This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper

How do you really measure the worth of a person's life?

I mean, I get that everyone is important, and everyone has infinite worth and all, but some people accomplish more in their lives.  And I am not ambitious or driven or anything.  Don't expect great, important, things from me, because I don't have great, important, dreams.

I know how talented I am.  I know how much potential I have.  But I also know that I am not going to live up to that potential.  I will never be the best at anything, not even close.  In fact, it's quite likely that I will never even be successful in the typical sense of the word.

But you know what?  I'm really okay with that.

How do you really measure the worth of a person's life?

The contributions they made to art or science or literature or politics?  The size of the footprint they left on the minds of the human race?  The number of people whose lives they changed?

I sure hope not.

See, my circles are fairly small.  I don't know many people, and even out of the people I know, I don't have a deep emotional connection with most of them.  My potential for leaving a mark on people's soul is not particularly remarkable.

So how do you really measure the worth of a person's life?

What am I really trying to accomplish here?

I feel like I've been thinking about death a lot lately.  Is that morbid?  I wasn't trying to be, I've just been wondering about dying.  Like what happens to everyone who is left?  How long will it take for everyone to forget that I was ever here?  Who will come to my funeral?  Who would really miss me and who would just get back to living?

I'm sorry, now I feel like I'd better explain something.  I really don't want to die or anything.  Not right now.

But we're all going to, and I want to figure out what I'm doing here before I'm not here anymore.

"Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long"

The ordinary life of an invisible man

 

To disappear, or not to disappear?  That is the question.

Everyone else seems so good at moving on.  It's easy, right?  You make new friends, new inside jokes, new secrets, new stories, and eventually the new and the unfamiliar become real life.  You have been replaced by a doppelganger.

I don't want to be replaced.

I'm not sure why I feel so betrayed.  It's like, I expect everyone to miss me all the time, to be miserable now that I am not a piece of their life anymore, no matter how small that piece might have been.

I say, "You promised me.  You promised it would always be this way, we would always be this way.  I would always be this way."

But all I hear back is, "You're foolin' yourself kid, I never promised you anything."

And for some reason, I'm determined to be the last man standing.  I'm determined to be the last one to let go.  So I can rub it in everyone's faces I guess.

"Hey look, traitors, I kept my promise.  I held on longer than all of you."

And they'll say, "Hey, Shug, we never promised anything, remember?  And remember?  We even warned you we would be leaving you.

Have fun back in 2010 by yourself."

Don't worry though, the past isn't my only friend.  The future and I are like, besties.  We hang out all the time. And he promises me everything.  Pretty kids, a pretty husband, a pretty kitchen, a pretty house with a pretty garden, and in 5 years time we'll be pretty darn happy.

It's only the present that scares the cuss out of me.  I guess that's why I avoid it as much as I can.

I wore my hair in pigtails today and for some reason that's important.

-Shug

#wethecoolkids

       We are
so cool.
       so cool we're hot.
              don't touch, can't touch us
this exhibit is for your viewing pleasures only
       #perfection
watch us
       follow us, love us
              or don't.  it's all the same
we still interpret your indifferent gaze as either judging or admiration
       drop it
like it's hot
       so hot it's cool
              #wedancelikebeyonce
our exalted self image doesn't allow for self doubt
       #fierce
hear us laughing?
       we're happy
              can't stop, we won't stop
an endless party fueled by starbucks and social media validation
       98 likes
7 comments
       385 followers, 1024 friends
              Tyler Haws tweeted me.  I matter.
we can't disappear because we're #instafamous

       #sorrynotsorry
       #wethecoolkids

BEFORE

It's the day before the end of the world and the sky is raging.

It's the day before the end of the world and I can taste our mortality, our finiteness, our impermanence, lingering in the air like dust and a gray shadow that blocks the sun and filters the light.

It's the day before the end of the world and we have already proven that our light and childhood are not immune to pain and heartbreak, and we are not immune to the passage of time.  You were my own personal Neverland, but Wendy had to face her future eventually and I've seen you grow up in front of my eyes.  Not even Peter Pan can fend off goodbye.

But I'll always believe in you.

And I'll always love you and your limitless soul.

