Cross Country Season

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The sun shrugged its temperamental rays

onto dancing dandelions — if I remember.

Weeks of cramps finally swelled high in my lungs

As I jogged alongside the turf,

miles behind the real victors of the season.

Heave-ho.

Heave-ho.

I was in a mood today.

A corny song of childish love rattled in my head

to the rhythms of the swaying inhabitants

dotting the side of the highway.

“Alyssa, mon ami…

Alyssa, mon cheri…”

A guitar, freshly plucked, backs the ambience

from the likes of my therapist’s office

and warns me about the gentle drop of leaves

well into Californian winters.

God knows, our former running aficianado needed it more

because this year, she was no longer with us.

I think I saw her crying about it last summer,

o road of the autumnite marathon mock-ups.

Whom else am I wought to share my memories with

except with ghosts of my idyllic past

lounging around somewhere in the local playground?

…and so, the streth stretched out into a hill

down which I tripped, traipsed and skipped

so I could tell the team and the day: I tried.

Shin splints are retractable, but

who will help me replace the stone

in my heart, sown of autumn semblances

on a familiarly new road that

begged for new memories to bloom

and mutual friends to rein it in?

I was in a mood today.

Why do you love me so?

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*

*

*

Do I really have to explain to you?

*

It’s like…

*

when I see that,

that human, so human and so much…deity

just deity,

it’s like a fuse that engrained my mind before conception had burst so that

I just feel all of my nerve threads down to my finger tippy tips.

No,

I’m not awake or alert but

dreaming

in a cacophony of color schemes more saturated

than my camera in a poorly orchestrated setting while it’s in aperture mode.

The emotions that orbit my mind

spin, debating

whether the newest schema they hold

is oxytocin or a reenactment of the saber-toothed tiger, out for my skin.

*

But not even they can hold up their expectations to the reality of being, which is

you.

After you exposed yourself to me,

I simpered like a little girl

whose cuddle toy, shreds of imaginary hopes she vested in self-preservation, was

dumped when hands cursed of Fates threw them out.

And that’s when the world morphed into gradients of white and black,

though I don’t pity you.

*

Don’t come close.

Lest I burn you.


Author’s note: No, I’m not tripping on acid.

Love, they say

I was rummaging through my old notes from summer course when I found this little random epiphany written on a sheet of paper. Revised for clarity.

People and media romanticize falling in love a lot. I understand the hype, but for me, it’s so hard to deal with.

I don’t love — I become hyper-aware. I am obsessed. Worried. Tense. Paranoid. Depressed. And very, very anxious.

The last time “love” happened to me:

  • I endured some of the worst panic attacks in my life.
  • I had thoughts of self-harm.
  • I hallucinated in my sleep.
  • I disengaged from my friends.
  • I cried so hard I threw up.
  • In fact, I was throwing up everywhere I went, pretty much.
  • Lost my appetite and nearly passed out.
  • Had chronic stomachaches.
  • Had chronic anxiety attacks that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy
  • Had intrusive thoughts 24/7.
  • Had depression.

Looking back, now only does it sound funnier when I read this stuff aloud but I wonder why I went so gaga over that specific person. Maybe it was my firsthand assumptions about them or that they looked like a work of art in human form. If that’s so, it doesn’t explain why the symptoms were so…paradoxical.

Why do I react the way I do? My sister knows and she contends that it’s insane. Even I know it.

I don’t have answers to that. Such is the wild, unpredictable nature of love.

This person exists. Perhaps that should be reason enough.

But…

I be sure to take every painful situation as a learning curve.

I remember watching a Twilight Zone episode where a woman kept running away from some creepy man that seemingly stalked her across the country, and she kept calling out for help to the local passerbys that she encountered. although no one believed her. Near the end of the show, our protagonist, about half dead with fright, tried to contact the phone operator to put her on the line with her mother. The response was, “(Name of mother) has been crying over her daughter’s recent death.”

It hit her: she was dead all along. She just didn’t know how to accept Death — the same Death who was the creeky stalker, by the way, that was following her across the country, beckoning her to follow him into the afterlife with minimal fuss.

I narrate my life with parallels such as these, so let me explain. Before, I was the terribly insecure, desperate, love-starved girl who kept phoning the operators of Fate to give me the love I so craved and thus rescue me from withering away into a lonely, lonely life.

Then the operator picked up.

“Tiffs is suffering from excessive anxiety and thus can’t qualify to our Matchmaking line right now.”

Just as our protagonist realized the truth about herself, I realized mine: I was in intense pain. Fate, disguised as a lurking doom-and-gloom singleness, was merely beckoning me to put aside my love worries and continue on with my life, single but pain-free, even though I initially fought against him.

Accepting Fate’s advice wasn’t going to be easy, but knowing the truth about myself might just be the thing to strengthen me until I’m truly mentally ready to accept the next lovebug that comes my day through the series of coping mechanisms I developed after my precious experiences.

The truth? It doesn’t matter whether you have someone or not. What matters most is how at peace you are with your state of mind. That is the only way to feel authentic happiness.

You can’t be that lonely if you’re at peace with yourself first. Right?

But…ya know. All the millennial girl bloggers ever have probably said the exact same thing as I have. We’re so similar it’s disgusting. xD

Ducts

They sing ripened milk sacs

slung across the chest, bearing

respite for a weary head to lean onto,

nourishment gathered by The Rib itself,

and love, a sweetly overflowing fountain

savored among the world’s sisters.

If ever you need to exchange

one heart for the other,

you so self-unaware,

you’ll find me crying

like a fussy infant babe

long overdue for its sleep…

Flux

pink petaled flowers closeup photo
Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

I caught the glorying gaze of a cherry blossom tree;

Its fortune told me the future of my hearting flame.

I inhale its preening scent of beautiliciousness

And throw it to the sky,

Sky,

Sky…

 

I saw you. Then.

You didn’t even spare me a sympathetical glance.

Please don’t hate me now. Hate me later.

All I need is an understanding while I cry,

Cry,

Cry…

 

…Thus, the Candid of Life

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Do you remember that moment when you realized something pivotal about the way our world works? Whether it was something wonderful, horrifying, upsetting or something that simply blew you away? And you realized: “Gosh, how naive I was!”

*****

I just can’t even

Fathon

The complex and the simple

Of life and life inbred

Why can’t the Supreme

See

And provide that heavenly promise instead?

The shocks and shakes I get,

I behold,

I’ve seen too much;

Was that what Mother once foretold?

*

Yeesh

I cry —

Life’s too candid

To ask in retrospect —

WHY

*

WHY

Did Hope hang far but near?

WHY

Does Faith fall botched?

WHY

Is love in all its intrinsic dear

Leave an exasperating legacy unwatched?

*

As Digital’s users once told me:

I can’t even…

I won’t even…

Life’s compass in all his sin is set

I couldn’t even…

I wouldn’t even…

I can’t…

Yet.

*****

If you think this sounds absurd, you’re right.