Life vs. the Movies

The difference between so-called 'real life' and the movies can be summed up as follows:

If an act of desperation and love is done in the movies,
...it's incredibly romantic.
If that same act of desperation and love is acted out in 'real' life...
...you are a stalker. Or need mental help. Or to 'grow up.'

Tricky how that is.

...John Cusack had absolutely no business holding up some big-ass boom box,
giving young girls the idea that one day, some guy would desperately seek their love enough to do the same. Nor did he warn us that, should some guy ever actually attempt to do that, the police would probably need to be called.

...And if that same young, impressionable girl SOMEHOW got it into her head to reverse the roles...

Well.

Let's just say, her mother should have taught her:

If you have to go all the way over to his house and stand outside for two hours in the rain,
waiting for him to come down...

...honey...you gotta find yourself a different boy.

Cuz the boy that's worth all that, would not have left in the first place.

...And would have known a hug really can make anything better,
when you're truly in love.


(Either way, standing in the rain for two hours? Will not look good for you).

...Funny how that is.


"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

~ William Shakespeare

Poetry and Cake

I found it again.

The quote where I got the title for this blog...don't know much about it, but it stuck in my mind, and made a great deal of sense to me:

"She knows that she is writing bad poetry," said Dr Sanders.
"But clearly poetry - along with cake -
is something to which she feels she is entitled,
something which brings pleasure and which she wants to have."


...'course, I'm more of a pie and tart girl, myself.

A need to write...

Tonight I am dying to say something.

Anything. To anyone. But I find there is no one I want to speak to.

So many words...and I find I have almost none. My mouth will not open.

My mind is on replay.

Every word that hurts repeats and repeats in my head til I hate myself...

I feel like I am back again in summer...walking down a street. My stomach tight.

Trying not to cry. Trying just to breathe. To know I am fine...but...I...

.....My mind is full of numbering:

'Do you know how beautiful you are to me? I love this part and this part and...'

I am full of shame and rage. Bust mostly...just wanting to sleep. To hide in the covers and let it be over. I have been here before. I surrender. Let me feel the pain and then please, God, please just let me go.

Leaving.

Leaving is a funny thing.

It must be done just right. Or it will kill you in the process.

I want poetry to come from my mind or mouth. I want it to be that kind of hurt.

But all I find is ugliness. And silence. And fear. Again.

I hate the knowledge that I COULD just stop it at any moment.

Because I could. Just let it go. I know the process now.

But that would mean giving up, again, a thing I hold most dear...most precious.

...I do not want to make the same mistake again. I am not ready to let it go, so recently returned.

But if there is no chance...none. NONE.

...I had it back for a moment. But...I remember now. In my prayers and my sobbing:

I said -

"Please. I would go through it all again, if I could have t back for just a

moment. Just a day...please..."

....the more fool I.