mostly, it's hard going back and reliving the past.

mainly, it's because we skim the good

to focus on the bad.

the evil stares and stunned looks,

all those times we messed up,

and acted out of hate and spite.

i acted like someone back then

that i don't even know anymore

but you act the same.

years later and i still get the same looks from you.

it hurts differently now though

you used to break my heart

but i don't let you near that now

the hurt i feel now is the pain of disbelief,

why you can't move on like i chose to do

and why lashing out seems so appropriate to you.

i don't talk about you to others -

in my journal's confines is where you're relegated -

but apparently more and more

people become privy to our inner workings.

for me, it's hard to drudge up the past,

because it's the bad seeds

that fight to be close to the top

so i tend to leave it all underground,

to keep the light out,

so my good memories can spread their roots

and provide me with more

good fruit in the future

i wish life was more like a sketchbook,

only recording the memories you want

drawing whatever's interesting.

unlike life, you can easily cover up mistakes,

take more than one mulligan,

and re-do an entire page

as many times as you want.

sketchbooks can be secret

and you can have more than one

but maybe we'd make more mistakes

in life if we knew we could 

easily paste a pretty picture on top.

and isn't that what we do anyway?

no one sees the work behind the pretty facade,

though they may know it's there

(ink bleeds through pages)

maybe life is like a sketchbook

in that people can only see

what we let them

he gave me something to say

but then he took that away.

like always, i thought he was different

but time after time i find they are all the same.

i'm not afraid to be alone

i mean, i'd prefer another way

but if these are the men i'm attracting

i don't know if i'll find the right one some day.

sometimes i wish i read less

so i wouldn't expect so much

but if i have a daughter,

i'd teach her the same.

raise your standards always,

never let them drop,

if someone thinks you're worth it,

they'll climb to the top

of the tree you planted

to provide shade and respite

a good man whose worth it

will fight to climb any height.

so i guess what i'm saying is,

yes, so far no one's manned up,

and made it to the top of my tree,

but then again i'm at the top,

unable to see whose down there,

looking up at me.

there's some mystery there

not everything's being said

some truths are kept

some lies are told

but neither of you truly care

you're comfortable where you are

each has grown accustomed to the other

your lives are shared

the lies are still there

you're both in it too far.

they're not being truthful

both have secrets and shames

dreams come and go

they don't share those

and they slowly grow apart.

there was a mystery between them,

but the truth was there was no

mystery left

they both bled dry

keeping each other secret from themselves.

they left each other as strangers

because they couldn't tell the

truth from the lies anymore

and that, is the danger

of mystery.

i want more color in my life

everything i've experienced to now

has been black and white.

i need more red nails,

yellow shoes,

pink lips and

green eyes.

bluer skies would be a good start

but i need more than this.

orange hugs and indigo hands

searching for one another through

silver tension, creating gold relief.

i want more illuminated bodies

reaching out for technicolor kisses.

and glistening hair catching

blistering sunlight,

just waiting for chocolate hands

to run through it.

violet thoughts ebbing through

mauve minds

coming out in teal words

rolling off tan tongues.

i don't want to see things in shades

of grey anymore.

i don't want it to be either or.

i want all the choices i can muster

every color of the rainbow

present on me

in you

surrounding us

casting magic spells without trying

and leaving a mark

being remembered by others

by strangers who themselves

aren't brought to mind.

awkward glances at bus stops

leading to awkward conversations on the ride home

i don't know what i end up doing

but it's memorable

to all the wrong people.

where are those i'm trying to impress?

i'm the one stealing glances at them

but i'm not bringing it up

i don't want to know that to them

i'm unremarkable.

he told me mood rings were from the 70's and that i should stop living in the past

but he's not giving me any reason to live in the now...

he isn't offering his hand for me to hold

nor is he licking his lips looking at mine

why should i leave the past, a time of free love?

no one else is worried about this fixation.

he told me my huge ring was so 70's and out of place at the college dive-bar we drank at...

so i clocked him in the face with it.