(Chroni)logical

I don’t
     always write
            or share
                  as things happen.

I tend to
            p  r  o  c  e  s  s
     so it’s not always
           (chroni)logical,
     and the
          senses
     or the
          sense
              may get
                                lost
                                        somewhere.

Sometimes it’s me
      trying to make
          sense
              of the
                t
            a
              n
                    g
                 l
              e
                       d
                  thoughts
                        I can’t
                             unwind.

I can’t always
  unscramble
  everything
     or fully
  track myself –
        which may make me
            more screwed up
                    than they even have a name for,
                although if they have a name,
                       I’m not sure
                       I’m ready to know it
                              yet.

But it’s real
          true
    and probably more
          raw
     than I actually want to share.

So I’m still trying
         still learning
         still growing.
               (I think.)

And
     maybe
        somehow
        someone
            can glean
        something
                from my mess.
     Maybe even me.

Intentions

Intentions
Intentions

Time passes   ticks         rushes by
          and it’s
    another day I didn’t spend
               with you.

I meant to
  intended to
  wanted to.
I thought of you
  a few times
  a few seconds
     before I got distracted
         by something.

Inklings of you
  brushed by
     again later,
        but I had other things
              to finish
                 accomplish
                 check off.
      Each moment
        pulled me aside and
                 took me away
                                from you.

I didn’t hold on
  to my intentions
        through the       speeding    hours
     and I dropped them
             along
             the
             way
                  somewhere.

I went back for them,
  but they weren’t there.
And then I noticed
        you were gone
    and I’m not even sure
        how long ago you left.

I wanted time with you today.
You waited for me
  until I
        unintentionally
             changed my mind.

I don’t even know
  when I made the choice.

But I will do better
     tomorrow.
  I mean it.
  (I think.)

Ends

Anticipation brings
          adrenalin and
          excitement
                   to some people.

It just gives me
          nausea.

I get so
          worked up about
                    the possibility
                    the maybe
                         and my stomach
                                   knots around
                                       itself.

This time plans changed.
     It's unclear if it is over
                            postponed
                            dropped.

I will eventually
       likely
       probably
             end up doing it later,
          which is way worse
             than just doing it now
                    and having it be
                               done.

Or my chance could
                   fall
          through entirely,
              and I would be left
                                    trapped
                                        with the
                                            unspoken words.

I need to grab the ends
            tie them together and
            burn them
                      so this will all just be
                                    finished.

Because if the words remain
          unsaid,
     (I think) the ends
          will just start to fray
                      again.

Legend

I don’t know
   how to put myself
          in her place.

How
Are
What
Wh…
I don’t even know
          where to
                  start.

My mind actively
             forcibly
                 stops
         itself from entering
            into the basic realm
                  and
         just the thought of it
            makes me
                  stop
            breathing.

Yet I can't
                 stop
       thinking about her
                     and him
                     and her
                         without
                           him.

 

Dan Houghton, 1974-2013.

Autonomic

I couldn’t stop
     shaking,
  could not force myself
        to
         calm
          down.

I was trembling
               B  I   G
         freaking out,
         sweating,
         mouth dry,
         clenching my fists
                   hard
             into themselves.

Even though I had time
          to prepare,
     my automatic
         autonomic nervous system
                was beyond
                        nervous.

I am thankful
      I was able to make notes
                beforehand,
          so maybe I’m just glad
                        I’m a nerd.

I thought I might throw up
                     or black out, and
        I felt like  
            my voice
                    was     s
                                   h
                                  a
                              k
                                   y,
            but I spoke up
                          anyway.

I hate
   that I can’t just speak
          like an actual person sometimes,
   but I do appreciate
      being given the chance
           to voice my ideas –
                     at least when they are good
                                    (I think).

Mostly, I am just

        relieved

               that it is finally
                           over.

Set

It’s not finished,
  but it’s
      done.
Not done
           as in
              complete,
  but done
           as in
              set in motion.
It’s ready.

Ready for the details
  to be refined
         shaped
         cleaned up
           then
         shared.
         (I think.)

It’s close
  and getting
    closer.

Steers

He says.
She does.

He steers.
She goes.

He promises,
Then breaks his word.
He gets offended
That she has trouble
Trusting him
When he is reliable.

She questions
What she did wrong.

He wants more.
She needs less.

She starts
To tell him
How she feels,
But she worries
That he will be
Upset at her
Or say she is
Accusing him.

She stays silent.
He reacts at the quiet.

He drew the lines
She balances inside.

Slippery

I trip
      over
         myself daily
  bump
        into doorways
  stumble
        on the absence
           of an actual anything and
  find random bruises on myself
               from stuff I run into.

I trip
     over
         my words too.
I collide
     into them
        or fall
            through them
                   as they trip
                                  over
                                     each other.

They’re slippery
   and either too big
              or too small
                  for me to hold.

I       reach      for them
     trying to grab
          the letters
                to rearrange them
     so I can smash
          them together
               into sounds.
Instead,
     I lose my balance      reaching
               and smack
                    my face
                        into a wall.

Prodding

Is this really a good idea?
Am I jumping in
             alert and
             prepared
     or carelessly running
                      tripping over my better judgment
                              into something
                                     I should just leave
                                               alone?

I expected difficulty
              hurdles
              frustration.
I probably should have expected
              wavering
              second-guessing
              overthinking.

I feel a prodding
     to do this
          from outside of me.
But I need to make sure
     my motives are good –
          because I would
                  have to put
                      myself
                              out there,
          but I don’t want it to be
                      about me.

Fireflies

Learning,
   but at a weird
               in-between
               stage.

For the most part,
     junior highers tend to be
               uncoordinated and
               awkward.
Their limbs are growing too fast
     for them to handle,
        so they seem to lose gross motor skills
                  for a time
             and bump into stuff
                  everywhere.
They have a hard time
     paying attention to, well, pretty much
                  anything.

I worked with junior highers
          when I was in college.
There was something so fun and raw
     about that stage of life:
          the attempt to figure everything out,
          the glaring insecurity,
          the amazingness of so many new things,
          the ignorance of even more and
          the a-ha bulb lighting up all over the place
                          like fireflies.

When I think about how awkward I was
     when I was in junior high,
               I cringe
                wince
                recoil,
         eventually laugh and
                shake my head
                      at the absurdity.

But then the a-ha firefly lit up
     and the puzzle pieces started to put themselves together
               in front of me.

(I think) I loved those kids so much
     and could identify with them so well
          because in many ways,
                         I am still an awkward junior higher.

Sure, I’m an adult –
     but I bump into everything,
            trip on things that aren’t there,
            talk toofastsometimes and
                  too       slow        others,
            overshare and
            undershare,
                 trying to figure out the balance
                      with different people
                      and myself,
            and I’m still trying to make sense
                 of the world and
                    the mess
                           in my head.