Lately, I've been on a poetry binge. Pouring so much of myself into these poems. I posted a particular poem called Screw You and I got a response from a woman, Serah. You kind of have to read the poem for some of this to make sense, or so I imagine. As a person of logic, I find it hard to see emotion is text. As a poet, I find it easy to put my emotions into words. To others, my poetry seems far more powerful than it does to me, but I suppose I'm not the only person to feel that way. Serah told me that from that poem, she sensed that my sense of peace is tied to my lover, to Scott. When I read that, I stopped for a second. I'm sure that reading my previous posts could tell you the same, but she got it from one poem. She also told me to keep what I have with him alive. If it's movies, watch movies together, if it's eating pizza together, do that. And when I read that, I had to stop and think, what do Scott and I have? What is it that bonds us together? We don't really have that. So far, we just have sex, and we haven't even had sex with each other yet. Sometimes, when he's horny or fantasizing, he'll tell me what he imagines doing to me. I kind of like it honestly, but it seems like we talk about that more than most anything else. He told me that he just wants to be with me, but that the desire tends to manifest itself into sex.
I can understand that.
Yesterday, in my sorrow, I posted a status on my facebook, which I later turned into a word vomit. What a word vomit is, is a ramble or sorts, it's a daily practice of writing. You write whatever you want, vomiting out your thoughts into words. It's something I'm going to do on the days I don't write a poem, or so I hope. The purpose of the word vomit is to lose structure, and connect with your words emotionally, allowing flow from your heart to your words.
The word vomit read:
"I feel like a little kid playing with a toy that's broken, but I don't know that it is. I just keep banging at it and tweaking it trying to make it work. Why won't it work?, I whine. Eventually, someone will throw it away. I'll cry because I loved that toy, even if it didn't work anymore. I'll still wonder why it didn't work. Did it need batteries? Was a screw loose? Does it matter? I still love that broken toy.
I wanted to keep it. Keep it with me forever. Who cares if it didn't work? The memories would be enough. I miss it. That broken toy. I wish it was here. So I could apologize for not protecting it. Not playing with it anymore.
I'm sorry, my broken toy."
Scott read my status, which was just the first paragraph, and he told me that he wasn't a broken toy. For some reason I thought it was ironic he said that, and I wanted to know what he thought of me calling him a broken toy, even though I didn't mean it that way, and telling him that I loved him in a facebook status.
I told him that I wasn't calling him a broken toy. It was a reference to our relationship. The broken toy was our dysfunctional relationship. He asked me how was it dysfunctional. I lied and told him that it was me, my inability to understand my emotions in relation to my logical mind and how they clash, which stresses me out. Granted, that isn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth in answer to his question. Only half. The other half is that I hate how he keeps secrets and how incredibly vague he is when I crave details. Especially in a situation as complicated as ours, I just want to be able to know and understand everything. I could beg him to explain things, but it will be general, vague, "big picture," and unspecified. And I would be left unsatisfied.
Trust me, I know, because he then had to explain why our plans yesterday got cancelled. He intended to break up with his new girlfriend. I finally learned that he never stopped dating the previous girlfriend, the one who he told me he wouldn't leave for anyone. The only reason he was with this new girl was because she's in love with him, and he could tell how miserable she was. He wanted to make her happy, so he began a relationship with her, whilst dating his previous girlfriend and having me on the side. Insane, is it not?
When he tried to break up with her, he couldn't do it. She pleaded with him, begged him not to leave her, he told me the look in her eyes, the fear, crippled him. I didn't know what to say. He still plans on leaving her, but he has to find a new way that won't hurt her so much. I asked him that when he broke up with her, what would happen then. He told me that he would eventually marry his previous girlfriend, the one too fragile to leave on her own, then one he can't leave. I sent him a sad face. He seemed confused. He thought that it was understood that even though we have something, he can't leave her. I knew this, I know this. I just want him to be happy. And that's what I told him. In response, he told me that that's the reason he has me.
On my emotional rollercoaster yesterday, I was so deeply negative, I wanted to add salt to the wound. I posted a status asking people to tell me if I've ever wronged them, if I've ever disappointed them. In my negativity, I, for some reason, just want to dig deeper into the sorrow, to sulk in all I've done wrong. No one commented. Who would? Scott told me, in chat, that he wasn't disappointed in me. That I made him happy. He said that I don't have to feel for him anymore than I do and that I don't have to tell him what I feel. He told me that our relationship wasn't a broken toy, that I'll see that it isn't and to keep my chin up.
Honestly, all I wanted was a hug from him. I find that hugs are the most comforting thing in the world and that it was all I wanted. But I couldn't have it and that only made me more sad.
Somehow, I am able to make him happy. I seem to be his escape from his fragile women. And yet, I seem to be the least satisfied. I'm unsure what to make of this. I have to be patient, I suppose. In two or three weeks, we'll be leaving for college together anyways, so if not now, it will be then.
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