Dark Secrets

I collect dark secrets.

Not my own of course. That would be weird, I mean, how many dark secrets can one person have? When that person is me, not very many. What I'm talking about ties into this post that I wrote over two years ago. Apparently, in addition to asking me for advice about various subjects, people also like to tell me their dark secrets.

I know so much about people it's scary. I fear for my life. One of these days someone is going to do something really bad and then tell me and then they are going to change their mind about wanting me to know it. And then I'll have to make a break for it. Because even though I've taken self-defense classes twice, I know that I would lose in a fight against most people. Especially if they are someone I care about in any way. I would tell you where I plan on escaping to, but then I'd have to come up with a whole new plan because you'll know exactly where to look for me.

I have a talent for attracting confessions of past misdeeds. Or just plain regular lesser known details of people's lives. In fact, telling people that I have this bizarre gift seems to inspire more dark confessions. I don't know what to do. I should write a book. "Eris Tells All: a collection of unknown facts of the people around me" by Eris, Goddess of Discord. I could make millions! bwahahaha!

Ok, so probably not. Sorry, but even if I had the time and the guts to put together such a book, I don't think people would really be interested in buying it. Someone spilling someone else's secrets just brings to mind the tabloids at the check-out counter. Most of it could be denied. I have no proof about most of these things. Nothing would hold up in court. It's much more entertaining when someone decides to spill all about their own hidden lives. And in all honesty, there's not much I could write about on that.

How would that even go?

I ate those Hershey bars that you put in the freezer mom. Years ago. Matt helped me. Sorry Matt, but I'm not going down alone on this one.

Goodbyes

It's been an interesting last 8 months. It's unusual of me to become such good friends with someone in such a short amount of time. It's weirder still that I'm that good of friends with a guy. And frankly it sucks to watch him leave.

I went to his open house last night. First person there, last one to leave. Provided about a third of the food for it, and helped prepare the house beforehand and clean up afterward. I'm not really ready to have him leave. Not prepared to not wake up to his phone calls, or practically fall asleep talking to him. There is more I want to learn about cars before he goes. More I want to laugh about. More movies I want to quote with him.

A goodbye is not complete without a hug. I was surprised, and felt very special that he invited me to be there when they set him apart as a missionary. I went knowing that I wouldn't be able to give him a hug when I left his house, and knowing it would be the last time I saw him for two years. It was a bit prolonged. I expected to leave shortly afterward, knowing that lingering would make it harder, but his family invited me to stay for dinner.

I said goodbye and shook his hand. See you in two years. I said goodbye to his family, and he followed me outside saying he needed to tell me something.

"Thanks for being my best friend."

Blind

Eyesight is overrated. I've occasionally had the thought that if I had to choose between losing my hearing and my eyesight I would rather lose my eyesight. This stems from the fact that I would probably die if I couldn't listen to music. The very thought sends shivers down my spine.

After this crossed my mind I thought for a moment that being blind would prevent me from enjoying another pastime, reading. But even as this thought crossed my mind, I remembered books on tape, and even the possibility of learning how to read in braille. Which, you have to admit would be awesome to be able to do. Half of the enjoyment of a book comes from the way it smells anyway.

I don't think I would trade the taste of chocolate for the ability to see either. I mean really, the idea is preposterous. And touch? well I wouldn't give that one up either. I mean, I can even pretty well find my way through familiar spaces without seeing, so even as a means of navigation it is somewhat expendable.

When it comes right down to it, if I had to give up one of the five senses, I would give up eyesight . . .

Except for one thing.

I would trade sound, smell, taste, and touch just to look into your eyes.

Poems

Here are some poems I wrote for my poetry class. Enjoy and please leave me comments! All comments are welcome!


Being Serious

It’s hard to talk when I hear these things from
you. My throat gets too tight to breathe, and I
can’t think of the words that will make you come
back to me again. I don’t want to cry
in front of you, but I can’t stop the tears
that are already tracing down my cheek.
I can see that it hurts, those crazy fears
that you aren’t strong enough. When you speak
of knowing what it is I want; a guy
to hug and whisper in my ear, someone
I can trust, I want to know why
that can’t be you. You want to be the one.
So hold me close and keep me safe. I know
you and I want the same thing. Please don’t go.



Passive

faces become painted masks
and eyes are broken window glass
words bubble up
trapped behind immovable lips
leaving words to dissolve
unspoken, unexplained
leaving unshed tears
to trace new drops of paint
alone in silence



Amputee

Like shadowed, phantom limbs
I feel you there.
Still there, still there
But when I look there remains only a void.

I can’t get up from this wheelchair
You’ve left me in.
You’re gone, you’re gone,
A missing piece of who I’m supposed to be.

This hand, this foot, arm, leg,
Leaving me a soul-lost cripple,
No heart, no heart,
And yet, I feel it beating.

No hope now, but prosthetic parts,
A shattered breathless shadow
Of me, of you,
The pain exquisite in its sweet torture.