Funny, I feel. So much learning, observing, cultivating, breaking apart
like this crazy popsicle puzzle. I have realized some stuff lately that
has absolute direction in who I am, and what I have become.



I have felt very superstar strong
lately, running with superhuman powers and understanding of myself and
the emotions which spit out of me like a stunted freight train. I have
realized that I have made it somewhat of a career, though haphazard and
back-burnered, for the perfect sustaining love. The love that can pick
and carry you up. That unnamed and unmentionable kind of love that I
suspected existed but never came to carry stretched across my own
shoulders. I have driven to find it, had it fly to me, kissed it and
coddled it, whispered to it on the phone, and had it built up in the
many proverbial layers of a messed up cake, wanting to magic wand it
and make someone love me the way I feel that love exists for some…in
books. In writing, twisted around corner cliffs of words, hanging on by
a thread of hope, a small and jerked chain of issues. I suppose it
might be that whole identity search that I have been on. The headhunter
I met with a few weeks back told me I was lost on some path of trying
to find myself because I was adopted. That every person he knew that
was adopted was lost for a while in the beginning stages of the path to
a chosen life because they were all stuck on the burred branches of
ineptitude. I suppose that has been in me in many ways. I feel
emotionally uncultivated, but I suppose I should save the ripest
berries for someone who earned it, instead of placing insane
expectations on possibilities. I realized something the other day. I
have done this thing to him not once, but twice but three times a
threat. He has claimed not to want me, but to love me, and perfected
the situation to me in words that hurt and burned me at the surface,
but my gaze is unwavering, un-hating, unabashed towards him with his
statement: “I have spent my life planning to spend the rest of my life
with every girl I have been with.”  I have spent a great deal of
time trying to figure out how it is those people exist, because every
interaction, every relationship that I have been involved in has had
no promises of a verifiable future past the Spring. And they have
tanked and toasted and burned themselves to my skin. I have never been
proposed to in any serious manner. No rings have been brought or
presented as anything but an unmentionable trinket. And I wonder, at 28
years old, if that is some strange foreboding to my future on this
earth. Whether the pattern of having been left. Repeatedly over and
over. I was left as a baby into the care of strangers. With messed up
eyes I sat without a mom or dad for the first six months of my life.
And then when I was picked out, I was left a few years later to the
corner for the new real blood born baby sister I had. Then it was me
sustaining my own loneliness, a pattern of broken jewelry boxes, window
jumping to taste a world which was forbidden to me. I claim to be the
issue-less girl, but that fear of loss is something  I am familiar
with and deathly afraid of. Afraid to be left alone yet much of my
fortress of flowers and beads and broken wings I made myself, casting
the corners in tears and pages of lost fucked up poetry. Why am I so
afraid to be alone, yet this is the state I most often remain in,
self-enclosed and glued into by the nails. My eyes have always been
open, and I know who I am. But I really need to refocus and shift this
empty tank towards alternative fuel sources. I mislabeled love as the
thing that sustains life. I forgot that it was really just hope.