So hold me tighter and let's spend our last night of pretend postponing the end and leaving a trail of poetry like a fingerprint on every surface that we touch, a tangible reminder that we were here and that we were bright and beautiful.

But our summer is spent and all I can do is pray that I won't be forgotten, that your phone calls and weekend visits won't ever stop coming, and that our clumsy, scrawling poetry will be enough to hold us together.  You told me this was never-ending and I believe you.  You told me we would never run out of ink and I still believe that as long as the sun and the moon keep switching places in the sky, we're gonna be alright.

It's the day before the end of the world and I'm afraid to die.

It's the day before the end of the world and I'm begging you to never let me go.

I'm really sorry.

I'm sorry I have to push my limits, I'm sorry I always want what I can't have, I'm sorry you give me more than you should.  I'm sorry that you two are having problems and I'm sorry I'm probably making it worse.

I'm sorry you feel like you're leading me on and I'm sorry that it's true.  I'm sorry that I'm letting you. I'm sorry I can't blame you for anything, even when it is your fault and I'm sorry I never learned to say no.

I'm sorry I can't think far enough ahead to care about what the consequences are going to be.  I'm sorry you're the same way.  I'm sorry about my hair and I'm sorry you can't possibly know what it does to me when you run your fingers through it.  I'm sorry I like your bed head and the sound of your breathing more than my sanity.  I'm sorry I'm so comfortable to sleep with and I'm sorry you are the only one who likes scary movies.  I'm sorry I like your truck so much.

I'm sorry I suck so much at apologizing and I'm sorry that's all I can say.  I'm working on that, along with about a million other things.

I'm sorry I didn't kiss you.  I'm sorry you didn't want me to.

But I'm still not sorry that I love you.

FOR PEYTON:

I'm not really sure what to say because you already wrote this poem.

I know you see I'm shaken but maybe I can tell you that your big screen silver soul played me a scene of endless summer, day melting into night melting into day

And we would stay to watch the sunrise brighten the sky before our eyes.

Just you and I

And a thousand quiet ghosts behind us, separated only by years.

But you and I

Are separated only by molecules and I can hear your heart beating

And I can't help but pretend that we aren't pretending, that endless and infinite are within the reach of my grasping fingers, like silver and starlight.

But flowers don't last very long and even the stars burn out eventually

And I can feel the strain on this rope that runs between us.

Hold it tight  'cause I would never let you fall but now I'm scared my careless heart will tear this fragile line to pieces and leave me hanging off the edge alone.

I'm shaking 'cause she holds your heart in her pocket and I've been taking my time but his candy coated promises are dissolving and I'm finding that they never tasted that good anyways.

So take my hand and hold it tight and don't give up on me

Cause even though I know you're taken
I'm still shaken.

-SHUG

Golden Girl

Storm-chaser, flame-keeper, wind-dancer

Breathless and reckless

Destroying everything in her path, she leaves a trail of creation springing from her footsteps.

Dreams like Titans, words like rainfall, words like summer, words like stars.

Sky-watcher, light-finder, night-wanderer

Crooked and cluttered

Wild and untamed, she sits in silent solitude and washes the frantic conversations and deep bass beats from the corners of her mind and the crevices of her soul

Hopes like fireworks, fears like heartbreaks, fears like failures, fears like loss.

Ignore her shaking limbs for her heart speaks courage, and her eyes speak courage and her trembling hand wears a badge of bravery. 

Ignore her insecurity, obscurity, immaturity.  She is frightened and indecisive but her future beckons and she prays that she won't be forgotten. 

Ignore her selfishness and her sin.  She asks to hear your definition of salvation but her soul sings a deeper truth than the one she is told.

Dream-weaver, scar-counter, blood-runner

Prayerful and playful

Speaking softer than silence, she listens louder than the crash of billions of drops of water breaking on the sand.

Wishes like candles, thoughts like skylines, thoughts like wildflowers, thoughts like rooftops.

Remember her, she is golden.

Match

That day was hot and dry and I guess we were both restless.

Mama always said don't play with matches and any fool could have told you we were asking for trouble, especially on a day like that.  Well, trouble has a way of turning up whether you ask it to or not and the two of us were practically begging.

