Wordle #244- Introduce Yourself

You are like the ghostly green penumbra

of a firefly on a damp Southern night.

Haunting and nebulous

I watch you pass into my dreams

with saintly restraint.

Your heart partially undressed

as you hold the door open

for me to follow you

to places inscrutable.

Behind your smile,

a kind of prayer

upturned and quixotic.

I love you until it burns.

My bare breasts sink

into your plaintive microcosm.

Your smooth

animal warmth

falling in waves

around me.

Your cautious tongue,

your misplaced hands

swirling the ether

within and without.

Once I had a name for you

(I called you Axel, DM)

Once I had a name for us

(I called us twinflames)

a name to coalese and clarify

but now I see that

we are altogether new.

Now I call you

DL

(introduce yourself)

Dream Lover

Down Low

because you

are a secret

because you

are a mystery

Divine Liason

because you

connect me

to something

bigger

than I am alone.

I am so RUSTY also very emotional today so gibberish?

Rant?

Last night/this morning, I woke up hysterical (angry and sad). This has been happening a lot lately. Maybe I am purging. Forcing out all the metaphorical darkness, so that the metaphorical light can get in. I don’t particularly like the feeling of being cracked open. If only I knew how to relax before I hit the ground. If only I knew how to relax when things were gorgeous. If only I knew how to relax when things were mild and mundane. Which isn’t to say I can’t laugh or have fun. I laugh a lot and I have a marvelous penchant for the absurd but I’ve got a lot of nervous energy. I exercise and my muscles lock up so tight I end up with pinched nerves. I meditate and my mind, on finding itself expanding, slams shut and doubles over itself. I just don’t do vulnerability well. Defiance has been my strategy for survival and after all these years of relative peace I am still fighting, still boxing shadows.

When I masturbate I rarely imagine myself with another person. I imagine other people usually characters that I myself have invented (since I feel a bit weird about dragging real people into my fantasies) and not usually things I would even like to do myself. I don’t mean illegal things. I mean like threesomes. When I masturbate I want to feel but I don’t really want to be there because if I am there I am fighting against myself. Since I started the tf journey I have been able to incorporate myself a little more into my fantasies. In my book I even decided to make a slightly modified version of myself as the main character just so I could adapt to the concept of myself in a fantasy context.

I have pretty much been binge watching erotic movies the last few days. 50 Shades of Gray. Which I haven’t read. Which reminded me of high school when sad, vulnerable boys would talk about themselves as if they were monsters/as if they were dangerous because they were raised by monsters. And those same boys never seemed to grasp that I had my own darkness and that I’d known real life monsters and therefore could not be made to fear the fault lines in their very real and very functioning hearts. 365 Days which is incredibly intense and has an amazing, over the top sex scene. MILF (as a 40 year old woman I appreciated this film a lot) which has the most fantastic scene ever “Yes Master” it cracks me up and it’s sexy at the same time. That is what I want to have fun with sex. I want to capture that weird and illusive combination of playfulness, intensity, and comfortable in my own skin sex appeal which I just cannot seem to reproduce. Mostly it is the comfortable in my own skin bit that I struggle with because I am naturally playful and intense. Eliza and Marcela which has the most touching sex scene I have ever seen and which makes me understand more fully the sensuality and erotism of being fully present with another person. Duck Butter which made me cry buckets and which caused a different breakdown earlier in the week.

