Typings Many, Typings Not

It’s neat how we can go in and out with the tide of our writability.
I’ve wrote every day of March practically and yet there were months prior I did not.
I lay in bed now with ideas for posts popping into my brain like a popcorn machine on a wicked fast forward theme.
Months ago, I couldn’t even come up with a post once a week.

Neat, huh.

 

Drops

The drops clung to the bell
with stubborn quality they launched
to one another
trying to stay.
with bigger drops they thought
it would be a stronger force
but no,

it only made them slide quicker,
their weight
enough to pull them right off the edge.

More does not always mean stronger.

I Want to Tell you These Things

I want to tell you that the chimney here at my Dads, caught on fire the day after we closed our doors. You used to be a firefighter. You would have known just what to do.

I want to tell you that I looked for the Easter Hat you made last year for Z. And that I couldn’t find it, no matter where I looked.

I want to tell you how badly I want a doggy like the one we bought together.
I want to tell you how much you taught me.
To tell you that when I openened my chocoalate yesterday, a piece of chocolate shot up and hit me in the eyebrow.
I want to tell you that I have a cardinal clipped to my desk. Your favourite bird.

I want to say that I go in waves of happy and of sad. That I get bold with my confidence, telling myself,” I’ll find someone else, I’ll find someone else’. And then get whooshed into a whelmy sadness ocean,’ you were everything, you were everything I needed.’

I want to tell you that I didn’t do the big thing that you think I did. You won’t believe me, but everyday, I want to tell you that. 
I want to tell you that I finally finished reading the book I got from the librairy with you in October last year.
I want to tell you that I’ve stuffed all my lingere in the back of my bottom dresser drawer and as I put them in there I said outloud, ‘ won’t be needing these anymore- not until you want me back’.

I want to tell you that the visual of your eyes is locked into my head and it pummels up my heart sometimes and pops out of my eyes.

I want to tell you that I still am very close to you. That you’re with me everywhere I go.
I want to tell you all these things you wouldn’t believe, but that are the beautiful gut truth.

I want to tell you that the shirt you gave me that last day, is now in a plastic ziplock bag beside my bed and I smell it everyday. It is the last thing I smell before I go to sleep.

I want to tell you that I keep looking for your truck to pass by my work.
I want to tell you that I took a picture of your license plate the day I dropped it off at the repair shop. So if ever there was a look alike truck, I’d be able to tell it was you.
I want to tell you that I walked by the tree we climbed together on our first hangout. And cried.
And laughed.
At the same time.

I want to tell you what Z says about you and how it always makes me tear up.

I want to tell you that my heart is full of you. That looking for anyone else is so far from what I want to do or am in the position to do.

I want to tell you that I have a 400 dollar ring on my dresser I bought in February for you. I want to tell you that I’m going to return it; not just because now is not a good time, but because I found one that you will love more.
I want to tell you that we’re supposed to be together.

But you already know that.

Meds

Bursts of happy trampoline jump into my heart space and I wonder if it’s the meds sometimes. I can feel mentally low and then I’m knocked  over with a force of joy and am physically low.
I dislike talking about meds.
Any type of registered pharmaceutical thing.

I was always so against meds for better health. Even floopa loopin vitamins.

Now I’m here, still disliking them but more okay with them. It may be a few months of taking that little white oval with a line in the middle of it, but then that’ll be it. ‘Cause I’m a happy woman that don’t need no pilly pills.
I just believe that they’re doing something so that it works, no matter the way that it is.

 

Water the Words

Plant your stanza in that healthy dirt glow
watch time melt into the green.
Soil bubbles to life, the living soft 
you’re not the only one I’ve seen.

 

 

 

 

Do.

Since I’ve  been on this site a massive amount in this month of Marchy March, I’ve wondered a few things about us on here.

About what we’re like in person.
About where we are when we post, write and read.
And if the world of sigh-brr is the only place that knows what we’re typing.
And if so, how many of us that means are ungenuine, untrue and lying to self and lonely in the real world.

I picture the world whizzing around you sitting, huddled in a comfy chair in a building. While a couple of teenage friends toss grand stories around or where older generations are laying out fragments of future plans on the coffee stained tables.

And I feel a little sorry for you.
And I feel a little sorry for me.
After configuring the amount of time I spend on here-which I do very much enjoy – I realize it’s enough time for the need of unbalance to become balanced again.
I need to go do what I’ve been writing of and internally psyching myself up for. ( Between the ideas of death and all )  Instead of being the one huddled around, divulging my learnings to you sigh-burring peoples ( all though I’ve told a few pals what’s been what )
( and hey, sometimes we all need a little bit of that time online) but too much of that time for me,  will eventually make my ideas of living better, dissipate; because nothings been done with them.

“Do.” Me Says. ( I really did say it outloud just now )