(co)dependent

when we were young and together you spoke about the size of your heart. how you love too hard
i felt bad i didn’t love you in the same measure

now that we are older and apart, i realize you were flattering yourself
does love hold grudges. does it hate.
does it speak lies with just enough truth to sound right.

some of the lies vanished from my memory that night, snuffed out by grace. others i chose not to read because i already didn’t trust you. but even still…hurt begets hurt, hate begets hate, and i have tasted both in some measure. the sweet venom the silent rage the subtle but sure hardening of the heart

now that we are older than the years that have passed, i realize your love was diluted with blood.
still seeping from old and deep wounds,

and I understand.

recipe for hurt

of course it was your friend
he said who else
knows your recipe

one part lies
(like whispered thoughts)
two parts truth
(to cinch the noose)

 

Getting out my house and getting out of my head

The words come at night, right before bed. They rise up in my chest. They push to the front of my brain, demanding to be put down, to be scratched out on an old keyboard.

I Call Her Fancy

The door swings shut behind her. I first see the black wedges. They click against the tiles, seem to put a punctuation mark on every step. Every click, a comma, until she stops at the counter to order. Then it’s a semi-colon and, finally, the period after she sits down. She’s wearing pantyhose. A black mini skirt hugs her hips and a silver shawl wraps around her shoulders with intricate Japanese designs. I decide to nickname her Fancy.

I’m in Starbucks. It’s 11am.

Fancy’s friend follows behind her the whole while. She’s overweight with jeans and a plain white tee. When they sat down, Fancy happened to sit facing me. She talks like the energizer bunny with eyelids that flutter gracefully and intermittently. Each time I wonder how she opens her eyes back up—they’re so weighed down by umbrella lashes. Whatever’s going on with her eye makeup, it gives her an Egyptian look.

I wonder why Fancy and Plain White are friends. It has nothing to do with their styles, I know that much. In my cynicism, I imagine the worst and feel bad that Fancy feeds off Plain White’s doting attention like an egotistical vampire. I feel bad that Fancy thinks she has to cover up her beautiful, God-given face with a makeup veneer. I feel bad that Plain White just wants to be seen with Fancy and all of Fancy’s false glory, because it makes her feel important, worth more than she feels, more than the world says with its harsh social system.

Then again, that’s just my cynicism talking. Then again, cynicism is a lot like stereotypes. It’s only a thing because there’s truth in it.

17 Words About Friendship

They would have been great friends, little did they know, but their insecurities were working against them.

 

Ounces of Courage

By not doing what I’m afraid of,

I give power to fear,

and it will reign over me as long as I let it.

Even an ounce of courage can topple it,

however,

and in a single instant,

wind back the thread that fear unraveled.

Too Everything

“I had to leave. He was too,” Sunshine pauses to find the word, “everything. He was too everything.” She straddles the potter’s wheel while her hands flow magically, forming a hollow space in the center of the clay.

Paige looks at her – disbelief smearing her face – and scoffs. “He sounds like my kind of guy!”

“You don’t understand,” Sunshine says. “He was too much of a player – too charming, too funny, too attractive –”

“Too attractive! Honey, there’s no such thing as too attractive.”

An Opportune Inconvenience

Eyes open to record the experience
a memory card with limitless space
and this moment will ever be cherished.
The time is sweet
friendship runs deep
but nothing can be seen
save outlined frames and textured clothing
whenever the laptop reminds us its on.
He sits in a chair
eyes closed
perhaps
singing along
and him
hes on his back
knees bent towards the ceiling
enjoying
though only knowing some of the words
another lays in bed
the warmth of sheets add to the comfort of camaraderie
a guitar is playing
he strums with practiced fingers
renditions of isakov
come to life as voices adjoin
riding harmony and parallel octaves.
A smile
appreciation and joy
maybe some inconveniences arent inconvenient
but an opportunity.
That eerie glow grows and fades
i hope the wait is longer than expected.

©  2013 Mike Tannian