They care for me on second thought
never on first.
I always get a second glance
because of what I say.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Temporary Relationships
It hits me pretty hard when I log on.
The notifications are my affirmations.
The friend requests are rare gems.
It hits me pretty hard that I am alone.
I am a beggar but I am a picky one. I know this makes me a hypocrite and possibly the reason why I am so alone, but I do not like acquaintances. I do not like temporary relationships.
I yearn for something meaningful. I would rather have one true friend than a million temporary ones.
Maybe I am too angry. Or too intense. Or too...me. Perhaps I am too quiet and the people I am attracted to are too loud. Loud people tend to avoid quiet ones. This is unfortunate for me.
I love your stories.
I love your animated language.
I love your hand gestures and your silly facial expressions.
I love your confidence. You exude happiness. You radiate joy. You are so loved.
Do not be temporary. Stay in my life. Please?
The notifications are my affirmations.
The friend requests are rare gems.
It hits me pretty hard that I am alone.
I am a beggar but I am a picky one. I know this makes me a hypocrite and possibly the reason why I am so alone, but I do not like acquaintances. I do not like temporary relationships.
I yearn for something meaningful. I would rather have one true friend than a million temporary ones.
Maybe I am too angry. Or too intense. Or too...me. Perhaps I am too quiet and the people I am attracted to are too loud. Loud people tend to avoid quiet ones. This is unfortunate for me.
I love your stories.
I love your animated language.
I love your hand gestures and your silly facial expressions.
I love your confidence. You exude happiness. You radiate joy. You are so loved.
Do not be temporary. Stay in my life. Please?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
All of me and a lot of you.
I'm so sorry you can't call me.
I'm so sorry last night was quiet between us.
I loved your stories, but I have none to share.
You are perfect
You are wonderful
I'm so sorry I am not.
I'm so sorry I can't be outgoing like your friends.
I'm so sorry you can't just read my mind.
If you could, you would see.
You would see all of the wonderful thoughts and ideas.
You would see all of me
and a lot of you.
You would probably see us together.
You would hear beautiful music
and see beautiful sketches
of beautiful people.
You would see all of me
and a lot of you.
I'm so sorry I can't be so much better.
I'm so sorry if you think me shy.
I'm so sorry if I don't speak like I write.
But it's so not the same, you see.
If you could read my mind you would see the anticipation, the apprehension, the tension, the unbearable idea that this collision is unavoidable.
You would see the cogs shaking and grinding.
You would see them get shudder and come to a complete halt.
If you could read my mind, you would see all of me
and a lot of you.
I'm so sorry last night was quiet between us.
I loved your stories, but I have none to share.
You are perfect
You are wonderful
I'm so sorry I am not.
I'm so sorry I can't be outgoing like your friends.
I'm so sorry you can't just read my mind.
If you could, you would see.
You would see all of the wonderful thoughts and ideas.
You would see all of me
and a lot of you.
You would probably see us together.
You would hear beautiful music
and see beautiful sketches
of beautiful people.
You would see all of me
and a lot of you.
I'm so sorry I can't be so much better.
I'm so sorry if you think me shy.
I'm so sorry if I don't speak like I write.
But it's so not the same, you see.
If you could read my mind you would see the anticipation, the apprehension, the tension, the unbearable idea that this collision is unavoidable.
You would see the cogs shaking and grinding.
You would see them get shudder and come to a complete halt.
If you could read my mind, you would see all of me
and a lot of you.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Title
It's really hard to stutter.
I mean, like, really hard.
It shuts you off from society. No one wants to speak to you because it's awkward and uncomfortable and you don't want to speak to them because it is painful and embarrassing. Pretty soon, you don't have any unread text messages or missed phone calls. Your phone becomes an emergency device and the thing you use to keep in touch with your parents because they have to talk to you.
I'm worried that the boys I have dated or the friends and acquaintances I have, are merely because they are the only ones who can bear to speak to me. The boys I have dated...well I dated them because it was exciting to have an unread text message. It was stimulating to want to check my cell phone all the time. But is that really the only reason? I would hate to think so but now I'm beginning to wonder.
Another problem is that when you are shut off from society in such a way as this, you begin to form a certain kind of pattern of thought; a certain kind of wavelength that no one else seems to be tuned to. You turn in to yourself and it's like everyone can sense it. I don't see myself as awkward or antisocial, but I've had to lean on myself for company and once you do that for some time, you suddenly can't bear the thought of commitment. You can't bear the idea of having to share everything with someone else because those secrets that you have are between you and yourself.
I fear that this makes me crazy. I fear that the wavelength I am on is sending me to a foreign place that I may never escape from because the more I am separated from society, the more I like it.
