S L I P

I am afraid

of myself.

As egalitarian as
                          we are

I fear
        that you are saving me.


I dreamed a different universe
                                   in which
                                   you did not
                                      exist

but all my turmoil
                             did.

                                    a universe where
                                    he stayed in close quarters
                                    once rejected
                                    (like before)


I don't care what he thinks--
It was hard for me to reject him

It took    s t r e n g t h
                                    and  s e l f  c a r e

(and I am not always good at that).

I fear that the person I am

is the person who would

S L I P

so easily into his possession again

if you were not here (in heart).


                                        There was some peace there
                                         in his embrace.

                                         I am not such a masochist
                                         that I would have stayed otherwise.


but possibly because his presence was so physical
his absence purely in his mental and positive emotional

and you

s e e m             s o              f a r                              away

that the universe my dreams create
is one where self doubt reins.

                                                              if it was't for you,
                                                              would i S L I P ?

It's Okay

I hope that I am not my father
that I do not

destroy

what is good.

He saw it in me,
the same thing,

the same fate

                      he had fallen to

time and time again.


"You don't have to make yourself lose,"
he says.

"I don't know what you are talking about,"
I say.

He gestures to the colored board that a related child had abandoned me at.
"You make sure that you don't win."

"She's five."
I shrugged.

"I do it too,"
He says, heavy.
"I don't think I am allowed to win."

I am trying to block him out.

"But we are, Tasha.

It's okay.

We are allowed to win sometimes."


Maybe I am afraid of winning.
Maybe I am afraid to get what I want.
Maybe I am afraid to be happy.

Does he think of that?

Maybe
like him,

I will self-destruct if things are too good,
because if I make myself loose,
I do not have to deal with

the pain

of having something taken away.


"I don't know what you're talking about Dad."
I pretend not to cry.

name

The trees whisper your name

not the letters or the syllables
but the way in which I know you
                                                   
    The way in which my mind recalls you.



The crickets give their piece too
a ever murmuring
                            the heart beat
                            of the woods.



The trees whisper your name


and I listen
                  with joy.

Palms

I guess I'm out of practice.
The toughening of skin.

I had done it so much for so long
emotionally
bottling up my thoughts
that would be deemed
stupid
                                     And just letting my body be comfort.

with you
it is the exact

Opposite.

I let my mind flow
one idea, observation, joke to the next
the innards of my mind become as intertwined with yours
as light through a fiber optic.

and I must harden the skin
of my palm.

the itch I feel
to reach out and grasp yours
I forget
is to be subdued.

I was so good before-- before The Gap.
I saw you so often, was so near to you
that I had trained the tingle in my hand to ebb away
the warmth in my thighs to subside
the flush of my face to calm.

the exact
opposite

of how I taught myself to be with him
is how I must relearn

to be with you.

                                     Unless,
                                                 Of course
                                      I learn that is what you have wanted too.

Transitions

Transitions
are hard.

Transitions
are needed.

Sometimes
  Transitions
             are wanted--
Sometimes
              they are not.


When someone is made to feel special,
 How does one cope?

when message after message is sent
           when hour after hour is spent

reconvening
relearning
               one another
how can I not feel special?
how can I not feel loved?
how can I keep
                       my unrequited love at bay?
                             as we each talk of our own perpetual loneliness.

I look back to what I held onto;
what gave me strength in my role of "just friends"
Never to be a glove upon that hand,
                                                        I glance at the words,
                                                       "I never really see myself dating you"

ok. Good. We're clear.

"So, what's up with you and Corey?"

Who? Oh. Name Slip. Aaron.

Later:
         "Corey would always ask out the girls I liked...
           When I asked them why, they said, 'Because he asked."

Hmm.


Long walks, as we used to
 In the trees, as we used to:
                                            "The person I am now
                                              Would have dated you in High School."

Shield is shattered.
                Would have? What of now.

                                       "It's like I'm a piece of yourself you got back."

Yes, yes you are.
             You have always been.

                     "She is lucky to have found a good high school sweet heart"
                              "Haha, well I wish we could all have that kind of luck."

Maybe, we do.
            Maybe, me & you are 
                         that lucky.


                              I just don't know
             How to ask you.



                                                    I hate transitions.