Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Trying to fill the emptiness.

I should stop talking sooner. That little voice in my head that tells me to shut up kicks in about three minutes too late. Ill be telling some random story and then that little voice says, "Um, oh yeah, excuse me, but I think you should stop talking now, well, um, three minutes ago" But, invariably, I'm already well into some involved story(that people aren't technically listening to anymore) that I cant just drop off without making the point. So, I decided Ill just stop talking about three minutes earlier. I don't know how successful this plan will be, but I will try. I just don't like silence. I know there is such a thing as comfortable silence, but I have never experienced this. I am always too preoccupied with the presence of other people to be comfortable in the silence. What are they thinking? Am I supposed to say something now? Did I do something wrong? And I think time with other people is too precious to spend in silence. I want to share some meaningful communication or something. I want to know you more. I don't want to just sit here and share the air with you. What did you do today? How did you feel? What do you think about religion? What are you passionate about? And when people don't talk enough, here I go trying to fill up all the emptiness, except that is not my job. I guess I'm not comfortable enough with me to be comfortable with you.

So, on an entirely different train of thought: I don't know who I am anymore. What is this thing I am? If I am not defined by my religion or my ambitions or my intentions, then what am I? I cannot be just a daughter or a friend or a cousin or . . . I am a daughter and a cousin and a friend and and what? Can I be defined? I don't want to be so easily characterized. I want to leave you guessing. I want to leave you learning. I don't think we can ever really know another person completely. We cant even know ourselves completely. I don't know why I do this or that sometimes. I can explain why I feel an emotion or where I get my predjudices or assumptions. I am afraid of the dark because. . . well I don't know. Am I afraid of the unknown? Did I have some scary childhood experience that gave me an insecurity in darkness? If I knew that, then I could rationalize my fear, but as it is, it is fear: unexplained and inescapable. (don't laugh at me when I tell you something so openly, you might miss something more important later if you break a simple trust like this.)

Ill tell you this now, I will never tell you everything here. I will only tell you what I would tell you. If you want the complete truth about anything, it would be in my poetry. There, I can hide. I can tell you the truth in riddles, in imagery, in smoke and mirrors. I would like to give you a poem today. Can you see my soul in here?

Red

I have not yet
fallen into the arms
of a crimson lover.
I search,
studying the lines
of their hands,
but they are stained
with the blackness
of carnal pleasure.
And I wait for you.
I am lifeless
as the ivory remnants
bleaching on the
desert sand.
Come!
Warm me with your
scarlet fingertips
and breathe into me
your fiery life.
Free my blood
that it may pour
into the endless abyss
and take my soul away.
I will forever long
for you to sing
your fire-love song
and color me
red.

1 comment:

your unmocking spoof said...

heh, definitions of oneself. Such a fun subject. I feel that you are you. To define yourself would take a lifetime...more specifically your lifetime.