Things Better Left Unsaid

There’s a lot I don’t say,  even more I don’t do.
I just set fire to the words I scribble
On pads and paper as I sleep this winter through.

You spend your days writing songs, well I can write words too.
I wrote a million pages of words.
I wrote this melody for you.

And I’m sorry this is coming in so low.
It’s not meant to be so harsh.
But it’s an outlet for me, a self-soothing art.

Cause I’ve searched for meaning in street lights,
In stop signs, in the waves of this beach.
There’s nothing romantic about this goodbye speech.

I don’t want to be what you need.
I just want to be who I am.
Still the words I’m trying to form aren’t making any sense.

I’m taking deep breaths, you’re pulling away.
It’s a little dramatic, a little cliché.
And it hurts, I’m breaking, I’m not okay.
Somehow you’ve stolen all that was left of me.

*Another piece from my collective book "But My Heart Said No"

Train of Thought

I always thought working from home would be the ideal job. That was of course, until, I found a job working from home.

Accounting must be the, and I mean the most boring job there is. The job I've acquired is nothing but copying and calculating. Distractions are always needed, and found. The typical day looks something like...

Alarm.

Mmm, 10 more minutes.


~1 to 2 hours later


Coffee... breakfast... ah I should really sit and work... oh, Let's Make a Deal is on!


After much convincing and arguing with myself to get off the couch, I make my way over to the table to pull papers out, and work.

This happened this day, this purchase that day. Calculating, calculating... I should go to the bathroom.


My face really needs some lotion... I don't take care of my skin...


Heading to my room, I notice undone laundry.

I should have laundry going while I work, that sounds productive...


I scoop all the various clothing items, notice the unmade bed, and make it. Gather the laundry and bring it to the basement. I drag myself back to the table, and notice Twitter updates alerting me from my phone. I am without the willpower to not check them.


Oh, I love Steve Carell. I should put a movie on while I work.


I head to the television and turn it on. SVU marathon is on all day.


I love SVU.


I leave the channel and head back to the table, staring at the television from across the room.

What happened to her? Who's that?


You can't watch only a piece of a Law and Order episode. I'm glued.

Okay, focus. I sip my coffee. It's cold. Irritated I don't care, I continue to work. Then hesitate...


I would work better if my coffee was better...

I woke up too late, brew a new pot of coffee. Head back to the table and realize I never put lotion on my face. I sigh, heavily, like I do too often. Rub my eyes and yawn. I get a text.

"What're you doing today?"

I laugh to myself.

"Working." I reply.

"You should come hang out with me, instead."

I consider it. I am accomplishing nothing. No, no. I need to get this stuff done. I just need to focus. I've only been sitting here an hour! If that! The almost empty sheet I've been 'working' on mocks me.

"I can't, I need to work."

The washing machine beeps, the cat cries to go out, my phone starts ringing, the coffee maker finishes brewing, and my favorite character gets shot.

I really need a new job.

Games

Found this old little poem today in a collective works book I've written entitled, "But My Heart Said No". I'll occasionally share other pieces from that book. I loved this one, wanted to share.




Games


My eyes are swollen over, tired of trying to stay open. I just want to sleep. I’ve been awake for days, for months I dream. Taking the longest way home to find myself it seems. My fingertips are raw from the nervous biting I’ve been doing. I’m not much for chivalry, I’m not much for anything.

And the days go by, and still I’m fine. Row by row, and line by line. The clock ticks and my lungs rise and fall. I’ve done this once, I’ve done it twice. I’m a graduate now, it’s turning out nice. The kids play and I laugh beside them. It’s mediocre, and I’m okay, I like it.

I see you there, once in a while. Your stupid hair, your crooked smile. And it’s okay, I’m alright. Just stay a distance, stay out of range. It wouldn’t make it easy on this heartache. But still you insist, you come closer, talk kinder. I thought I was clear, should I shout a little louder?

Back off, stay away. Get out of this place. I didn’t ask you here. I can’t have it this way, I need you to leave.

Then you’re gone. I’m okay. I smile, when you’re away.

Then I think, and you’re gone. And I frown, cause I’m wrong. I don’t want it this way, with you gone, while I pray. Pray for these games to be over. And my mind to stop fighting. I’m fighting a game I can’t possibly win. A game I didn’t ask for, can’t possibly want. Cause it’s a game of lose, lose, and it’s a constant taunt. Of the things I can’t have, the things I need. The things I can’t ask for.

If I’m being honest, you’re only a tease.

Luck

Once I spilled an entire bottle of white nail polish on the seats of my new car the week I graduated from high school. I swore that was the unluckiest thing that could have happened. Weeks later a woman rear-ended me at a red light, ruining the back end, and fled the scene. I've continued my life with spinal damage and chronic pain. If I'm being honest, luck had nothing to do with it.