A Fable Is A Lie

Tell me something truthful
Something that will really make me smile
Teach me some Italian
So I can say, Reconta mi
una storia a cena
I don't mind a fable with a moral,
or an emotion
that presides in context
I just can't take another
conversation
with so much unsaid subtext
The conversation we never had
is even plaguing me today
I am wondering whether it was
worth it to have my friend say
"You know,
He didn't put it that way
In fact, he said something very different,"
which makes me think
that you're weak
or maybe just oblivious
Is this the one card that you hold
to pull out of your back pocket
To say, here, look at this one,
ain't she a beauty to break up
with?
Were your lies pure boasting?
Immature fodder?
Something to hold on to?
To cross your t's and dot your i's
with?
Yes, our relationship changed
And in a matter of days
We went from a swing set
to a dance floor
to a South African trumpeter
I found you dependable then, and
even more, exciting.
Yet, even then, I never once let go
of the ways we were divided
But we had potential
And that's what matters
No wringing hands or nervous glances
Your job, your family, music, was
enough to keep you steady
And me, too, I decided.
I had my own priorities.
And still, I relished finally having someone
to lavish with my romances
You were a worthy one, and a good fit.
Bright, delivering quips.
Corny, but not enough so
that I couldn't appreciate your shtick.
So why did you have to lie
in light of everything that's good?
You know and I know what we had
and what we could...
We grew close, I left for school,
we tried our best,
but grew apart.
You visited me, and I came home,
but by the time I returned,
we were set adrift.
Recreating magic in the company
of your kin, I grew to love them more
because of the mood they put
me in.
We were good, great even, but our sex
was off...
and you knew it.
So I abstained one night
and that's when you lost it.
Do you remember this?
And do you remember what happened
after?
We parted amicably after 2 days
of each other's absence.
I was sad, and so were you, but
in no great deal of pain.
You were always sweet with me,
and we parted without blame.
So why must you breathe life
into a stale story that never was?
Was it my devotion in the beginning
that I chose to call love?
I didn't plague you with this admission
I offered it up as a gift
My heart, a piece of it, take it if
you wish
Take it or leave it
is my motto for the soul
To protect me from those
who might misread
what I consider bold.
I'm yours for the taking,
if I offer and you accept.
But I am not here
to be called
a desperate puppy
out of fear and neglect.
I loved you, for what it's worth,
for that moment in time.
All I ask is that you relish it.
Instead of making up
our story, why not just try
telling it in rhyme?

An Open Letter

If you would apologize, just say you're sorry for not calling me yesterday, then maybe I would be OK. Your word is bond, right? Only problem is, I don't think you know that. Only issue is, your non-communicative ways tell me more than anything you could say now. I know you had a birthday party to plan, maybe even a birthday pie to bake, but your actions, like you say, speak louder than words. (So Cliché.) Your inaction, I should say. Don't tell me you want to take me somewhere and then just leave me hanging (how's that for cliché?). I invite you to do something; hell, I invite you to be a part of my life, but you choose not to respond, you chose to abstain. People will forget what you did, they'll forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel. Thank you Ms. Angelou

You make me feel agitated, constantly. For wanting substantial, equal, and fair communication from you, which you consistently fail to give. You make me feel powerless, weak, as if my words and my desires lack merit. You don't privilege my internal being, the wealth I have to give, as I do for you, or would do if you gave me the opportunity, the day, the time. I wasn't lying when I said I'd be there for you. It took a lot out of me, to make that ongoing commitment to you. I said it because I wanted to do it, to be this person for you--accountable. But with you, any promise you give me makes it seem as if you feel obligated. You say you don't know what's good for you, or it's an idea as yet unformed, so therefore you have no idea what you want from me. You give (or you gave) yourself to me because you thought that's what I wanted (which I did), but the taking, the receiving, isn't what makes the exchange sweet. The gift, free of obligation, is, will always be, the most satisfying form of exchange. I just don't know if you and I are capable of such an exchange. I saw it at Burning Man, I've seen it in me brewing inside. With a gift, the only reward is the selfish pleasure you get from making someone else happy. That's powerful. However, your compulsion, your automatic instinct to please achieves no greater happiness for you, I think. You do it because you think you should. Because it's right, for you. Because you feel the need. But do you ever feel pleased afterward, or do you just feel relieved?

That's my deepest fear. The one that staked this relationship from the beginning. Impaled my love and buried it under a the sad déchets of insecurity. Organic matter not close to the heart, superficial worries, the concern that you don't really care for me, but are acting out this charade for fear of my reactions, and pity for my dreams. How many times can you assure me that this is true before I let it go, exhale hope into the air, enliven my senses, begin contributing something back to our union.

I would love to be strong in this with you. But your non-commitment, your inconsistency, robbed me of that core. Feeling like I'm spinning yarn around an empty spool, one half of a whole. Or a quarter, even. I would love to love you. Because I want you to want me. But if you don't know what you want, what does that leave me with? A lot of wishes, unfulfilled. I might as well be crazy (trying the same thing twice and expecting a different outcome).