Sipping the Tea

It's not a poem, really, just something I wrote because ... I confuse myself, and I'm so sorry I hurt him, and I hope that it's ok that we're friends and this wasn't a bad choice. I don't date for many reasons, and one of this is because I'm so... weirded out by how lost I get when I'm with someone -- lost, that is, in an Alice in Wonderland way, like this:

What am I doing here? Why am I having a tea party with crazy people and enjoying it? Is that mouse singing? I like this - I'm terrified. Don't cry, poor turtle. I want to go home. I want my cat, and my sister, and I'm late for life as it is. Don't hate me because I want some things in my life, at least, to make sense.

Ooii, it's late, so I wrote this. Yeah.



Laughing, dancing by,
Chattering and twittering-
All things past us, all things pass…
You grin and smile in return –
Oh, you and your bipolar self
Reaching blindly into a broken world
With blank dreams, boring ideas,
And a bent sense of humor -
Well, sometimes boring ideas,
Sometimes brilliant,
Or are they? Or am I just bored?
Or brainless when it comes
To some ideas?
We’re both mad hatters mainly,
Generally confused,
Generally lost,
Generally –
Oh, just pass the tea, god d*mnit.
Still, we laugh,
And I talktalktalk
Then you
Talktalktalk
“And I said-“
“And she should-“
And we had
Something.

I’m not sure quite what the ‘something’ was –
it flickers like a foggy recurring dream that I always forget until I have it again- and then only pieces remain, and I’m not sure which parts are made up and which parts are dreamed up and which parts are even pieces of the original and not the new one, and in the dream you tackle me down, but it’s an old dream, and that’s an old us, and this new us –
I wanted this, you wanted that, or did you want me too? Or did I want you, and was I scared, or did I do the right thing because of you and your blank dreams, and your butt glued to the chair, eyes on the screen, and me with my dancing feet and wanderlust, and you with your lust, and us with our madness-

We’re laughing,
And laughing,
And I’ve forgotten by now half of what I said before,
Though you remember everything-
“It was a year ago,
He can’t let go. Or has he?
Or will he never forgive me?
And should I be forgiven?
Father Zossima says-
Father Zossima isn’t here-
He never was.”
He’s laughing and laughing and,
I say,
“I love Steve Conte-”
“No sh*t! Guess what your ringtone is?”
And,
“Oh god, I love this song!
Hey-
That’s
Morbidly funny.”
“Yeah.”
The song ends, and I’m still humming
To violins,
When you say,
“Goodnight”
And I swivel in my chair –
Humming and smiling
Consciously oblivious
To your hurried leaving,
Because I don’t exactly want to think about why
It’s hurried.
It’s been a year, after all.

And Steve sings
The last verse,
That I had forgotten.


“You in

my life

It all meant so much more

to be.”


I’m no longer laughing.

I should like to say that sometimes I wonder if the reason
Why I always fail when
Turning
Me, myself, and I
Into an “Us”
With you, or the next,
Is because I don’t know if we’re ‘us’ because of
How I’m loved or
Who I’m loved by –
And I confuse myself more when I ask myself if we’re ‘us’ because
I like him
I’m laughing
I need him
Or
I love him?
Or …
Just want to love.

…


"And there’s no reply."