Friday Night Dharma

She came onto the train
Face wet
Mascara running
Looking like she'd been in a wreck
Eyes flickering around as if
Looking for escape
She walked with strength
Or panic
Or fury
Or numbness
Her habitual attentiveness gone

He followed
Attentive for once
Panicked
Shamed
Resentful
If he didn't want her public pain
He shouldn't have ambushed her
Why did he think it would go well
In public?

She strode through the car
Ignoring and aware
And slid into a seat for two
And turned her face to the window
And as he sat in the seat next to her
She leaned
Horrified at the possibility of touch

And they sat, silent
Ignoring each other
Aware of nothing else.
And in the dark of the tunnel
She tried to fix her eyes
In the mirror of the window
But couldn't bring herself to function
Once her eyes glanced off
Of his reflection
But only once

At their stop
He leapt up
Startled and afraid.
She strode away
Never looking back.
Never looking back
And he followed, her satellite

She was already making her own way
A pair had become two

I watched, and wished I was going their way
Fascinated
And sad
And sad
I yearned to warm myself
Against the fire of her strength
I turned instead
And went to sit
And to hear about the dharma

I am so tired

I have spent years trying to figure out
What normal looks like and trying
To emulate, to be it.
I am not normal.
I had a loveless childhood
I had abuse abuse abuse

I am sixty years old and have never
Never never never maintained a friendship
Can you understand that? Well I can't.
I periodically try, sometimes every two
Or three years, sometimes every ten
Or fifteen years, to open and chance and try

But up till now, I have not figured out
How to friend. People will act as if they
Really want time with me for a while
They come around and want to hang out
And I become  encouraged and begin
To reach out to and just maybe do it wrong?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't really know.
I just know that they go away.
Sometimes they tell me they are going away.
They put down a boundary. They tell me that
WE ARE NOT GOING TO BE FRIENDS
And sometimes they just stop answering and go.

Am I doing something wrong?
Am I being too needy?
Trust me, I am pretty fucking needy
But I try really hard not to show it.
The truth is that I just don't know, I just
Don't understand how to bond with another.

So. Sixty years of being alone.
Sixty years of just wanting to love
Sixty years of just wanting to be loved.
Translates now, into alone, alone, alone,
And I still don't know how to do
Anything about this fuckin' problem.

Oh, Diana

I know it's not my fault
And that you are not gone
Because I didn't pick up
But how I miss you
How I wish I'd answered

And now years later
A song takes me back
And I cry and miss you
I know it's not my fault
That you are gone.

All all those times with late night
Drunken calls I answered
Every one. I answered every one
But one. How hard to hear
The message that you were gone.

I know it's not my fault
And you are not gone
Because I failed to answer
I know it's not my fault
But you're still gone.

Inspired

The world is full of such subtlety
Everyone with their message
From the banal to the creative
Some who think themselves bold
Some who think themselves subtle
Have no idea, have no idea
That their obvious message
Is obscure to the other.
Obscure in art
Obscure in design
Obscure in taste
(Food or fashion or else.)
Celebrate yourself.
Your obviousness is
Someone else's obscurity.
Don't sell yourself short.
You ARE the inspiration of the day.

Unravels

The smell of leaf mould
Somehow goes a place
    in my mind where pain
        gets caught.
It unravels it.

Smell of leaf mold
Sanskrit chants
Someone standing
    against injustice
The triumph of the underdog
All keep me alive.
They unknot despair.
They give respect to my trauma.
They soothe it.

Mental illness catches.
It knots. It mats and tangles
And gives the illusion
That there is no ease.

The smell of leaf mould
Goes to a place
    in my mind where pain
        is often caught.
It unravels it.

Masculine Oppression

Some times I do not want
To have my attention drawn
To a perfect breast or
A curve of lip or
A toss of hair.

No!

I want to see what
Is without delusion from
My genetics finding
Her genetics suitable
For procreation.

No.

Is she good?
Is she mindful?
Is she interesting?

Is she honorable?

Is she true?

Yes.

Some times
I do not want
My attention drawn
To a perfect breast

But still, it is.

You have

Fucked up you
Have fucked up
You have fucked
UP.

You make it too hard.

You don't try.

That tells me.

I am not important

To you.

When you figure it out
Maybe I'll try again.
Perhaps not.

Sometimes

Sometimes people understand
That they have screwed up.
But they have screwed up.

They want to fix it
They wish things were fine
But they have screwed up.

They present a new self
A nicer kinder self
But they have screwed up

They want to shape
My image of them
But they have screwed up.

They let me know how they
Really see me
But they have screwed up.

Want to erase
The disdain and nothing
But they have screwed up.

Should I forgive?
They want me to
But they have screwed up.

They let me know
How important I am to them,
But they have screwed up.

I actually see
How important they think I am
They have screwed up.

They think me worthless
They think me nothing
But they have screwed up.

I actually rule, don't suck.
If you don't value me
You have screwed up.

Good bye.

STEM Cat

Cats have an effect on women.
Not all cats, mind you,
But asshole cats –
Siamese or their children
That do not suffer fools gladly.

What an effect they have
On the women sort of children.
They demonstrate that women are
The goddesses that run
The universe.

No doubts.
We are the center
Of our universe.
Get in our way at your peril.

In exactly this way are
STEM women created.

Same Old Story

You have heard it
A thousand times
But here it is. Mine.
Fresh over again
In my pain.
I am head over heels
Tumbling in love.

And amazingly
She loves me too
Perfectly, completely.
Not like that.
Friends
I won't tell her.
I'll keep my dignity.