to every woman i’ve ever met November 12, 2009
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to every friend of a friend i don’t remember the name of
to my fourth grade desk neighbor who let me cheat off her quizzes
to that girl on facebook, which is probably a fake account but her profile picture is pretty
to the girls i don’t call back
to the girls who don’t pick up
to those girls, those girls who were only about that thing, that thing, that thing
to the wooo girls that don’t know when they had one too many
to those who’ve helped me paint a perfect, prophetic portrait of passionate penetration; giving and taking everything we can take and give on a temper-pedic mattress
to every train wreck of a first date
to every spontaneous conversation you only see in Woody Allen movies
to every headache i’ve ever had
to every heartbreak i’ve ever given
to every subtle smile i’ve gotten on the skytrain
from lipstick on the collar to minor remark
on my hands, in my head or craved right on my heart
positive or negative; big or small; you’ve made your mark
and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.
i trace back in my mind to this inventory
of everything from slow dances to shared umbrellas to one single sad story
to scented scarf to slanderous hearsay to youtube clips worth five stars
to a small ounce of strength to cold showers to even this very scar
you’ve even made me muffins once. MUFFINS! two kinds! there was a cranberry one but i loved the double chocolate banana one the most
you gave me time and a piece of yourself even if it was just a small dose
and i took it for granted, probably. they were fragile moments, i wasn’t careful with these
i let go of them or they went ear to ear or let them catch in the breeze
to be never seen again
and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.
Also I want to ask
what were you thinking?
every douche boyfriend you’re still with
every sweater you put on your little dog
every text message you send in mid-conversation with someone else
every time you get completely wasted… on a wednesday… afternoon… by yourself
every tramp stamp
every fake laugh you give because he’s cute
what were you thinking?
i know we’re supposed to strive for equality between sexes
as impossible as it is to define but Uggz and tights combo not helping
and also i want to say thank you
a thank you to every woman i’ve ever met in my life
because i like to think in one way or another, in the end you’ve helped me pick my wife
i still believe in superheroes November 12, 2009
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The idea that I’ve wasted my time as a fan of superheroes has dawned on me. I’ve read thousands of pages about people that can travel at superhuman speed, contact someone on the other side of the world, obtain some sort of environmental control, engineer economies, etc. Haven’t we – we ourselves; you and I – reached that plateau already?
Hypothetically, if I made a time machine and brought someone from merely one hundred years ago to our time, that person would be easily dumbfounded at the fact that there is electricity and plumbing in every household. Arguably, with that persons understanding of the phrase, “human ability” he would see us not as mortals but as gods. Of course, our person from yester-century would be wrong. But he or she would be no more wrong than we are about our superheroes.
Like we are to the people of yester-century, superheroes are not gods but are hope that maybe we can strive to be more than these stained mortals that we are so easily depicted as. Superheroes hold some sort of chance that maybe we can look past our personal gain and simply do what is right. Superheroes are our examples so that we can use abilities we – we ourselves; you and I – have so we don’t shrivel up when the times of injustice arise.
If with that same hypothetical time machine I went to the future, I would be dubbed the new person of yester-century. I would be stunned at my children’s children’s children’s version of Earth and most likely assume that it is Mount Olympus. Of course, I would be wrong. I would be looking at translations of our morals along with our shortcomings passed on from generation to generation. With that in mind, I believe we must keep these stories of impossible courage so in the future, people will still strive to be more than just human, more than mortal.
her goodbye ended with a maybe November 2, 2009
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Everything I’ve ever said to you, more or less, I’ve said before. You’ve probably heard it all before too. In my life, girls exactly like you come a dime a dozen. In your life, guys like me are twelve for ten cents. For some reason it still felt new and refreshing with you. Looking at it objectively, it was the same dance I’ve danced before. Exactly the same; down to ever dip and twirl, so to speak.
I don’t know what we had. I don’t know if it was love, lust, want or the overwhelming notion of being lonely. I don’t know what to call it either. Unfortunately it seems once again I was the traveling salesman to another lonely housewife. Apparently it doesn’t even matter to me. Even if we’ve both experienced those exact moments, those few moments we had, they were very real. Hopefully you have it in you to say that they were not. I’d assume that it would be simpler like that. It scares me a little, to be honest. You walked in like you owned the place and I let you.
Even still, I miss it. All of it. I miss telling you things that would make you close your eyes. I miss the small of your back. I miss having nothing really important to call you about but still calling just to know you were there. I miss looking at you looking at me, in both a crowded restaurant on or just you and I in the kitchen as I cooked for you. I even miss missing you because when I told you I did, you said you missed me right back. Even if we just got caught up at times, those moments were real.
I don’t even know if you were my first anything even though I’m sure I told you, that you were a first a lot of things. It would be so much easier if you were my first heartbreak. I wish it was as simple as layering every memory of you with nasty labels. I wish I just got bored of you like I did with everyone else. As much as I would like to think that way, I can’t if I were being completely honest with myself.
I wish I could just regret you. I can’t even if you regret me. I mean, I knew what I was getting myself into with you, for the most part. And I’ll assume the same with you; as transparent as I was with you, I might as well came with a cautionary sign stapled to my forehead.
I don’t believe in soul mates and I don’t believe in do-overs. I don’t even believe in tomorrows. I don’t know how exactly but when you said that goodbye combined with that maybe, it gave me hope. A stupid hope. A hope that I’ll be more than a bunch of nice words; that you’ll be more than a set of pretty eyes; that those promises we made once upon a time won’t remain a fantasy. That hope was a hope in something I shouldn’t even want anymore, logistically speaking.
Maybe your maybe will remain just a maybe. Until that day comes if it ever does, you know where, what building and what floor.
