More from the archives of my heart...

...I'm trying to clear the cobwebs, the dust, the clutter...
_______________________________________________________
I'm that girl.
The one I never wanted to be,
But I keep being.
And only you can turn it around.
Because I don't know if I can cut you loose.

I'm that other girl.
The one you wonder your what-ifs about,
A traiter in the life you're choosing.
Wanting to be more.
Wanting to be everything.
Because I'm sick of living in this melancholy,
This sick.sad.love.song of you.
_______________________________________________________

"MINIMUM," you say, "We'll be great friends forever."
MINIMUMminimumMiNiMuM.
I'm glad you are placing quantifiers on us. Glad you can measure out, inch by inch, look by look, how much we can mean to eachother. You can have a few drinks and keep stringing me on, keeping that hope hanging in a false reality.

I am not a MINIMUM.

Everyone is telling me I don't want "that guy" that has an emotionally unfaithful relationship with the non-girfriend.

Our bodies have not had an affair. Our minds, our imaginations have.

And I keep defending you.
And telling you not to worry about me.
And I'm rolling over.
Docilly surrendering to the girl you love.
The one who has rarely made you happy in the time I've known you.
Although I wouldn't really know.
You don't tell me.

Your glaring omissions infest the silence between us.
________________________________________________________

i am the anomaly:
slipping in and out of people's sight
giving a glimpse
a peep show
of my soul
rarely believing in
their capacity for true sight

i am the anomaly:
trying not to give
trying not to receive
labels
titles
constraints
boxes
words
to barricade
my essence of emotion

i am the anomaly:
tripping about
clumsily sabotaging
my happiness

i am too much the peace maker:
unwilling to fight
unwilling to defend herself

some independent woman i am:
accepting less than
my. deserved. minimum.
_______________________________________________________

This whole year has been a mirage,
a shimmering masterpiece fading on a Saharan horizon.
Reality is taking me away from you.
As I ride away in her open jeep,
with my hair whipping me, stinging me,
I look bad at the shifty mirage of us.
In a mile or two, I won't be able to see it at all.
It will be gone.
And with it, my hope for the most real thing is this world.

The ingredients that made us possible have dissolved,
taking "us" right along with them.
Nothing was permanent.
Nothing was legitimate.

"It" was only real in our minds,
in our dreamworld, our fantasy,
a place having no hold in the world existing around us.

My imagination painted a convincing masterpiece of you,
a fixture I've longed for,
a mirage I was duped into believing might come true.