Fractions in 100 Words

People are pieces or wholes. I know someone who's just him- he doesn't need anybody else. He doesn't mind other people, and won't seek them out. I found an acquaintance who's always a half. Constantly searching for a temporary soulmate, she'll only become content when she can find someone to make her whole. And while no one tends to take notice or care if they're broken or bandaged.. or just fractional segments in something much larger, it's comforting to know that even if it gets hard rolling along as a half circle, there's someone else thinking the very same thing.

Scare Me

Nothing terrifies a soul more than that which can't be reasoned with, that which isn't known. It's scary, what you can't yet see or feel- what you can't predict. It's like the stage's dark fourth wall, where the pitch black, motionless susurrus is expecting- waiting to be pleased.
I'm no fortune teller; I can't tell you what happens next. So forgive me rhyme and reason; I can't reason with your eyes or smile, negotiate with your voice, besides. You may as well leave sense behind, it doesn't want to witness the irrational. This isn't a screenplay- you won't lose lives -just sanity, hearts, reasons to smile- and those are replaceable anyway.

I'm going to say some words,
and some will come out wrong.
They may not fit together,
they're just pieces of a song,
But some should come out right,
and those I want to say.
Don't leave me standing by myself,
and don't let this slip away.


I want to say I love you,
and I've got you figured out.
I've memorized your gestures,
How you figit, full of doubt.


I could read you at a glance,
But I act like I don't see.
I'm still scared of feeling,
of losing who to be-
I'm know I'm afraid of the dark,
deep water, and high heights,
But now I think you scare me-
a fear I can't yet fight.

Little Blue Journals

Realizing Reasons

There's a reason, perfectly insane and intact for unnoticed quirks like these. There's a reason I don't turn off the radio when his favorite song comes on anymore. There's a reason you listen to songs even if you haven't met the lyrics, and I think there's something in that reason completely, beautifully unstable. I can lie for all I'm worth, but an attempt to forget makes memory, and you were never any good with the how-to's of remembering anyhow.
I have a small purple race car, a little blue bug, a square-knot memory, and all your old love notes. I have a Valentine from the second grade and it says 'You're the bomb' in the very worst handwriting.. ever. People don't let things just be. I saw the black pin you still have in your drawer, and I know what it's from; not the same guy as the bumblebee charm. I know that you've been in love with the same man for twenty years, and haven't seen him for eighteen. The truth is that the truth sucks, and nobody ever wants to forget, or forgive. The truth is, I still have your text saying you're a jerk and a coward, and I kept it for a reason. The truth is that I can't hear Green Day without wishing you hadn't been everything he promised he wouldn't be. The truth is I'm too scared to admit what I've already been told. I don't know what I want, and I'm dreadful at letting go.

Collection

Speedy. Speedy stopped my on my path. Not his or ours, it's mine, and he was on it. He stopped and asked if I smoked the green. When the words 'Just patchouli, haha, no sir' confused him, I backed away. Speedy stuck out his hand. He told me he was Speedy. Gotchya.
"You single? You hot." He really was squinting a lot. In fact, I was concerned for his lack of eyesight more than I was for almost anything else. Hello, pepper-spray. Where have you been all my life?
"Well, uh, thanks, yeah, I mean, no, sir. I mean, um, I have a date. They'd be mad." No, sir. I'm secretly a lesbian... or a man. Both, actually... with.. AIDs. Lots of them. Yup, that's it. Gotta go.
"Well, I wouldn't wanna screw that up, now would I? I'll see you around, girl, right?"
"Yeah..see ya." Not on your tattoos, you won't. 

Yesterday, I met Speedy.

Wheelchair. Mr. Guy In A Motorized Wheelchair was walking the river in front of me. Stop turning for the river. You're scaring me. He was under the bridge, and his face was melting. Riding close for the water, I panicked.
"Hey, sir!" I smiled. He turned, and while his neck craned, the chair followed. "It's gorgeous out here, isn't it, sir?"
"Whaaaaaaaat?" Oh. I may be heading for the water too, if I couldn't hear the music. I tried again, and he let me know that he already knew that. A tad of relief hit when he started following me out. I was on an adventure, walking through the grass and wildflowers.
"You gonna get poison ivy?" I let him know that no, sir, I'm not allergic. He wasn't either, and he followed next to me for a while, back and forth, him on the pavement. Eventually he let me know that today was a great day for fishing.
"Yes, sir. It looks like it would be." He went home to grab his pole, and I was grateful for breath without thought.

Yesterday, I met a very old man in a wheelchair.

Junkie. Friar Tuck and I sat, wedged between rocks, harboring close my favorite spot*, mandolin, ukulele, and burning incense close in tote. Out of a God-forsaken nowhere, out came a young face, almost entirely hidden by shaggy black hair. He was bouncing on his heels, and wanted to know if we knew Sunny. Actually, he wanted to know if weee duuudes kneeew Suuunny. No, duuuude, sorry.
"Well, maaaaan, I juuuust got out of jaaail. I mean, just, duuudes. But I goooootta guitar at mah plaaaace.... can I jam with you, duuudes?" Look sir, you're hotter than the weather here, and we're one guitar short of a street performance. . . but I'm gonna leave you haaaangin', and have to say the jail part worries me.
"Well, uh, we're not sure how long we'll be here." Oh, come ON, Friar Tuck. You're six feet tall and have a y-chromosome. Please look up from your mando and pretend you're going to save me from the big bad pothead.
"Well, okay, duuudes. Peace, man." He held up two fingers and bounced off through the rocks, headed into the woods, and.. I heard a thud. Brandon had silently laughed himself off the rocks, down near me, landing where the junkie'd been floating just a second ago.
"Did that .... seriously .....happen? Because I think.... we should go..." Great, dude, now you speak.

With, Brandon, I met a juuuunkie.

*It looks like hippie heaven, covered in spray paint, love, and broken glass.

How It's Worded

 Speak up and out with words you collect to convey. Let life hit you, and hard. Retaliate with more than mumbles; let loose a stream of visible digressions and come out with a prize scar for showing. Be knocked down or knocked out; knocked around by forces unseen, these comments unheard. Feel the force of what's left unsaid. Taste the remnants of a bursting conversation. Realize this end has no tunnel, and speaking in circles is slow motion reiteration. Reopen old hurts and let new victims sizzle as you leave nothing unspoken or loved. Speak until there's emptiness left, but keep trudging. There is no addiction as communication; it will ail an unbending system, cure a broken heart, and shred a man to smears of color. Cough and spurt those unkempt phrases- don't carry vague wordings reserved for secrecy and loss. Give in to yourself; there's no one to stop self conflicts. Keep close mind on imminent death and presumptuous regrets you may not feel. You could be sorry about them yesterday, if that was a day of gravity. Nothing holds a soul still here more than what was left undone, and no one regrets mistakes- just spaces. Fill some.

Candle

Lighting a candle's easy. Set it on fire, don't leave.
People aren't so carefree. Light their candle, don't leave.
Don't slip, tell truths or lies. Don't care and don't forget. Reminisce when approved, forget past flames, and keep but one candle. Don't light up the room with glows of pure, warm humanity, don't let a raving blaze burn too long or out, forget vision of ghost fires hurriedly doused. If it's a bonfire, this love, don't dance in the brightness (certainly not nude), and don't use this blushing heat to sear proof of past love. It is not lit for setting light to love notes, not roaring to be rekindled by your shame and nostalgia. Don't try to bolster this flash fed by oxygen alone. Do me a favor to leave this wild, overtaking combustion burn down whatever it takes and pleases. I thrive off my ashes, this cinder you trail.