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Warning: pathetic girl-talk ahead.

I’m broken again and tired and waiting for a ding from my cell phone to validate my existence. The ding has come daily, but still I wait. This could be the day he doesn’t ding me. I think we can all agree the only thing worse than thinking you’ve lost interest in a man is when the man loses interest in you. I told him I wanted to see him this weekend. His reply: I’m sure we can manage that. This might be the most painful rejection I’ve ever heard.

This was most painful rejection besides that time that guy left the country without telling me or the time that guy told me he had no affection to give me or that time that guy said, “wanna cuddle?” or that time that guy told me he was “laid back,” which translated into his being lazy.

Another one shall bite the dust because there is no other option. I’ve read ahead. The story of us ends. For real. Soon. But not before I make the biggest fool out of myself ever. Or making the biggest fool of myself since all of the above-mentioned rejection menz.

Oh well, fuck it. This is the best part of love.

The ache is always there but it gets better
It becomes bearable
It becomes livable

She meant the pain she felt for the loss of her son
Still her words come back to me
Because I remembered her today
I remembered when we breathed in the same room
Together
I remembered her pain and my own
I still feel her pain and my own

We will never again breathe in the same room
Together

I remembered her today
and I realized
again
how much I miss her

*Him being a clueless male and not my faithful dear readers.

  • Say okay to cuddling, as in his definition of cuddling, not yours.
  • Say alright to things you’d rather not do.
  • Send a defaced Hallmark card. (Specifically, if you are sending said card to a Straight Man, be sure to include “fuck”; otherwise, he will not understand. He will ask you if you’re on your period.)
  • Take off your pants.
  • Say, “excuse me, sir, would you mind giving a little girl a good, hard [insert appropriate word/phrase here].
  • Ignore him. Nothings says “I love you” to a man like pretending he doesn’t exist. Do NOT tell him you care.
  • Smile.
  • Laugh at not-funny jokes.
  • Stack your limited cookbooks in plain sight so he thinks he’s going to be the one who changes you into a Domesticated Delight.
  • Call him [insert name], but add that you like that about him.
  • Give him a private pet name. Try to forget any references to human pets.
  • Get sassy.
  • Put on your sexy lipgloss.
  • Send him a suggestive electronic message. (“What are you wearing?” works usually although I did text that as a joke to my ex-boyfriend and his daughter read it and he had to give her some excuse about how I bought him a shirt for his birthday and that I wanted to know if he was wearing it. Still, don’t feel sorry for him because he was an asshole.).
  • Don’t use more than 3 words in a sentence. It’s best to keep it simple.
  • Shake out your luminous hair.

You know how it goes

girl meets boy
boy games
girl obsesses
boy reschedules but calls everyday
girl decides to let it go but is mindful
girl is reunited with another guy who’s in Afghanistan
girl contemplates sexy texts
girl has no idea what text sex is
boy who games asks girl out on another date
girl says sure
girl says let’s get something healthy
girl suggests Jason’s Deli
boy says that was what he was thinking
girl privately admits Jason’s Deli isn’t that romantic
girl receives flirty text from Afghanistan man
girl forgets about Jason’s and the original boy momentarily
girl and boy and boy carry on until all ends in either tears or apathy

A Relationship Death Poem
because in times of stress
one has to fall back on what one knows
and everyone could use a little death
now and again.

A Relationship Death Poem
that’s not really a poem at all
but an exercise in self-soothing behavior.

A Relationship Death Poem
because I like it dark
and all this damned light is giving me a headache
and besides a shelf life is preferable to eternity.

A Relationship Death Poem
that’s not really about death or relationships at all
but proof I am still who I am.

Too available

My diagnosis
My judgment

And then
I saw him
looking trendy and sweet
ordering a burrito with guacamole and cheese.
There was no air conditioning
so we sweated it out
while we relaxed in each other’s company.
His hair looked soft
as did his hands.

And as it turned out
soft
is
what they were.

  • “Don’t you think orphaned Asian children are the cutest things ever?”
  • “I have been wanting to introduce you two for a while now. This is my lovechild, Bunny, who I share custody of with his other mother, Bryan.” [It’s the Other Mother part that is confusing, not the Honey-Bunny part.]
  • “Do you ever have questions about questions?”
  • “What is your stance on double snaps?”
  • “Will you hand me the fuchsia scarf? No, not the lilac scarf. No, not the dusty rose one. My God, are you color blind?”
  • “I don’t think we want the same things.”
  • “    .” (silencio)
  • “Tell me again, because I do not recall, who are you?”
  • “I know exactly what a Phillips screwdriver is and where you can find one.”
  • “I would not like to cook you dinner. I do not cook for anyone.”
  • “I feel that you’re a little too needy, yes?”
  • “Um, no.”
  • “I do not appreciate your lazy ass.”
  • “I will not tolerate your lazy ass for one more second.”
  • “I would encourage you to remove your lazy ass from my house before I send you to the pokey, motherfucker.”
  • “I do not like huntin’.”