Do you ever feel like you are in the way? I feel that way all the time. In all my relationships but most especially in the relationship I have with myself. Even in my imaginary relationships apparently which is funny and also very frustrating. I am not going to write to you about how much I hate myself because I don’t actually hate myself. It’s not about hate. It probably has to do with fear. It probably has to do with the fact that my mom didn’t want a child to start and now every time we talk and things get real I feel her guilt for not wanting me. Or the fact that to my father women were just bodies. Or because my ex, even now, still frequently comments on my awful timing as if I were out of synch with the whole world all of the time. Or maybe because I receive more help than I give. Or because I really don’t know how to ask for help when it counts. And when I do manage I always end up feeling somehow more alone. Example I went to the doctor recently partly for myself and partly for the Unemployment Agency and after a significant internal struggle (because admitting you have issues and need help is not easy) I managed to get an appointment for a therapist. I poured my heart out to this woman only to have my follow-up cancelled through the mail because the Unemployment Agency changed their minds. Said therapist has a strange setup where she can call out but cannot receive calls. She works with referrals from Vårdcentral, so she only takes on referrals from a doctor. So in order to see her I would have to restart the whole bloody process again and I don’t have the energy, plus she gives up way too easily and I need a therapist with more grit. It took me weeks to work up the nerve to initiate the process in the first place. The thing is I told her I needed this for myself too, primarily for myself and that the Unemployment Agency was a secondary consideration for me and she said she understood that but she didn’t and she didn’t even call me to check if I wanted to proceed anyways. Well now I have gotten off topic but it is exasperating how difficult it is to get treatment for mental health issues.

Moving on. I heard a quote from 50 shades which I can’t remember verbatim but it was something along the lines of Life doesn’t get easier you just get to know yourself better. This is probably true. I want to get to know myself inside and out. I want to be myself. Basically this is the main thing I want in life. Only it’s hard to hear my heart over my constant mental chatter. Screaming. It’s more like screaming than chatter if I am being totally honest.

When I think about manifestation I get irrationally upset. I read a really good article about manifestation today. I understand that you can’t and/or shouldn’t place conditionals on your happiness. That there is a difference between needing and wanting something. That you might not always get what you think you want but that you often get what you need for your soul growth. I get that acquiring stuff doesn’t make you happy. I even get that another person, however fantastic, can’t make you happy. It’s true that a mentally healthy person is more likely to have a healthy, balanced relationship. It’s true that I do not always know what I want. It’s also true that I am human with a complex array of emotions and that I just can’t work out how to be positive all the time. Sometimes sure but not always. I have doubts. For some reason I seem to manifest more in a negative headspace than in a positive one and I guess it has to do with my subconscious conditioning. But since our brains are mostly programmed before the age of three and for me that was trauma time I feel woefully ill-equipped to manifest. I have spent a lot of time examining this programming and trying to built for myself a healthier system of beliefs but I am struggling.

I just don’t know how to get out of my own way because it’s my life and I am invested in it. I mean Depression aside I really like the idea of having a life and going on adventures. I still have a few embers burning. I get the importance of an open mind and I would like to be more laid back, less of a low-functioning type A sort of person. I really don’t care how I become financially secure just that I do and just so it’s moral. But when it comes to a person. I just can’t see people as interchangeable. If I were just looking for love in a general sense then sure it makes sense to be open-minded and talk to a lot of different people, to date and experiment until you find what fits. But what if you like someone in particular? Humans view themselves as individuals. I believe we are all connected. I feel that connection with some people more than others but even when I don’t feel it I still know that it exists. That’s comforting but not always practically accessible/applicable I can’t just exchange DM in my heart with someone else.

I am sure other people can make me laugh. I am sure I can have delightful conversation with any number of people and god knows I am in need of good conversation. I am sure I could love others in various ways because there are various forms of love. Friendship for example. Theoretically there are probably even people with whom I am sexually/romantically compatible but if I can’t give them all of me because my heart is invested elsewhere what’s the point? I know how to bring myself to orgasm, it’s not like I just need another body that I can place in the vicinity of my body. So I am stuck. I am just stuck. How do you manifest a specific person, not just love in general? Is this possible or are we just that interchangeable from the perspective of the universe? If this is so if we are all just divine Legos then why do we feel so compelled to certain people? Why should I create a totally generic experience for myself when I am endeavoring to lead an authentic life?

As much as I love poetry I don’t know if I would love it more as a career or as a hobby or if it would be equally gratifying. I concede to my ignorance. I concede that I am not that objective. But there are some things that feel deep down and I was to explore them. For example I know poetry is a part of me and that I want it in my life. I want to read it and I want to write it. I know that I want to be myself. I know that I am tired of twisting myself into knots trying to be the best version of myself. I want to be the best version and the worst version. I want to be all the versions of myself. I want them to coexist peacefully. Fuck perfect. Come as you bloody are. I know that I am in love with DM. I know that I want to get to know him. I know I want to take a chance, that love is worth the risk, broken heart or not. I know that I want him in all ways. Even if he’s a far cry from the version I carry around within me. I don’t expect him to heal me or to make me happy. I just want to get to know the man. I want to have experiences with him. All kinds of experiences. I am not finished experiencing him. I want to keep going.

Too Much Space

Dawn breaks behind

my shuttered eyelids.

Face to face

in the dark

I have only

a sense of fire.

The widow’s light

blooming red and orange

beneath a veil of skin.

Will you love me

when my eyes are open,

when the bedroom

is only a room

four-corned and vacant?

Your lips bare down,

my mouth cracks open

with a sleepy grin.

I love the way

you say I love you

with your eyes liquid-soft

and your breath

inside of my mouth

like a kiss.

Sometimes my desire for you

exceeds my capacity for tenderness.

I want to ravage you,

to pull you to pieces

with my tongue and teeth.

I am five liters of blood

wrapped in velvet.

If I could

I would fold myself

around your body

and let you possess me

soul and all.

If we stretched

our skin and bones out

like a bridge

we still wouldn’t be touching.

Which is to say I miss you.

Which is to say there is

too much space between us.

It’s been a long time since I have written a poem!

Love Letter #33

Dear DM,

I miss you. More specifically the things we haven’t done or said yet (in this lifetime). I miss you because I haven’t had the chance to really tell you how I feel. I miss you because there are so many ways that I want to know you, so many parts of you that I haven’t met yet. I miss you because my own heart is so thick with scars that sometimes I can’t even pry it open. Though I try I can’t seem to totally escape the fear that you don’t know or feel all the things that I know and feel. And I am frustrated because I’d rather get hurt having told you all of these things/having felt all of these things then to get hurt by omission. I miss the mistakes we haven’t made yet. The imperfections of us, individually and as a collective. I want to be occupied by you in every way, all of the time.

I have had this line from my book on my mind ”He made me feel like being myself was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.” This is to say I love you because of who I am and that’s a privilege. Loving you. Being able to recognize in another person all of these beautiful and amazing feelings and I just want to tell you thank you. Thank you for being who you are. Like I literally want to tell you. Out loud.

I am trying to be patient, to just savor the feelings and the moments when my heart isn’t too redundant with pain to feel them. Do you think it is harder to give or receive a confession? I think it must be harder to hear one. I think of all the times I have broken down in tears when someone asked me ”Are you feeling alright?”. When we have sex in dreams I like to be in charge. Receiving is an art. It takes finesse and patience. I think I might be too selfish to receive, to allow. I really want to be vulnerable with you, to lose control, to strip myself bare.

In the last few weeks I have read three books out loud to you. We are on our fourth book. If I don’t keep talking I might just say ”I love you.” or ”Thank you.” simply because the spirit moves me. Only you’ve blocked me and I think I probably shouldn’t say it just yet. And for everyone wondering why I was blocked in the first place I am not really the person to ask. I guess eagerness makes a sound a lot like talking. I guess maybe I tried too hard. I wish sometimes I had tried a little differently, a little more honestly. A little more or a little less. But I don’t know and anyhow it’s been a while since it happened. When I write about it, it just makes me sound like a crazy person. I feel pretty sure though that I didn’t actually do anything particularly crazy and maybe I should have. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I wasn’t real enough. The last thing you ever sent me was a like, small and heart-shaped so the last thing you said wasn’t even nasty or offensive and so I can’t even be mad at you. I am not mad at you and I don’t even know if I should be mad at myself. I just wish I was more confident.

Sometimes I find myself wishing that I could find you in another person but no one will ever compare to you and also I don’t want anyone else. I feel guilty for even thinking about it but sometimes I get lonely and I want to be held when my eyes are open and I’m awake. Also I feel crazy again but I guess it is okay to be crazy since it comes with being human.

I’ve asked you to send me a shirt you have worn in the mail. Really worn, like for days. Obviously I haven’t asked you “irl” and obviously what I really want is you. To have you naked in my arms, to smell you. I should tell you this now but I smell everything constantly. I live through scent and taste because they are by far my strongest senses. I am not sure what animal that makes me.

I want to hear your voice and I could beg you to post something telepathically and see what happens but we both know what I really want is to have a conversation with you out loud. I am always thinking of ways I can settle. As if I could get a hit, a fix of you I might survive another few days, weeks, months, or even years of missing you but really what I want is you, all of you, the whole person, flaws and all. So I will try to ask for what I really want and then be open to whatever happens.

The universe has a funny way of answering our prayers. Today a jewelry store Dm’d me to tell me I am beautiful and asked me to promote their products on my very modest Instagram account. Jewelry which they will send me for free apparently, except of course the first time. The first time I have to pay shipping. They messaged me yesterday as well to say how lovely I am. Now I know it is a scam but I think maybe someone, somewhere does think I am lovely and maybe somehow this is really a message from you.

I have been studying French for almost a year, well maybe even a year. I don’t speak French. At least, what comes out of my mouth when I am playing along with Duolingo isn’t noticeably French. I think of all the languages I have not learned and how maybe some Americans are born with a speech impediment that makes it impossible to speak other languages. If I said Je t’aime would you understand me and would it be beautiful because it is supposed to be beautiful.

I should compile a whole list of all the things I want to do to you and have done to myself by you but deep down we both know that I would be happy just being with you. I don’t ask for too much. I just want everything. Everything with you. Everything in the open and out loud.

I found this on your abandoned FB page and I know it’s from before, before so it’s not to me but now, now it is to you.

With all that I am your DF

Love Letter #11

Dear DM,

I am a vessel of craving. I am a frightened child. Last night I had a very strange dream from which I woke up exhausted. It began simply enough. I wanted to get a hold of a copy of Peter Pan. I have only read the version for children. Is there another version? A sinister version? The dream itself had very little to do with Peter Pan as I have known it. I remember a dark-haired girl who referred to herself as Wendy but not what became of her. My sister and I came upon a crocodile (upright like a man, shadowy) in the forest very suddenly and I ran away screaming. I left my sister, to “handle” the situation on her own. I think I shoved her in front of it or maybe I shoved the crocodile away from myself onto her? I can’t remember. I only know that as I went running backwards through a dark forest, accelerated by some invisible force, I did not feel too good about myself. By force I mean to say something or someone drug me away from the scene.

Everything else I can say about the dream is conjecture. I remember a small cabin in the forest that I took to be my family home. I am not sure if I had already moved into another household or if I was attempting to join another household. Through marriage? Through occupation? There was a woman (a stepmother or mother-in-law type figure) who tried to dictate all aspects of my life. She told me what to feel, to eat, to do, to say. She wanted me to tone down my intelligence. She was grooming me in order to protect me. She seemed to think that I had a disease and that only through restraint could I keep the badness from getting in or out.

The dream was set a couple of hundred years in the past (a past life?). Was I sick? Possessed? Wicked? I don’t remember feeling anything to suggest I was actually possessed. I think I was just eccentric, egocentric, frightened. My sister/sister-in-law was trying to protect me from the mother-figure (I am not sure if this was the same sister from the crocodile betrayal). She didn’t buy into all that superstition about possession/mysterious diseases and was making arrangements for me to leave. She had friends. I also remember a game of hide and seek in the dark forest. I followed my sister but she would not let me hide with her. I can’t remember the reason she gave. I am not sure if the game took place before or after dinner. Dinner was meager and I remember asking if I could have a little bread. My sister gave over what may well have been her piece. I notice in dreams that sometimes you appear and help me out. I can’t help but think you were in that dream.

