100 Love Letters I'll never send (...something more than me and you) © 2017 prelude to In 11 days My whole life changed (Open Mic log "They Call Me Holmes")

I Love you. You freed me. You saved me when those feelings came back. I was so pathetic.

My desperation reeked of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. That happens to me from time to time, too many damn times. I get it when I get those feelings for someone and then am reminded why I did not choose to believe or even try to love after she left. I been running for a while. This is terrible. It’s like scars that open again and I get the bleeding heart. Surely this is real. I feel these knots in my stomach, tightness in my chest. Thought all this pain had left.
So ashamed.
 “QUIT CRYING!

Good News is that this life ain’t over with yet.”
Over the years I kept everything I did. All the music, stories, essays, and poems.
Found out. I had forgotten that I been through this before. It was a Christmas Day 1996. This may have little to do with her-it’s me.
“It’s not you it’s me,” strange it is to say that. Been told that so many times.

100 Love Letters I’ll Never Send
December 25, 1996:
                                            Spell
                                She feels She steals
                                it away. Leaving you wondering
…and first you give in.
Then you live in
Remorse,
The Force
of time causes a divorce in emotions:
“i’m leaving to roam with a heart cold
as ice, and my face will be covered in tears
                                to let out paining nonsense furies in a place
                                ‘I will call Alone.
                                Afterwards I’ll wipe my cheeks with
                                Love Letters I Will Never Send.”

January 15, 2016 #SynergyNight spoken word night:
When I stated the last line of this, “I fell in love on a Christmas Day
Broken hearted by New Years Day
Then Martin Luther King Jr. Day came
And I remembered I had a dream to
One much bigger than me and you.”
I told myself it was over. Over was all that pain. How? Through me standing for something. Or is it that acceptance I received? It was therapy. There is an intimacy in my works that I am ever so grateful to share. Then I pulled that old note book out and saw that poem (see above) I wrote from December 25, 1996. 


“i’m leaving to roam with a heart cold
as ice, and my face will be covered in tears
                                to let out paining nonsense furies in a place
                                ‘I will call Alone.
                                Afterwards I’ll wipe my cheeks with
                                Love Letters I Will Never Send.”

"...Love Letters I'll Never Send."
                               


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