I mean, like, really hard.
It shuts you off from society. No one wants to speak to you because it's awkward and uncomfortable and you don't want to speak to them because it is painful and embarrassing. Pretty soon, you don't have any unread text messages or missed phone calls. Your phone becomes an emergency device and the thing you use to keep in touch with your parents because they have to talk to you.
I'm worried that the boys I have dated or the friends and acquaintances I have, are merely because they are the only ones who can bear to speak to me. The boys I have dated...well I dated them because it was exciting to have an unread text message. It was stimulating to want to check my cell phone all the time. But is that really the only reason? I would hate to think so but now I'm beginning to wonder.
Another problem is that when you are shut off from society in such a way as this, you begin to form a certain kind of pattern of thought; a certain kind of wavelength that no one else seems to be tuned to. You turn in to yourself and it's like everyone can sense it. I don't see myself as awkward or antisocial, but I've had to lean on myself for company and once you do that for some time, you suddenly can't bear the thought of commitment. You can't bear the idea of having to share everything with someone else because those secrets that you have are between you and yourself.
I fear that this makes me crazy. I fear that the wavelength I am on is sending me to a foreign place that I may never escape from because the more I am separated from society, the more I like it.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Shhhhh....
Why are you speaking to me?
Don't talk to me.
Don't ask me those questions.
Don't ask me those questions that require long answers.
You won't even remember them tomorrow.
So, don't ask.
You may not remember my answers, but you'll remember how I uttered them.
You'll remember the awkward silences..
the strained vowels...
the contorted face....
Why are you talking to me?
Don't talk to me.
Don't ask me those questions.
I don't know the answers.
I don't know your language.
CAN'T YOU READ MY MIND?
WON'T YOU EVEN TRY??
JUST LEAVE ME HERE IN MY SILENCE!
GIVE ME SOME ROOM TO BREATHE!
I CAN'T BREATHE!
I'M DROWNING!
SOMEONE HELP!
SOMEONE SAVE ME!
THIS WORD IS TOO BIG!
THERE IS NO MORE ROOM IN MY LUNGS! IN MY THROAT!
YOU DID THIS TO ME!
YOU HAD TO ASK!
I TOLD YOU NOT TO ASK ME!
I TOLD YOU NOT TO BOTHER!
YOU DON'T KNOW THE ACHE!
YOU DON'T KNOW THE PAIN, THE STRAIN, THE DARKENING, THICKENING
S I L E N C E!
IT'S TORTURE!
I won't be offended if
you keep walking by
as if you don't see me.
I will do the same.
Don't talk to me. Don't ask me those questions.
You wouldn't even remember my answers tomorrow.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Pinned and Sprawling
" And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?"
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
This poem has absolutely nothing to do with stuttering, but it does have a lot to do with silence of account of the fear of being judged by others who may not understand you. I feel as though, if J. Alfred Prufrock were a real man, he would understand exactly how it feels to be absolutely terrified to make a call. He would know how it feels to be caught, to be stuck on a single syllable and to feel those eyes--those eyes that are boring into you--those eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase. Just that one word can have you pinned and sprawling on a wall. You are a specimen to be examined. You are puzzling and new. You are something to be dissected and studied. You are a thing--and a strange one at that.
I am pinned and sprawling. I am at an utter loss for words. I don't know how to tell you that my throat hurts from the strain; only it's not my throat, but my larynx. How do I describe that soreness? How do I explain that my jaw pops and creaks from the abnormal patterns of my speech? Have you felt the stiffness in your cheeks? Don't let me drown, for I can't breathe. My throat is closing and it hurts.
Take out the pin. Let me down off the wall. Don't examine me as a specimen, but understand me as a person.
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?"
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
This poem has absolutely nothing to do with stuttering, but it does have a lot to do with silence of account of the fear of being judged by others who may not understand you. I feel as though, if J. Alfred Prufrock were a real man, he would understand exactly how it feels to be absolutely terrified to make a call. He would know how it feels to be caught, to be stuck on a single syllable and to feel those eyes--those eyes that are boring into you--those eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase. Just that one word can have you pinned and sprawling on a wall. You are a specimen to be examined. You are puzzling and new. You are something to be dissected and studied. You are a thing--and a strange one at that.
I am pinned and sprawling. I am at an utter loss for words. I don't know how to tell you that my throat hurts from the strain; only it's not my throat, but my larynx. How do I describe that soreness? How do I explain that my jaw pops and creaks from the abnormal patterns of my speech? Have you felt the stiffness in your cheeks? Don't let me drown, for I can't breathe. My throat is closing and it hurts.
Take out the pin. Let me down off the wall. Don't examine me as a specimen, but understand me as a person.
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