Boyce Avenue to Slipknot

Because I am listening to Boyce Avenue it means that I need to write. I figured that he probably doesn't need a book of poetry in his name so we can blog about life or something. It's really strange that I can write happy poems these days. I was pleaded with by prior loves to write something positive about them - and I did, this is true, but it wasn't very good. For the most part he inspired darker, more emotional poems with broken structure mirroring my broken heart. The happy poems took days and were forced. Yet, with the help of Boyce Avenue and something real I am able to write when the mood strikes with some measure of rapture and meter combining in an outlook not so gloomy or drab and done nearly as fast as my fingers can pound them out.

Perhaps when the picture faded to gray it was only for an intermission. The velvet shrouding the stage will be peeled back as the crowd in my heart begs for an encore. One last song to echo the times we are stumbling through. I can give it to you, whoever wishes to see this slowly mending broken frame I've been building for the last 20 years. One stitch at a time, one bandage, one sip of wine to dull the ache. Though I feel weak right now, strength is inevitable. Though I stumble and fall on shattered knees with tear stained cheeks, I look to the light. Sometimes, the essence of this world seeps through my pores and drives me to be full to the point of explosion. I still feel hollow at other times, like my life force has been drained slowly from me and I snap to the realization harshly. Acting on emotions I cannot accurately feel. That's not quite right, but I lack the command of this or any other language to describe it differently.

I'll find myself smiling and twirling circles and skipping without feeling happiness. I'll find myself kissing and holding and needing to be with him without eternally defining and recognizing love or desire. I'll sit there with furrowed brow and crossed arms and not realize I'm stressed. These actions are involuntary for the most part - as they would be if someone could feel. I'm not sure what this means... but it scares me. Have I worked to be apathetic for so long I've detached an internal cable connecting my mind and heart to basic bodily functionality? Did my wish to be detached from humanity's issues cause this detachment within self? Something is broken; I don't know how to fix it.

It makes me feel like I am lying. When I say I am happy, or that I love you. The only thing I've felt before reactions arise lately has been stress/apprehension. I don't know how to talk to it, about it. I just crave his arms around me, with my kitties cuddled. A nice warm glass of tea, and a sunset of symphonies. I don't know what that means - what any of this means, really.

I wish to feel truly, to love deeply, to dance with a current of joy playing on my nerves. I can only have faith that everything will be okay. That God will swoop down his hand and touch my heart once more.

It's slipknot time now. Vol. 3, yeah where they actually sing prettily. I don't wanna be this, but I won't let this build up inside of me.