desiring love

(possibly the first poem i ever wrote.  i was 19.  it's baaaaaaad.)

i tried to write a song tonight but the music didn't come, so all i'm left with now is this crummy effort at a poem.
it's not really a poem.
it's just a bunch of sentences.
but it expresses how i feel: not in one continuous strain, but in little efforts and bubbles.

there are a lot of feelings elbowing for room in me right now.
if emotions were colors i think the brilliant reds, greens, yellows, blues, and purples would all run together in a dirty shade of brown.
i'm okay with that.

girls tend to do that to my feelings--they mix them up; different girls inspire different emotions.
some girls are competetive, and that usually makes me frustrated, angry, or nervous, or all three.
some girls are attractive, but not interested in me, and that usually makes me thoughtful, sad, or desperate; usually not all three.
some girls are not attractive, but interested in me, and that usually makes me wary, sorry, or angry.
some relationships with girls have been better than they are, and that usually makes me depressed.
some girls move on from a relationship i only hoped to have, and that usually makes me sort of desperate.
some girls are just friends, but because of my reactions to all the other girls, things get sort of awkward.

i wish i didn't want to love someone.
if i were just content with where i'm at as romantic relationships go, and could simply rest confidently in some kind of relationship that i knew would always be good, then maybe i wouldn't always take things so hard.
but if i make myself content with having nothing, there's a good chance i'll never get anything.
and i really don't want that.

i don't know why i don't want it.
it's too bad i care at all; i think it must blur the rest of my vision.
if i could just live life without wanting to love someone, and then at some random point fall in love with someone who will love me back, that would be great.
but i can't deny that i do want to love someone.
and if it's a random point, then it may never come.
it is a strange thing that i must not think of it for it to appear.

Sep 2004

about a girl

(also possibly the first poem i ever wrote.  who knows.  also bad.)

I'm not crying
just wiping my eyes
and blinking
because the grease on my hands
stings in my eyes;
but I'm not crying.

I don't miss her
or think funny thoughts about her
like people do when they're in love,
because I am not in love,
it just so happens that I like a lot of things
about
who she is and wants to become.

I'm not new at this,
as a surgeon may see by the scars
on my heart
or a psychologist might see by the disorders
in my emotions
but (thankfully) I don't believe
I've scarred or disordered
anyone
in return.

[except perhaps my mom,
but she signed up for this job,
and I apologized anyway.]

I've never had a girlfriend,
just friends
and close friends
and a few admirers
and a few that I've admired,
but no-one that I know of
has ever occupied all four positions
at once.

I don't really admire her,
in the way that I mean to say "admire"
although I think she's nice
and I suppose I would like her
to occupy all four positions
at once.

But I'm not in love,
and I don't miss her,
and I'm not crying.

Not yet. at least
but give it another hour.

August 2004

new

New     Cmaj7(11)no3no5 = peter's f4

gbdbgbga             f#bdbf#bf#d   ga#d#a#ga#ga           f#adaf#af#d                     
 G                           Bmin                D#                                D                                     
 is there anything left, for me to see, for the very first time, my own discovery.
 
gbebgbga                        gcecgcga(up)                          bdgdbdbc           bcfcbaga
Emin                                C                                               G                         F4
you could count the leaves, you could count the snow, but even those have been seen before.

 G  F4  Emin D           
 but the light from those stars, is fresh from a million light years away.   
 galaxies observed tonight are not what they were yesterday.


May 2004

Tired

have you ever felt tired of breathing, of sucking all the air in and letting it go?
have you ever seen a man digging water--he could shovel till he died, and nobody would know.

can you tell me it's not pointless?  can you prove that i'm sleeping or awake?  i don't know who or how to believe
how do i know you aren't pointless?  can i prove that you're really who i pray?


May 2004