I.
By IrMa
[[2011.09.07.04.27.19523]]
Honey Dumpster
Nah, I stopped reading.
I stopped looking back.
I now see the big disconnection.
When you try to read them softly
the truth! yells back at you.
You got me lost.
Between written words
and inaction
Between I love yous and
I don’t really care about you.
I threw away the threads.
After searching for something, but dunno where to find it
anywhere there, if there was one, if there was ever
In your spool of words and promises
something, just one thing, anything
... true and real.
II.
I don’t come to yahoo anymore to chat with all the fancy avatars, blings and stats, or not even check my mails. My Yahoo Pulse now reads: The person you have searched for does not exist. This is sad for someone who is a sucker for reaching out.
I am a voracious, unorthodox writer, prose and poetry. I have 4 other sites I keep sacred for this insatiable pilgrimage. It’s a personal garden, hidden like Atlantis. Away from many of you, including you.
And that place, where we first met after 30 years, the last place, too, where I first cried out for help from you, and was piled up as one of the many ignored messages in your inbox. I continue to bring myself there, knowing in Facebook, we don’t exist anymore in each others world.
... my other garden ;)
About Me
- Irma
- I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
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