I intend to say all this to you
one day
maybe…well, at least the last five words
But at the moment
I’m sitting at a kitchen table
in England
eating artificially banana-flavored cereal
just trying to get it all out onto my yellow legal pad.
I’m not even going to pretend
I can do this poetry thing as well as you can
(your clever use of parentheses at poignant moments)
--and dashes—when your thoughts break
Not going to pretend, but still going to try
to muddle through some words and phrases
that I realized only last month
have needed to be said for over a year
when I lived in between you and my convictions
when I made my first mistake
(which ever one that was)
when I spun you around in tornado-like fashion—
me always in the eye, you ever-caught up in the circling wind.
(did I mention this is only the fourth poem I’ve ever written?
so please, bear with me)
Occasionally, but not often,
I have wandered back to that place
of the things we shared
things that only hurt you in the end.
things like wilderness camping, driving fast (and backwards)
J, QT, and early morning talks in the basement of a big house
occasionally, but not often.
I am glad not to be haunted by you daily anymore.
And I know that you know this is true.
And you know that I know you wish it wasn’t.
That’s just how you are
or at least how you used to be.
The world has changed.
You like (dare I say, love?) a boy
that I once drove all the way to Chicago and back with
in a span of 24 hours to see a U2 show.
(he got a $105 speeding ticket—in my Mazda).
I think he’s a pretty decent guy.
I like (may I add, cherish?) a girl
that makes me feel like I just jumped off a ledge
flying, screaming with sheer joy.
(nothing but air beneath my feet—caring not to land).
I think she brings me closer to what’s truly good.
I’m attempting to wrap this up
but I’ve never been good at keeping things short (or simple).
To say I’ve been
unaffected, unscarred, undone by you
would be a lie.
To say you’ve been
prayed for, cried over, humbled by me
would not be a lie.
A summer ago I cautiously offered an apology
that felt genuine at the time
to me.
You probably hated it.
In fact, I’m sure you did
because you lit up a cigarette as soon as you finished reading
my feeble words.
(always one to make your feelings known)
Since then, much has gone un-reconciled
far too much.
I figure I’ve probably ripped that heart out of your chest
and clumsily stepped all over it
at least nine times since then.
I don’t think I ever realized this until now.
Stupid, blind, oblivious me.
My maker has been pounding on me
shattering my walls calloused by pride…
(Are you still listening to Him I wonder?)
…He has a way of doing this.
I feel like I’ve been turned inside out
exposed—laid bare
my ugliness there for my 21-year-old-eyes to plainly see.
(Why you ever thought I was perfect I don’t know; I’ve never even been close).
I am sure that you now see what’s on the horizon—
what you’re on the threshold of receiving.
You want it, but you probably don’t think you need it.
I think you do.
You may think we owe each other nothing.
Not true.
I owe you this.
I’m always falling.
It’s a continuous fall back into the arms of grace
and it always hurts to fall, I guess.
My pain must have been what unveiled me to my purpose.
I’ve fumbled over these lines (coming nowhere close to the harsh brilliance of yours or the overwhelming profundity of Nietzsche’s {Jeff’s}) to bring me here.
Ma’am, I honestly don’t know you this year.
I don’t know what doors your keys are opening
or how high the skyscrapers are you jump from.
I assume you are still searching…
searching for that something to make you happy forever.
I really hope you find it.
And I assume also that you’ve been waiting…
waiting for the flood of months past
to flow from me and find its way to you.
It does so now.
But before the waters arrive at your steps,
let me ad this final remark:
Take what I’m giving you and keep it.
Please don’t send it back because
I’m quite sure I don’t deserve the returned gesture.
And don’t be weary of an altruistic juxtaposition in the script
between my head and my heart
for realness is scattered all over these pages.
What I set out to say from the very beginning
(before my cereal became encrusted to my bowl as it is now),
Thank you and I’m sorry.
For the sake of yourself, your friends and your future I, Nietzche, strongly encourage you to accept.
- Live for these hours
Your fate: simply accept,
And sleep for tomorrow
Having cast-off your regrets –
