She loves me...not like that

By Michael (wounded by a fish)
Date: 9 June 2000

She loves me...not like that

She loves me She loves me not like that She loves me She loves me not like that She loves me She loves me not like that Damn. She loves me She loves me not like that She loves me She loves me not like that She loves me She loves me not like that She loves... me. She loves... me... NOT... LIKE... THAT.... Damn. Do I choose another flower or keep picking all the leaves off? I'm not gentle when I'm playing for keeps. I don't understand how not to play for keeps either. I started with gentleness and garrulous gregariousness and then moved to guilt and guile and shouts and anger and finally I just left because I wanted every form of expression of her love for as long as she could give it because I have given her every form of mine and I could give it all for just short of forever. Every good one. Every bad one except physical violence which I would NEVER EVER DO....and she loves me....NOT LIKE THAT...I love her in a way that I don't fully understand. That you don't fully understand. That if anyone understands, I think only she understands. Because to understand my love for her, you'd have to understand me. You'd have to love me. And some of you don't love me. For me to understand your love for others, I'd have to understand you. I'd have to love you. I'm working on it for some of you. It's harder for others... I want someone to love me... like that.... She says... it's... not... like... that... Damn. Let's stop dwelling shall we? I've lived in this state of almost one way streets and school zone speed limits for a very long time. Time to hit the road and live and dwell somewhere else with someone else. There's lots of people who need love and plenty of it in me to give. Do you want some Mr? How about you Miss? I can give my love forever (and probably will), but I won't wait forever. Call me crazy. I can wistfully wish forever (and probably will), but I shouldn't whine forever. Call me crazy. I can ramble forever (and probably will). But I think I should just shut up about my lost love. About my opinion that no one wants to hear. Call me crazy. By the way. I'm so vain. Talking about my "beauty" all the time. I'm so vain. I think fishy poems are about me. I'm so vain. I think fishy poems are about me. I don't know why I think a fish is listening to me when it doesn't even have to and I didn't think it had any ears. I don't know why I think a fish is talking to me. I don't know why I'm listening. I don't know why I'm talking back. Call me crazy. I don't know why I think I recognize a fishy accent in the poems that were my dance beat down insanity lane. I know why I don't want to go there again. I don't know why a fish is ripping into me. Is it jealously over my intensity? Is it indignity over the carp I call poetry? Is it zealotry to protect the ivory tower of terse tense terrifingly true poetry? Is it animosity that's not even meant for me? I don't know why I feel like a fish is attacking me. As if he knows me. As if the damn fish doesn't want to attack me, doesn't really hate me, but really just hates his own damn self. His reflection or ghost in me. I don't hate this fish. I don't hate myself either. I don't think I'm the only bad guy beating himself up around here. I don't know why I've got this "meditaion on appreciation" about a Michael who wasn't me who said he was "thinking and word linking..flowing for the first time in a long time...wondering about how to say what was on my mind at the time when a yuppie" .. GUPPY .. "walks in" to my head and starts messing with it. I don't know why people get upset when I go off about whatever I go off about. Or why people even care that I say things like I know what I'm talking about. I don't know why they get angry. I don't even know why I even put up with it. I know this though. I wasn't put on earth to be fish food. At least not until I'm dead. I'm not dead yet. I'm leaving here. I just don't know if seeing one wide open eye glaring at me balefully is worth it. I don't think the phantom punches that land heavy on my concience thrown by a clueless cooling breeze that doesn't know or care about my story which are willed to wound with ill designs are worth it. I'm not the only blowhard on the board. I'm going for face to face where people don't mentally skullf___ each other in public. Where people above or below or beside me, with guilt free erogenous zones can stay away from "judgemental assholes with delusions of moral superiority " like me. Because I am an an arrogant asshole. A cocky one. Arrogant enough to think I don't deserve to suck on fish heads. Cocky enough to think that I can find other good poets and good friends. Though I've found friendship in many sets of open hearts and open mailboxes. And I appreciate them. I love the blender. And I'm done posting too. You can love it and leave it. Both. Both Forever. Trust me I've done this before. I find it funny. This is how I left her when she showed me she couldn't love me like I needed her to. She hated me for it. Please don't hate me. I can't change who I am and what I need without becoming someone else. She couldn't change who she was and what she needed without becoming someone else. I can't change who I am and how I express myself without becoming someone else. Some people here can't change who they are and how they express themselves about me without becoming someone else. I don't ask people to change. I let them change. I ask if they've changed. And I leave a "situation no win". I leave the battlefield when it would be a phyrric victory. I only started posting because I wanted an appreciative audience that wouldn't heckle, but could ignore all they wanted. I only started posting because she might be listening if she wanted to hear. I only started posting because I wanted more friends if they wanted to be my friends. I only started posting a lot because I seriously lost control of myself for a three day weekend because I think I would do anything but three things for that love. I only started posting because I thought people who really do love people don't have to pull down other people that they don't know. And if I pulled her down, I tried it for whatever I think is love. I don't know though. I only gave her six years of my waiting that she never asked for and never wanted. I only pledged fiftully to try to give her the rest of my life that she never asked me directly for and never told me directly she wanted. If she out and out asked. I only gave you guys twenty or so poems of mine that some of you didn't ask for and only some of you wanted. If you out and out asked. My martial arts instructor taught us the most important lesson of self-defense. How to say "Leave me alone. I don't want to fight." Enough computer time. Time for Paper. If you want "Hell to Live without" which we are writing together, Evangeline and I, please mail me. Please forger her real name. Please leave her alone or face the cost of my anger. I love her. like that AND not like that. She loves me. just not like that. Please mail me if you want to hear the my last story for the blender... Otherwise.. Pleased to meet you...all of you...even if I never said your name or am saying it in between the lines, I enjoyed your poetry.....I'm not so pleased to leave you. "I'm gone. I'm gone. I leave today. I'm gone. I'm gone. Take me away. I'm gone I'm gone I'm gone...." -- Angels of the Silences -- Counting Crows. Michael (No longer sharing his love of poetry and prose with those who don't ask for it) share_the_love@hotmail.com Share your love. Share your bile. Share your time. Share your smile. I'm hell to put up with. Welcome to heaven. So long and thanks for all the fish. Even when they stink.

Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner