I lost your number
a long time ago
— right away
after the lock broke
it was clear
I couldn’t be trusted
how things have changed
and mistaken memory
makes you
bigger, then smaller than
you were, are
who are you now?
I wonder
I lost my privilege
to know
the you
grown in moments
now passed
I want to be
someone who loves you
with no demands
with no expectations
with no history of delusion
I want to be
the pure love always within you
yet still,
I cherish only myself
I want you to see me
I want you to love me
because of this
damned self-grasping
And then I laugh remembering
we is just a dream
To my Ex,
Thank you.
You have given me much I will cherish for years to come. Nothing I can keep in a box under my bed. No pictures to burn. Gifts far greater – ones I will carry with me life to life, like my pure love for you.
Patience.
Before I met you, it was rare to walk slowly through nature, and never would I think to name its parts. Waiting was a great torment. Sitting silent was near impossible. Then, you mixed your patient mind with mine.
Faith.
You challenged my beliefs constantly. A torture at the time, but such a gift to progress. This obstacle appeared to destroy our relationship, but served as a test I passed time and again. You helped me try each teaching until I had conviction in each one. I valued them more than temporary relationships. I would keep them at the cost of my life.
Love.
Though we did not know unconditional, we strove. I accepted love from you. And I found my happiness only in giving. For we can never take love for ourself from another. That will never cease suffering. Loving you has helped cease suffering. Loving all beings (even spiders) creates my happiness.
It is only in reflection that I can begin to understand that I was absolutely blessed by the Buddhas that my path be made meaningful and my travel swift. Thank you to Buddha, who appears as friend, family and foe to guide us from our misery.
If we can remember to apply the primary practice.
Thank you.
Love,
your Ex
I am in the tub
I am dissatisfied
this tub has taken me nowhere
I’ve been round this way before
it ended with suffering
slit wrists in the clawfoot
or just the bath water ran cold
It ended with suffering
and I wanted escape
from the tub
*
I can’t out-damn-spot my misery
I can’t wash away the pain
purification doesn’t exactly work that way —
unless we carefully imagine it does (in four steps)
but who has the mindfulness for that?
not I, as I search for meaning in this worthless pleasure
careful not to throw out the baby with the bath water
I transform this all-too-addictive
suffering through wisdom, and will
tuck this teaching
into the continuum as I tuck myself
into bed
careful not to slip as I stand and step
out of the tub
The lid closed slowly —
it used to slam,
startling you
lots of loud noises
offended, scared you
one day, I saw
I had become a loud noise
now I’m quiet,
tamed and evenly tempered
my mind is trained,
practiced, wise
the very things you wished
by the very method you hated —
blessings.
I see the toilet seat
fall — slowly
silently
and wish blessings
upon you
still
I’ve had four to five memorable dreams over the past year. Here are three of them.
Chapter One
In the first dream, I was back in a student house.
I had to pack up and be out by the next day.
Too tired to do anything that evening,
I went to bed in a sleeping bag
on a mattress on the floor.
A recent partner was spending the
night in the other room.
I had a large upturned couch
in the next room and spilled
jewellery and beads all over the carpet.
The next morning, he got up to leave.
Aren’t you going to help me? I asked.
No. I just needed a place to stay the night.
Oh. Disappointment.
Also thinking, how the hell
am I going to do this alone?
When are you going to get it?
I’m not here to help you.
He emphasizes
what should have been obvious.
Chapter Two
In the second dream, I was walking
down the street to my mom’s house.
He was walking back to a van
parked outside her house.
I was surprised.
Surely he would have told me he was in town.
Disappointment.
He gets in a tour/camper bus. He is with his ex,
some girls from work and school, and a new face.
Without restraint I put my hand on his crotch
and aggressively groped him while choking out
Nice to see you. Thanks for saying hi.
I exited, lacking any shred of dignity.
Chapter Three
In the third dream,
I was walking through mist.
He came out of nowhere.
Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to talk?
I tried. Do you want to now?
Why didn’t you tell me?
He faded back into the fog.
Predictable.
I made you a picnic for dinner
many nights that week
You showed me where you used to live
with your last ex (there are many)
I’ve joined the lineup
and I’m not eager to see
our once-sacred spots shared, although
in hindsight, it was predictable
your memories still float, caught
in the historic locks of
the Rideau canal
(His last words)
I feel gooey inside
I mean more than usual
I think my insides are melting
something warm is happening in my heart
it’s making a bubble
something’s about to pop
this really doesn’t feel quite right
I think I’m rising from the inside out
the heat supposed to be external
but this is gutting me
tearing me apart
hot bit by bit expanding
and do you see this bulge here?
no! not my stomach!
hoo-hoo!!
don’t poke me at a time like this —
can’t you see I’m in pain?
oh! dire pain!
being wrenched apart
baked wrong side out
surely this isn’t in the directions —
can we trouble shoot?
something’s happening to my throat
the words aren’t
coming out good
no more
ooey gooey heart
hoo-hooo
Okay… so this isn’t the thirstiest. x.x but can you picture that it probably isn’t Mrs. Poppie Fresh Pillsbury Doughboy doing it for him. 😉
You might not need a tall glass of water, but perhaps a cold glass of milk and a hot, soft chocolate chip cookie would satisfy you.
Not fair!
I said I wouldn’t become
attached to you,
changing condition
yet, so much sorrow
fills minds that grasp
at the losing
a mistaken conception:
yes, it is the summer
that offers me joy
so easy to believe
when winter brings
us pain – in joints,
in frostbitten fingers
in the minds of
jealousy when our friends
flee to now-appreciated
tropical timeshares — now
no more summertime
to share
one dream ends
while we’re trapped
in another
romantic autumn’s
place will come, when
this dull and tiresome
sadness becomes boring
to my fitful, grasping mind
but now, I see only
a broken promise to myself
I wouldn’t become attached
I said
I must have failed
why else would I lay
blame with the season’s change
for my woe
written in 2013
It’s selfish and conceited, but sometimes I like to think I was your worst.
I’m the little period in your life you swallow pills to forget.
I’m the worst thing to ever happen to you.
I kept you up all night, tossing in your bed,
while thoughts went ’round your head,
like:
who the fuck is she, and
did she mean what she said?
I’m a little piece of nightmare that got stuck in your dream teeth.
I’m the ghost devil on your shoulder, that you thought you’d shed.
Every so often you recall what I did,
and think:
shit, what did I get into, and
can it never happen again?
I was conceited when I loved you; I was selfish when I left.
I tossed words without abandon; I belittled what we had.
Misery loves company, was my battle cry.
I hung the phrase on all my banners, and
let harsh words fall from my lips.
Each second I felt scorned, I thought would be my last
Every teardrop that fell from my eye,
you knew I blamed on you.
I stuck a dagger in your chest, hoping to rake through
your ribs and crack them down to dust.
I love to imagine how I was the worst thing to ever happen to you,
and in that I will be immortalized.
I’m the slanderous tale told at the cabin, and ghost story for the young.
A cautionary tale of psycho bitches, and what can come undone.
A warning for your friends, a comedy for the bored,
a thank-your-lucky-stars-it-wasn’t-you for the unappreciative ignored.
I will outlive all the rest, based on my infamy of awfulness.
And then I feel downright bad.
Because I loved you in the moment. I treasured what we had.
I trusted every word you spoke, believed each lie you said —
I think we both did —
and when I started believing I was the
worst thing that could happen to you, that I was crazy and insane,
I ran away and still blame you, even if it’s all in vain.
Because I was the worst thing to ever happen to you.
The Halfwit Writer