I have concluded that this dream was about releasing the story-line. There is a version of us within every one we have ever met. A caricature shaped by the individual’s experiences, opinions, and feelings. These versions of ourselves can remain imprinted upon a person long after we have outgrown them. People can become very possessive of their version and often feel threatened/betrayed when we behave in ways that challenge their expectations. Even positive changes can be seen as a betrayal or a possible prelude to abandonment.

When my grandmother was living in a nursing home my mother called her every day. My grandmother was nearly deaf and refused to get a hearing aid so she couldn’t hear my mom over the phone. My mom noticed after a while that whatever she said to my grandmother, my grandmother would always give exactly the same answers, in the same order (she was anticipating the conversation to compensate for being deaf). If my grandmother heard something other than what she expected to hear she would become upset/distressed. She needed the feeling of having a stress-free, familiar conversation/the comfort of feeling my mom on the other side of the phone. So my mom learned to ask questions that coincided with my grandmother’s answers. At first this annoyed my mom but after a while she found it oddly comforting (she never had to think up anything new or interesting to say or to worry about getting into a disagreement). They went from fighting constantly to having lovely, albeit scripted conversations. 

We all live our life’s in this way to some extent because it is safe/comforting, because it reduces confrontation, and feelings of vulnerability. It is also part of learning. No one wants to relearn to brush their teeth every day! The problem really kicks in when the role assigned hurts your self-esteem. I find myself falling into certain roles. Victim. Misfit. Failure. Scatter-brain. Sometimes we assign these identities to ourselves.

Sometimes I think the reason we do this is simply to avoid owning our feelings. We create a sort of trash bin version of ourselves into which we shovel all of our guilt and insecurities/all of the criticisms and pain. After a time this alter ego becomes more sentient. Suddenly we don’t just have temporary, growth-inducing discomforts, we have a bottomless pit of despair. Another us. A wounded self that has lived their whole lives eating our negative emotions and experiences. Only our love will fill/release this self but we look for fixes elsewhere.

We could forgive them. We could apologize to them. We could thank them for their service and let them choose to return either to us or to the wellspring of creation from whence they came but instead we continue to punish them, shame them, lock them in the metaphorical closet whenever we are entertaining good company. Whenever we attempt to change ourselves our scapegoated selves feel threatened/rejected. They know that when we get all pseudo perfect that we will do everything in our power to oppress them or snuff them out of existence. In the end though we just shovel more unwanted shit onto them because uncomfortable emotions are rarely accepted into our idealized versions of ourselves. We manufacture happiness because actual happiness requires an acceptance of change/of our wounded selves and that is scary.

The thing is these “selves” have extraordinary reserves of creativity, compassion, and experience. They have seen some shit. They feel deeply. They both soften us and strengthen us. This is what I am working on at the moment. Getting to know myself moment to moment rather than slapping on labels. I am learning how to live with my feelings and my “selves”. How to walk, live, breath, and create truth. How to take responsibility for my own happiness/my own experiences. How to stop justifying myself whenever someone threatens my identity or reinforces one of my closeted identities. How to let go of the story-lines and the what ifs and the moments I can’t change and the desire to change/mold others so they fit within my definition of them. How to stop trying to anticipate the answers and enjoy the exploration phase. I am learning to honor my cycles.

I realize this letter is not very romantic. I am just figuring things out. I realize that I can’t reason away my faults and feelings. Have you ever seen shows where a nonhuman entity attempts to appear more human? I sometimes feel that way. Like I am just going along working out what it means to be human because deep down I am totally enamoured with the human race. The human experience is fucking amazing. At the end of day I really just want permission to be my ever-evolving, fluid as water, lighter than air self. 

This whole journey has awakened a lot of alien feelings within me, new feelings, feelings even more intense than my usual feelings. Sometimes when I close my eyes and feel you, it’s like a solar system is being born into a space not bigger than my fist. Each time it happens I know the seams/definitions holding me together get a little looser and I learn a little bit more about myself. My naked soul bleeds through the cracks. The light comes in. My metaphorical heart opens and expands. You are more than enough. You are fucking gorgeous.

With everything I am your DF