Ah Jealousy. We meet yet again.

The Madness Vase
Andrea Gibson


"The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables.
Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day
I would be grounded, rooted."
 
"The first psycho therapist told me to spend
three hours each day sitting in a dark closet
with my eyes closed and ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet."
 
"The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth." 
 
"The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”

"My bones said, “Write the poems.”


I want to play with my words.  I want things to make sense and make connections in a way that inspires, and speaks to people.
I want to say what I want to say, without saying it.
I've got this poem going all the way.

Fly my pretties. No wait, Come Back.

I sleep.

A long, dark passage lays before him.

Confidently, James Dean takes the regular route through my ear.

Same as so many times before.

Unconsciously, I curse myself for not building defense mechanisms.

You know,

Bullets and stuff.

Yes, I am against war, but this is different.

After treading part of the way, loneliness blocks his path.

He sends an urgent SOS to Chewbacca, explaining his need of company.

The beast is there in 5 minutes tops.

They break the wall instantly.

I sleep.

Together they go, eventually coming across exactly what they are looking for.

There, in the Frontal Lobe of my brain they find,

My Cage of Dreams.

I sleep.

Carefully, and ever so quietly, James Dean picks the lock,

Who know he had a brain to match those good looks.

He opens the cage and lets them soar.

My thoughts, my memories and my dreams all up for grabs.

The mission is complete.

God thanks the man and his friend for their hard work and sends them on their way.

I sleep.

My dreams race. My thoughts bounce and my memories fly.

One by one they realize there is so much more out there, than just my head.

One by one they move. Out of my frontal lobe, and down the long, dark passage.

One by one they trickle into the unknown.
Into the world.

It's morning and I wake up.
I get ready and head for school.
Unknowingly, I trip on the memory of my 1st field trip as I make my way out the door.
It's too damaged to ever come back.
A man lights a smoke, inhaling my dream to sing on his way to work.
This is the last time, he promises himself.
At lunch she eats alone.
Between the turkey and mustard, my thought to sit with her is stuck.
I keep walking, I can't be late.
And that name of that song by that band I listened to when I cried is in your mouth.
Inhaled by that breath you just in-took because your sister is dying.
I am so sorry,
I lost my thought to comfort you.
But please keep the song, it made me feel better once.
My perfect, finger painted memories find a place they feel safe.
Dispersing themselves in the minds of kindergarteners, sitting on the rug barefoot.
They know they'll be put to good use here.
It's almost lunch time and they are hungry.
My 5th grade vocabulary list is pushing up daises with the woman who lived down the street.
That woman who lived alone, only going out to get Groceries and fix the light post when it was broken.
Her husband left long ago, and she was used to it.
My Vocabulary is keeping her company.

You.
You were there.
I think I saw you in my dreams.
But you weren't wearing that tie, And your hair was perfectly untidy.
I shake my head.
Clearing my mind and forcing you out.
Forcing you out of my frontal lobe, pushing you down the long, dark passage.
Out, into the world.
Into the world and onto my paper.
Jumbling you into my math problem.
I remember the quadratic formula and finish the equation.
Of course I remember the formula.

I only lock-up what I'm afraid to show the world.
My mind cages up the important things to protect them.

So I thank you James Dean.
Thank you Chewbacca and God for helping me realize they were only thoughts.
Fragments of my imagination that are unimportant and irrelevant.
Thoughts, Dreams and Memories, unimportant and meant to be forgotten.
Thank you for helping me get rid of them.

P.S. If it isn't too much to ask, please tell your fingers to press the keyboard lightly.
The lyrics to my future greatest hit is just beneath them.
Eh, never mind.
I'll just turn on the radio.

Good Morning Vodka and Simply Lemonade, it is my turn.

I was going to change.
The inches falling from my waist would have donated themselves to my hair length.
I needed more time.
I was going to be happy.
When I stumbled upon you years from now I'd be wearing a blue dress, accessorizing a good-looking, young democrat.
Picking each item I wear carefully.
Knowing that my new and improved self should be on the lookout.
Knowing one day I would open the door to find an ugly old box. An old box infected with you. Crawling with attendance schools and duck ponds and nice smells and Seinfield and lies.
Lies.
I told so many lies.
To you. To her. To the neighbor down the street. To the bishop. To my family. To the Librarian, yes I really do have a 4th period class and no I should not be in here playing chess.
I am sorry, but please don't tell me to be quiet. Just listen.
I had dreams.
I had dreams we laughed, we danced and we were silly.
We played.
Playfully we enjoyed each other.
Each others faces, and lips, and toes, and comfort foods, and music icons, and hair.
Then, I remember you are an insomniac and you don't dream.
You don't dream,
And you don't care.
I'm sorry, let me rephrase that.
You don't dream,
And you don't care...about me.
You care about God.
You didn't give me enough time.
You were going to be gone for 2 years.
I was going to change.
I'm sorry, I lost the custody battle.
I fought for you, I really did.
But it put up such a fight.
And now you belong 100% to my past.
It's for the best.
The judge is right, "I'm not equipped for the job."
But hey, welcome home.

If you need me, I'll be in search of a good-looking, young, democrat.

The word of the day is Oracular.
(aw-RAK-yuh-ler)

Definition: Ambiguous; obscure.

Am I or are the others crazy?
-Albert Einstein

Courageously, anonymous.

Emotions run up and down my zipper as I let my fingers transfer my discomfort into the jacket that's supposed to keep me warm.
I shiver.
As I press the end button the line dies, along with what you and I had,
If we had anything.
I like to pretend we did.
I hop on my train of thought. Glancing out the window, thinking of the memories we've shared.
The train moves along, gaining distance. Each chug pulling us, desperate passengers farther. Farther away from home...reality....truth.
Exactly like what you did to me.
Our friendship started beautifully.
You let me sit first class.
First class on your train. Well, your train of thought, you trained me to love.
We laughed and danced with the others, sometimes laughing at the others.
You made me feel special.
He made me feel special.
They made me feel special.
He looked my way once, maybe twice before his greedy hand slid into yours. Leaving me, on this train. This train of thought filled with nothing but strangers in pretty clothes.
But I knew you, or at least I thought I did, so I waited. Waited for you to introduce me as a friend, take me by the hand, and teach me your ways. Putting pretty pearls around my neck, so I too, could be first class material.
Over time my thoughts led me elsewhere. My disappointment molded itself...it molded me.
I found myself in a cozy, confided boxcar, with nothing but
a book
a boy with curly hair serenaded by James Mercer and
a pair of boots.
My train is blooming. My thoughts bouncing off each wall, coloring my brain with ideas only R2-D2 can understand. (Sorry Mr. Wonka, you were close...I hope we can still be friends.)
My train and I are happy.
And now here you come. Your pearls replaced with a new, uncaring lifestyle; iPod in hand.
I barricade the door.
I can't lose this too.
But you're too pretty and I can't hold you back.
Go ahead.
Take my fucking interests, dreams, and desires.
I zip up my emotions for the last time, permanently leaving them in my jacket.
I give you my train of thought.
Please just let me off here,
R2-D2 and I have decided to take a taxi.