the opTIMist

(i didn't want dan to have a monopoly on melancholy, so here's a stream of consciousness poem i wrote a little while back...)

i think
in this moment I choose to be celibate.
no amount of love can heal this pain,
no amount of love can make this ok.
it doesn't matter the giving or receiving end
--or perhaps--the taking or losing...
both tax the very soul--the inmost core.
saline cheeks and quivering lips can only mean
i was wrong.
again.
what little confidence gasped for life--
choked to death in the cold hands of spite
as if it weren't easy enough to be cynical.
and it doesn't take much light to reveal the imperfections in me.
anymore.
i dare not dream tonight and ruin this moment.
for what good is Hope?
She died fifteen minutes ago. or was it days? years?
surely she knows I really did care.
i mean--do--do care.
"i'll see you at the wedding" she said
as if that were good enough. for her.
maybe i am meant to be alone.
surely i am made to be lonely.
i would choose loneliness before hurting you
because the very thing i did to protect you
was the very thing that robbed us both of life.
i didn't mean to.
i just don't know who i am. and no,
that's not good enough for me either.
my eyes have never looked so green (or so red).
so here's my white flag--
i'll try not to be surprised when You hang me with it.