Unwillingly Yours

You emerged from the depths,

Entangled in invisible infestations,

Labeled for my mind and for my heart,

Respectively.

The incredulity of your pretense
Enchanted and inhibited my nerves,

Dulling my process of thought,
As your feet dragged wells

through the sand
toward me.

My pulse reached for you
Only to beg my
Sorry sympathetic soul
To feel and find sugar
In the salty sand.

My foolish tendancies thrive
d
On what little you fed them.

You spent too much time
Far too close,
Your individual scent 
Mingled, unsolicited,
With my own,

You traced cold fingers
Down my one cheek
Freezing me into
A helpless stillness,
Your greetings
Always abrupt 
And disconcerting.
Always seeping with some
I don’t know what.

My skin prickles

From the touch of a perfumed,

Lovely, sure,
But artificial, hand.

Flights of nervous fright

Fill my head like some sick symphony,

Fast and running,

Staccato and Stubborn,
Reaching and Seeping,
Spreading, Defeating;
Encompassing my mind-
Lightheaded but breathing
Making it impossible,

Illogical even,

To think.
My cheeks and my brain
Flushed frantic 
And pink. 

You've transfered me your nerves
You said,
"What's mine is yours,"
Your unforgiving presence 
Eating away what is left
Of the evening.

As I stood unmoved,
Like Ice,
So solid and steady
You screamed at me
Please
To be moved.

Unprepared and distraught,
I found discomfort in the closeness,

Discomfort in the comfort

You tried so desperately
To impose.

We were too distant from the world,

As my knees rattled,

And I formed my first real opinion

Of this life.
But I could not take into account
How jaded,
And distressing and corrupt,
Your influence would be.
I could not see that your
Oppression was not endurable
In the name of empathy,

I wrote the assertion,
And end-all
Be-all
Of those self-impowering
Opinions.
As you undoubtedly

Reformed your opinion

Of me.

Living passively
Was my deepest
And most relentless
Hamartia.

How could I predict
the kind of pain

You could inflict 
In word and deed,
In the simple name of your 
Tenacious and self-indulgent 
Love


How long will that pain
Follow me,
Encumbering the blazing spirit
Of which I like
To feign possession?

I liked to think no longer.

I liked to think the pain
If so constant,
Could feel small
In the face
Of moral integrity.

How childish of me.

How naive. 

An empty head
Could never 
keep me
From the gaping hole

In my chest. 
Filled only with the emptiness
Of empty words
Of empty "I love you"s

The nervous song still sings,

Slowly numbing 

My agitated thought,


I find myself

Woken shaking
Drenched in
Oceanic goose-bumps
My own hair plastered
To my cheeks

I found myself
Woken wounded
In your arms,

By my own immaturity.

But today, they reject me.

You reject my weakness
And detest my doubt.

You debase me
For allowing you to 
Shake
Myself out of me

You debase
An empty shell.

In your anger,
In your fear,
You lowered me

Into a vat

Of bubbling, black

Ignorance.

I've tried
To revel in it,
To embrace the
Ever-penetrating
Velvet dark in front
Of eyes wide open.

I overlook,
Inscribe and forget.
Encompassed
In your arms,
I lose.

You steal me
and I forget myself.

2012

Elaska's Great Perhaps

If I wrote a book about my life to date, I would title it My Great Perhaps. An allusion to my favorite Coming-of-Age novel, Looking for Alaska, this title references the “Great Perhaps” which lies in the possibilities provided through every new experience. Essentially, The Great Perhaps is that wonderful thing that might be, if only one finds the courage to take a chance.

At every instance following my discovery of the idea, I have relentlessly sought my own Great Perhaps. I filled my days with exertive participation in life, and in it I have found such profundity. I’ve found such passion and insight in seeking opportunities through which I can experience and understand the rare and miraculous moments that pervade human existence. Basically, I have recently spent my free time feeling alive, and it has been the most rewarding pursuit of my young life.

My life story contains suffering, as does everyone else’s, but I know with certainty that such events do not make me a sad story. Rather, my story is a quest. I seek passion, meaning, understanding, and experience. Above all, I go to seek my Great Perhaps.

2012