Gehst mir unter die Haut

Sunday was crazy.

Deny excitement, because, honestly
I'll be disappointed
in seeing someone my mother decided was right
who is far too brilliant
(and nice)
to really talk to me.
                      And I cannot stress brilliant enough
(also, creative)

It wasn't just me either,
but the general class.

Even though each message
or like
made me happy (for a while), I denied any real attachment.

[Don't be that girl, with feelings and thinking you're above your place.]

So everything was chill
       be cool and logical
           try to seem smarter than reality.

Until the big reveal of things beyond control,
see him go down, loose self for time.
Hold his head, because strange men had to put him on his side and then couldn't be bothered.
Try not to feel awkward
and out of place.
                                   You haven't touched someone's head in over three years.
Wish for time travel so you could remember what to do
and hope you do it right
and why couldn't you just be better
at being a person, and just want time to speed up
him to wake up
be okay
please be okay

Time stops as EMT men arrive
                          stop thinking of the last time you were here
                          your big reveal, the ambulance for a T-bone
                          "is there a doctor here?" and blue eyes catching yours with laughter at trite
                                        and concern

The who are you to the lucid and barely there
when his eyes couldn't find a name for anyone
to see him taken away, not knowing.

It was easy to follow, at least.

Call family, and just worry
like it is really your place                                                                               [/sarcasm]

The thank yous and history lesson
from a mom just concerned
and so logical

The apologies for biology
and thanks for being there
                       like disappearing was an option
until families reunite and become no one again


It would be better
save face to be a ragged claw
lessen the uncontrollable embarrassment
and [my] social one
               of liking someone

Or we could kill them

Let me make this sane
even though I am freaking out.



I met my idol today.
A man of magic.
Neil Gaiman.

From senior year Catholic school,
the sixteen year old atheist tried to find something to hold to
and nothing was working.
Until my friend (turned best friend)  threw me a book,
told me to read it, and thank him later.

Eschewing school work for a day, I devoured American Gods
and found solace in words again. It was sorely missed after the isolation because of a high reading level in middle school.

I read all I could of his work and then other fantasy works
and then literary works when not preached setting for the fifteenth time.

Hello English major.

Then a poem, "Instructions"
showed me how universal stories are
that help everyone on their journey.

Hello MFA
writing
my life.

So I journeyed with my best friend--post a commune and an hour sweating
in summer's sunny glare,
we ran to the front like a rock concert.
Sat front row, nearly on top of each other
with my sister and other friend in tow.
Talk and drink for a few hours in blessed AC
with other people touched by words.

Applause, introduction of a personal nature,
a story of how stories are made
birthed into creation and sold on the market.

Then, a band starts next door. We could ignore them
or we could kill them.

We choose ignore, but there was an undertone of rage--swept away in story.

A Q&A about doors, writing, and creativity.
A story of fatherhood and a story for fathers.

Stand around, and try to let all of the words sink in
realize this is not the highlight of his life, except for the staring of stories.
Stories and stories en masse cannot be fun, how rough it must be to make a personal connection--
to be the face of magic for everyone, yet drain away days that could be meant for creating.

Yet, with a broken pen, we spoke for a few minutes of dragon's blood and stories.

A delight for my July and for 2013.

And my friend watched,
as he always has, from afar
while I let emotion and words carry me
knowing he'll never have to pick up as many shattered pieces
and disjointed crazy like in high school
even though my deathlist is shorter.

And as always, ticking off miles in conversation and silence
towards home.

July

With heat
childhood jealousy issues (really mean nothing
now)
and hospital visits of years' past summers
ending, always, in coffins,
makes my Julys a game of tolerance.

But this year, something to look forward to
(less or more than a country across the sea)
of meeting my hero
art-master
magic-maker.

Seriously, one brief encounter to cause so much hope
                 (will end in disappointment)
but still better than remembering the rain and cobblestone,
stoop of people,
feeling infinite
staring out into the north sea.
Streets of disinterested yet pleasant people,
cafes older than my whole world until that point.
I lived in antiquity
enjoying the 44,600 minutes spent in Scotland,


oh too willing to throw a future away in waves.
Though, I never crossed that barbed wire.


I'll never get that moment back,
yet the 11th will still be magical

& then

there are nights with life
long friends

work on a project
to watch a movie

reflect on high school
and keep going
for one more week