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Date Posted: 19:57:43 03/19/02 Tue
Author: the Lady
Subject: an untitled catharsis

I uttered "goodbye", hung up the phone
and swore I wouldn't write or call again.
Hurt, and forgiving, hurt, and forgiving, hurt and forgiving;
Hurt, and hanging up.
"Are you alright? Bastard. C'mon and cry... Are you alright?"
No, I'm fine; but they're all waiting for the pieces
to crumble and fall.
They think I'm nothing more than glass;
fragile and delicate and useless...
but I'm not made of glass, and I had not been shattered.

There was anger of course, fury;
the sadness I thought I should feel;
the rejection I thought I should feel;
and of course, the blame I thought I should place.
They passed, but your voice is still there sometimes...

I never let myself feel that cut,
never let the warm salt flow
over 3:00am chocolate chip cookies
holding my hands against the cold,
love poems and punk songs,
breakfast after long showers,
watching over a sick love all night,
the green White Mountains and virgin sex...

We have this tendancy to root ourselves;
even when replanted somewhere else,
we leave a chunk of our roots behind,
and never quite feel right in that new home.
I've been replanted so many times,
I felt like I was simply leaves
without anything holding me down,
having left my roots a dozen different places.
I've focused on the past, those lost roots, and never embraced the now, or even still, the future...
Never worked on searching the ground I was in
to find what I need.
You got deeper into my veins than any place ever could...
became a part of me...

I'm putting down those roots now,
and god it hurts;
growth, takes so much more than we want to give.
We want results, but not the pain they require.
I've stood upon the stage,
letting others feel their cuts;
the lights are bright here in the dark,
I'm on again, an open mic,
alone.

I want to ask questions, but don't know if I want the answers...
I detest my own cliches, but know that commonality is humanity at it's most basic level.

Life is short,
I feel that knowledge pressing down on me...
More and more I want the new roots to grow in,
but I won't forget about the ones I left.
Old roots will spring a newborn plant,
even when it's parent is gone.
I need to hope that those I left with you
will grow in among your own leaves,
or even wind themself as a strand of ivy up your trunk,
until years from now, they grow together,
and that piece of me is simply an old part of you...

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