Look, I don’t take donations and I don’t intend to sell anything on Diotima Writes or Diotima After Dark. I write what I write as an outlet for my creativity, as a means of like… quelling the cascade of emotions that sometimes threaten to overwhelm me. If you want to ‘pay’ me, letting me know that something resonated with you is more than payment enough.
I do not understand why you persisted
Broken as I was, pushing you away
I'm done with love, I told you
Grieving, waiting for dissolution
You felt the lie in my words, I think
Waiting, hurt by my constant rejection
Me, trying to save you
You, refusing to leave
'I love you,' you confessed, terrified
My acknowledgement without reciprocation
I cannot, I told you
Terrified that i might be wrong
Hurting, one too many rejections
You disappeared
Me, wondering, worried
Knowing it was what I deserved
Returning, you had a new crush
I was happy for you (no I was not)
An unexpected sadness
Admitting, finally, that I might still feel
I was hurt
(I deserved it)
I was jealous
(I was a fool)
I think I have feelings, I said
You knew
I've been stupid, I sighed
Yes, but I love you, you said
Why
A question i cannot answer
But I love you too
For all my fatal flaws.
You point to your blood work and say
Everything looks great
Just be patient, you smile
Content that you've given sage advice
I want nothing more than to hurt you
To make you suffer my pain
My anguish as it steals away
This life built on struggle and loss
Ten thousand lies, you tell
One for each dollar spent
One for each minute lost
Paying for the privilege each time
I do not want to hurt you
I want to be free of this,
This unveiled threat to happiness
Free to become something else.
Whatever you are
Injury Sickness Curse
This is not the world I was born into
That world of ice rimed puddles
Of brightly colored kites, soaring
And endless possibility
This world has stripped its gears
Screaming as it dies, discordant, broken
Why am I here, I wonder
I want to go home
Thrice I’ve come through your doors Quiet, soft-spoken hellos The resonance of this place, calming Me, afraid to ask you why
An infinity of choices Both particle and sine Scoff at wondering voices Who see in this divine
I lay in bed, wondering
What this eighth day of August will bring
This recurring date, this pattern
Forged eight by eight
Across the very fabric of my soul.
(This date, 8/8, is a recurrent pattern in my life. Neither good nor bad, it tends to herald major change. What's major? Try stuffs like adoption, for example! Diotima facts for you.)
I've tried to express this a few times; it's surprisingly hard for someone who enjoys writing. We'll get back to the other stuff after I'm done.