11. here we are again
i don’t even like writing poetry. it’s simplicity sickens me. it’s muscial chairs with words. find a theme and let the meanings bounce of the wall. it’s easy to talk about love when it’s layered into the landscape. the flower blossoms bullshit obscurity and dishonest ambiguity. what are we even saying? why do we keep giving nature so much credit for understanding the complexity of souls merging. what do the leaves falling know about heartbreak and knots in your stomach. how would i know what butterflies feel like inside my stomach? for all i know i’ve been poisoned with more bad luck. the words we ascribe to the highest concept of all living beings have no meaning. it does nothing to write of love. now, words are powerful. they can will something into existence. ideas are the birthing place of mortal realms dreaming but they could never make sense of love. the poets, the philosophers, the breathers and the believers all tried to comprehend it and not one of them succeeded. if love could be understood, we’d all be out of jobs. society would’ve stopped at wooden shoes. we would’ve been satisfied at the first flavor of ice cream. we wouldn’t have needed trains, planes, ships and rowboats at dusk. sitting on the edge of the sand would’ve been good enough if human beings knew how to love. that’s why we have to live longer, the longer we stay alive. we keep taking more time with love. we keep needing new deadlines and meeting new divines. we can’t get enough of love. one great one isn’t enough. it must be tempted and attempted time and time again. one cycle of unknowing to knowning, willing to existence, nothing to love, death to rebirth - would be all that’s necessary. but we’re stupid and we make for good fools so why not try a few tricks with love? why not stick our finger on the propeller and mark our foreheads with charcoal? why wouldn’t we waste time and hurt hearts on the path to one great love? why wouldn’t we break the ones that carry our hearts along the way? how could we pass up the opportunity to fuck up with love! if we got it right the first time, what would we talk about? no one cares about the salad you ate at lunch with the love of your life. people want to be devastated by love. tragedy makes for better stories. getting it wrong just feels right. falling in love feels too close to the finish line. making it to the great love means the movie is ending and the credits are begining to roll in. the walls are collapsing, the marbles are crashing. there’s the pin drop amidst the crowd. how do we end up in such funny places with no where left to go and only left turns. the land where nothing is right. here we are again. writing about love because we can’t reach it on our own. if i’d only stayed home i never would’ve been out of a job. i’m not a poet by nature but when i can’t make sense of failed connections, i let my mind run. when the going gets tough and the lights get dim, the truest answers are always written in stone at the bottom of the well, that’s where the metaphors come in.