but sometimes you have to swing for the fences and risk getting
your heart broken when you see potential.
I
know I sound like an idiot. But I let my spirit guide me. I believe
you have to make your life happen. You cannot sit there and pray or rely
on fate as if it is meant to be it will be; you have to ask and do and go after
what you feel is worth it. Luna I think you are probably worth it, but
you have to begin to open up your heart.
Please
do not mistake all these words I have written as definitive assertions on my
part. I am stating what I see as our separate cores. What we are is
nothing but what we create and actually live. Right now we are but an
idea drifting away lost in the wind. We have lived but sips. I want
to live and see what the dawns bring. You can change that, but you must
choose and act.
I
asked all those questions. I wish you would have shared. I wrote
all these words to give you a window into me which is not a single color.
You may be both the scorpion and the owl. I am both the tortoise and fire
itself. I would never want you to change, just to be you open to love’s
possibility.
That
may never be. That door that you hold so tight may never budge. I
probably will be gone by the time it ever would. I only know what I see
and my spirit has attempted to write such in repetition. I could just
lock these words up. I probably should, but that is what happens when you
light a poet on fire. Sometimes even if you take his wood away he keeps
burning for a while. You do what you think is best.
Severus
Luna 9/10/14 6:44 pm
Please stop contacting me, I’m not
interested.
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