I don't remember which one of us struck the match but I think you were the one who dropped it.  Lord knows I did my fair share to fan the flame once we started though.

It was fun at first.  It was a bit of a thrill and it felt good.  The heat felt good, your teeth felt good and it felt good to dance out of the way of the flame just before it licked our skin and left its angry red signature down our calves.

I guess we weren't fast enough though, and before I knew it my t-shirt and sweats were no longer a barrier, and not even your spring cool fingertips could sooth my feverish skin.  I was intoxicated by my own blood, by the smell of your cologne and the sting of smoke in my eyes.

You can't stop a wildfire once you set it loose and I couldn't stop your hard, callused hands from making their rounds across my body.  I couldn't unlock your fingers from my hipbones or stop you from pulling me closer every time I stepped away, and I couldn't stop us from self-destructing once we lit that match.

I couldn't stop the smell of smoke from lingering, either, and I cried myself to sleep that night.

That night was hot and dry and I was left bruised and broken and I guess you were still restless.

The highway sets the traveler's stage.

Wanderlust.  They all say it.  Wanderlust.

They whisper it on their indie blogs and behind the dusty shelves of secondhand bookstores and they all say it.

Wanderlust.

Wanderlust, or just an urge to run?  Ain't that what you do when there's no where to hide and fighting back never had a fighting chance?

"Let's get a silver bullet trailer and have a baby boy."

Maybe I would miss you less in a trailer halfway across the country.  Then again, maybe I would miss you more.

He and I could run away together.  I always did run to him when you didn't want me.  I always ran to him and tried to convince myself that the two of us were still something special.  This time around was not much different.  I still called him up but this time the lust was gone and I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

But he and I, we could run away together.  We could buy a trailer and see the world.  I'd read about you though.  I'd see your name in the papers when you made it big time and I'd still name my son after you.

But he and I, we would be okay.  I'd let him laugh at my dreams and tell me how he'd be better off without me.  I could be what he wants, and when he touched me I'd close my eyes and pretend that it was you.  And when we finished making love I would hold my son to my chest and whisper lullabies in his ear.

I'd sing a song of longing and loss, and about how I hoped he'd grow up like you instead of his like his daddy.  I'd show him your picture in the paper and I'd tell him the story of how you stole and broke my heart.  I'd tell him about the magic you held in your eyes and in your voice and I would teach him how to dance.

And I'd write you letters.  One for everyday of my life without you.  I'd never mail them though, I'd tie each one to a red balloon and let it slip between my fingers, and every balloon, every letter, would take with it a piece of my soul until I was nothing but an empty shell.

"All exits look the same."

Less of a poem and more of a letter

2 hours.  2 hours can raise an awful lot of questions.

I made my choice a while ago.  You made me promises and I'm choosing to believe you.  I'm choosing to trust you.  Your eyes made me promises and your lips made me promises and your heartbeat made me promises but I'm still waiting for you to cash in.

Please prove me right.  Baby, please prove me right.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can't be your afterthought.  I've had too much of that and I don't know how much more I can take.  I don't expect to be your world but can I be a part of it?

And listen, I can't do all the work here.  I'm going 97% but I can't keep up this pace, my heart needs more validation than my ego.  You gotta meet me halfway.  You said you would.  And you know, your eyes agreed with your words.  I trusted your eyes.

Please prove me right.

The stars are out tonight.

"What defines you, Shug?"

I told him that was a hard question, that I wasn't sure how to answer that.  I told him maybe my past, ninth grade? 

I guess it isn't that hard though.

"This view defines me," I could have said.  "You know how it's 12:17 and it's dark but it's still hot?  That defines me.  If you looked up Shug in the dictionary it would say summer."

I could have told him that neither of us were wearing shoes, and that defines me.  Orion and the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia.  The sand lingering on my callused feet and the bottom of his rolled up slacks, hot asphalt, and being out too late.  That's real life.

Everything else is just a dream.

A nightmare, more like, the kind of dream where you can never run fast enough. 

"But this is so real, and we are so alive.  There will always be another summer and I guess that defines me."