where I stood-teardrops dry quickly in the sun

i wrote this a year ago and it was the first piece i performed on stage- i got some laughs and didn't die of embarrassment for standing up and saying my own words aloud- enjoy!


What has been left behind, a few mismatched promises of socks, a what ifs pair of boxers, boxer briefs, a photograph of a moment in music chosen for me, a love letter of a proper mix cd, disappointment of a pair of scrubs, a free forgotten yelp chapstick. The things left behind have been from my former loves, the temporary choices I made, chances I took, check that off my growing checklist, fruition into the present of the shoe box of missed opportunities. A small space. I always tried my hardest, it wasn’t never enough or too much. Tenacity and determination. I still haven’t given up, I probably should. I have thrown the majority of the contexts away at least for now. Discarded but still present inside of me.

I recently slipped off the iceberg of falling in love with the wrong man, once again. Saved from the repeated love affair by the budos band heart triangle- afro soul by a bunch of white dudes fashioned with staten island accents. I stood in the same exact spot where we all met (me, him, and his x-girlfriend) exactly one week later my thank you note to her unneeded- it all looked different with the lights on. Twitter this. Questionable hygiene, he didn’t shower enough, or brush his teeth without making his gums bleed. His front tooth slightly broken yellowish annoyed me when I looked upon it. Every time he smiled, I saw it, I decided to look at his nose distracted by a stray hair up to his eyes instead it warmed me for a moment, it was all a distraction. His fabulously unique underwear once had skid marks- I pretended not to see. He was the perpetual epitome of me dating beneath my potential, a trademark that I should have been denied ownership of, US Patent Office please take it back.

Once he returned to me after a two-week absence of my choice, he was sleeping with multiple people, I wasn’t, I wasn’t okay with sharing, pre-school revisited. He returned to me in whirlwind of second chances in the ultimate coolness of a band tour not as a member but the sound guy straggling on chasing the importance of the eyes of others, unbearable lightness of being defined into his reality, becoming my reality, one set of eyes could never be enough. One set of eyes can never be enough. How about this- try and be interesting. He stopped the tour van full of stinking and talented mostly dorky men outside my house, the J train started to honk- he was blocking the tracks. I wasn’t impressed.

Sharing my passion to superficial ears never divulging below the surface, the idea of me is better than the reality. Listening to his passion, “this music is so ironic”. Like a well weathered student trying to connect to his world I listened to the lyrics and came back with my thoughts. So do you think this ironic because question mark. . .he couldn’t comment, I hadn’t given it that much thought. Careless in words, inconsiderate in actions, forethought is now my afterthought. Signs all there, red flags aflapping, I still gave it a chance.

It’s not too late. My reluctance to speak- I didn’t want to hear it reverberate in my own ears. Shaking my eardrums awake. This was a man who wanted to date more than just me and successfully did. How could he? But I still wanted to see the goodness that existed in him, between us, inside of me. So much I ignored so much, too much. This aftermath exposed my own desperation to connect with another in a momentary companionship. Yes, he didn’t beat me or verbally abuse me but is that the only type of abuse that leaves the bruising- forgotten fruit, makeup cannot cover. One of your last requests was for me to use your real name if I ever told the tale of you- all the eyes in the world can never make you feel alive. We don’t all get what we want.

The desperation of failed attempts, the weight of things not working out too heavy, the chemistry can’t keep happening, propelled me into dating this man. We do not say what we want not because we do not know, but instead we are scared what it might sound like aloud.

He wanted a women who was younger, less confident, quieter, he wanted to be the funniest, the smartest, he wanted the control- 1950’s relationship roles not left behind in recent history. I want someone who can return a library book. What I wanted, what I want, all depends on where I stood or if I am still standing, standing on that box.

I am.