The imperfect vessel of your love

It is difficult to keep myself from constantly questioning a permanent choice
like love
To say, this is how I feel and will always feel
when every week I change
and think different thoughts
and have different interests
like diving link by link
through a late night on Wikipedia

My eyes turn so red from the lack of sleep
the clock working against my desire
to know something well
and to have another thought to consider
where there had been none

I used to wonder if I could mold you into
what I had previously thought of as an ideal partner
but increasingly
I see that it is impossible
and unethical
and wrong

You don't care about things that are less than immediate
to a fault
you see the world like an endless reel of images
instead of a static wall
every instance is current and in need of being addressed or avoided
then and now

It is like we live on two different planes of existence sometimes
I don't ever want to talk about my day at work
and you seemingly only want to
I want to aspire to a new reality
and you want to set dates for likely plans

There are things you can never be
the limitation of any person
but now I think that is ok
It is not always exciting
but when you reach a certain age
so few things are

Do people talk about music anymore
song to song
now that every musician is known
and accessible instantly
will the collective memory cease
to feel music?

Will absorbing lyrics be only a running commentary on reality
a non-fiction story
that needs to be "important" or it is functionless?

Will two young people be able to speak to each other in
the way I used to, with the few bright lights
I stumbled onto along the way

Now i realize that I am the most imperfect vessel for your love
a restless, impractical monolith
who strived when there was a future
but struggles when there is only the present

I am not a comforter or empathic in an obvious way
I am unemotional about my own life
in nearly every aspect

But some times I do feel overwhelemed
when I see somebody else
in existential anguish
but I don't know what this means
or why it happens

I don't know when I lost my emotions
and replaced them with constant, quiet
coldness

It's comical how emotionally intelligent you are
speaking about eveything and understanding everything in those terms
and I am like
the stupid stuffed animal on the bed
a slight smile always on my face
but nothing but fluff underneath

Quiet conversation

We spoke to each other last night
with tired voices
and I closed my eyes because the lights were off

You were weary when I came home
feeling the weight of another week
and I hoped you could slough off some of the burden
by this point in the year but you just
piled it all on

I made a joke
and you teared up
trying not to cry
remember when you claimed you never cry
and then spent the next five years becoming emotional
seemingly at every little thing
while I could only watch
like a cat watches nothing
sitting on the windowsill
understanding nothing

It wasn't an argument
just an acknowledgement that I knew something was up
that somehow fear and despair
had taken hold of your life
causing you to lose feeling in your fingers
and your feel for sunshine
on your cold hands

It scares me
to think that you may not recover
the way you struggle to cope
with simple things now
it isolates me
from you and from other people
a silent struggle

You started crying again after we talked
and I felt sure that I had found a way out
saying the obvious
that you needed to understand yourself
and find what your life is all about
and that I was encouraging
and would be there for whatever changes or goals you needed or had

But you lobbed it up on top
of the comical tower of worry that you
carry with you
and I heard your shoulder joints crack again
under the weight

Occupy thirty

When I think back on the past 12 years
to 18 when I felt compelled
to finally express
myself

I feel unfamiliarity
with the young kid
lying on the bed of a dorm room in
Wichita Falls
where my government appointed roommate and his friends
played rap music and left the lights on
as I sat there writing
furiously
into some letterhead with the Air Force insignia
that I purchased during basic training
to write to people
only to use it primarily to write to myself
exactly what I felt

What I felt about the girl who was at home
not waiting for me
because I never said anything to her
because I just couldn't speak

All i could do was feel that she wasn't there anymore and maybe wouldn't be
ever
and true to form when I returned home, my feelings were the only thing left
of whatever the last few months of high school with her had been

And the mire that I waded through for years afterward
trying to find myself in myself
working it out in private
working it out in silent public
jumping from one bright flame to another

I grew up, but lazily, I let time and opportunity
pass
afraid of what I wasn't
and what I looked like
or how I sounded
hoping and crushing and being crushed and losing hope
and still
trying to find myself as I approach another round number
while my friends say to each other "we're so old"
but I roll my eyes
because I don't agree with them
Its just something people say to help them cope with the loss
of whatever their dream was, I think

But I also wonder if it's because I'm bad at being an adult
and they're normal
or that I'm selfish - and I am -
and they aren't
or that normal things like houses
and savings and vacations to Cancun
not only sound impossible but in some ways
undesirable to me

I wonder if I'm just kidding myself
and rather accept my situation
I'm conducting my own pointless protest
like the militia in Oregon
basing my primary argument on
half truths and uninformed opinions
and my love of myself
and my friends all see me as one of those Bundy patriots
wearing a weird mix of camouflage, fake gas station bought Oakley sunglasses, cowboy hats
and NASCAR apparel.
A ridiculous caricature of the person I thought I wanted to be.

I run every other night around a dark path
and come home sweating
but I'm no better for it