Lindsay’s Scribblings

My stomach turns at the soft
But still distinguishable
Drone
Of my past
I respond to its queries
Sickeningly
Alert to a name
Never my own

This solitude
Is from the endless competition
And the joyless repetitions
I acknowledge to exist
This solitude
Is realized in a daily critique
Of the sarcastic and threatening
Ambition of each opponent
This solitude
Derives from hearing in each voice
The acridity which dulls my own
A caustic warning underlying every smile
This solitude
Is empty and complete
Its control only faltering
When I am alone

I am small
And short
And sturdy
And curvy
And fragile
And my blue eyes
Peer out
Shyly
And my voice
Lightly
Barely
Struggles
Past my throat
And I pretend
That you never saw me
As any of those things
And that
That supposed innocence
Will save me
From the guilt
Inspired by your pained eyes
I wonder how long
It will go on this way
How many days
Have passed
Since our last meeting
And still
This pain
At seeing me
As I have always been
Small
And short
And sturdy
And curvy
And fragile
With blue eyes
Has remained.

Its cold outside
And I am cold
Cold and cruel
And small and delicate
And nobody would ever suspect
I hurt someone
Nobody would ever suspect
Except when I see his face drop
Even though its been months
Even though
It doesn’t matter
I hurt him
He asks how I am
I am good
He is not
He hasn’t been
And its my fault
I haven’t been thinking about him
Except after an occasional comment
But he
Has an outstanding habit
Of thinking about me

You couldn’t help but look
Inside my thoughts
Inside my sanctuary
You couldn’t help but look
And you saw traces
Of the carwreck I’ve been
And were upset by the damage
But I was in more than a fender-bender
And it isn’t fair to make
Assumptions from
The dents and scratches
Instead of helping me
Patch them.

You scorn him
You deride her
You look down your nose
And proclaim superiority
Over those disgusting
Morally repulsive
Others
But you
As I
Are the same
As them
But still you scorn
And deride
As if somehow
One person
In billions
Could be immune
To decay of the senses

I was wondering how
You could treat me that way
After all that came before
But my own actions
For the same reasons
Would have given you cause enough
The bitter
Back and forth exchanges
Did nothing for us
And I was hurting because of you
And you were hurting because you hurt me
And I was glad to make you feel it
So you snapped
And I snapped
And it was as though
There never had been
A friendship
Or a relationship
Or a life
I was wondering how
You could treat me that way
But it’s as much my fault
As yours.

 

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Writing novels
You aren’t just inventing characters
You are inventing yourself
Over and over again
And everything that happens
Happens to you
Over and over again
In your dreams each night
The world is formed
And even your waking mind
Is haunted by this alternative universe
This world of your novels
Of the you
Invented in fancy

Bubbles in the water
A light fizz of steam
Drowsy heat rises
Surrounding my skin
Sud-based paisleys
Swirl near my toes
And I am
Clean.

Derivation of bitterness
Is a complex subject
But more understandable at present
It stemmed from wanting to still be allowed
To respect opinions
Laugh at jokes
And be tolerated in company
But not believing it was acceptable.
Softening
Since it is allowed
If you allow it
And are seeking
To get past the same barriers
Of sarcasm and harsh glances
To me.