My ex-boyfriend asked
          How is the world treating you these days?
My ex-boyfriend said
          I have no affection to give you.

So when my new boyfriend says
          I have a headache.

I do not say
          I’m sorry, honey.
I do not say
          Is there something I can do to make you feel better?
I do not say
          I will take care of you.

I say
          Oh really.
I say
          You should probably take something for that.

Over the course of the last two weeks or so, I have had the pleasure of being involved in a fantastic discussion about writing and living well. As interviews go, this one offers insight and sincerity, and I hope you, dear reader, appreciate the self-depricating wisdom of our very own Uncle Tree.

#1. What made you an Uncle and not a Father or a Cousin or a Step-son Tree?

An anonymous young fellow, or dame, named Diablo, penned Tree on me. At a site called Intentblog (now closed), I talked about camping by the Missouri River, and mentioned a few of the things, including spiritual awakenings, that I’d experienced at my favorite spot. He must have thought I sounded like I was stationed there, or had put down roots there, in order to call me a tree. Since he claimed to be in his 20’s, I thought of him as a nephew, which made me his uncle.

Father Tree would have made me look like a priest, and Brother Tree sounds to me
like a deacon, and I really didn’t want to be cornered into anything too specific, such as Elder Tree, Sir Willow or Mr. Elmwood.

#2. If you had to choose between wilting in the sun or crumbling from the cold, which would you prefer?

Uncle Tree would prefer a climate ideally situated on this earth. That place would be a habitat that allows all of nature to express itself fully throughout the four seasons in equal measure. He feels that the coldest part of the year is the toughest to endure. Summer’s sun is warm and penetrating. In good years, when spring brings plentiful and copious amounts of refreshing rain, he reserves some of the moisture in defense against the blazing heat, and only wilts on top.

#3. Your cheekiness and wit in your writing (blog, poems, AND comments) are rays through clouds. How do you maintain a sense of humor?

I don’t believe anyone can timelessly maintain a sense of humor, no matter what is going on in their personal lives. Ups and downs, and highs and lows are to be expected, and they definitely contribute to my so-called moodiness. That I cannot deny. I never intentionally wish to bring someone down, just because I feel a certain way at the time, but I do suppose it happens sometimes.

Before I had my own blog, all I used to be able to do was comment, so I learned to make the best of them. For the most part, I try to say something appropriate, and attempt to keep my views on-topic. Humor has its place, and laughter is the best medicine, but we can’t always rely on them to get our point across. I can sympathize with Al Franken in that regard.

Me2 was my first moniker. This symbol contains a few meanings for me. It’s not funny or sad, in and of itself. It is rather more neutral than Uncle Tree, which I see as putting me in the category of goofy and kooky, but in a familiar, unassuming sort of way. It’s been fun to play with, and I’m still growing into it. I don’t always write from his perspective, as if I were actually a talking tree. That’s impossible! I do have a couple of poems which he wrote though, and I hope to create more at some period in the future.

My outlook on life is not always positive or optimistic. I accept the full range of emotions as a matter of course. It’s only natural. To deny is to lie to one’s self, and when we do, we’re not fooling anybody but ourselves. The reasons I have for writing poetry the way I do are too numerous to go into here. I want to read your thoughts for you and speak about it, when you can’t seem to find the right words to use yourself.
And of course, if I can bring someone to tears, whether they be joyful ones, or sorrowful ones, I would rightfully call that my crowning achievement.

#4. If you were me and Bryan cyber stalked your new boyfriend, how would you make him pay?*

Dear lady,

Your wish for revenge is in jest, of that I am sure. Nevertheless, it was your boyfriend, as you said. Paybacks are a bitch, but we can be fair about it. You don’t have to raise the ante. The punishment should be a fitting one; one that matches the dastardly deed that Bryan has committed. Unless, of course, you wish to start a war, for wars are not required to be just.

I can’t imagine that ‘Facebooking’ someone is a serious crime. Having said that, I came up with this as I was toying with the idea:

If I were you, I’d tell Bryan that I need to speak to him and his beloved at their place of residence. I would persuade, or talk him into setting aside a time, say 9 or 10:00 o’clock in the evening. Make it a Friday or Saturday night. I would tell him that I had an important announcement to make, and that I wanted the two of them to be the first to hear of it. I would leave it at that, and not hint around or make any wise-cracks.

As soon as I can get him to make a promise about the date, then, in advance, I would hire a professional to perform a session for these young men at said time. And by professional, I mean a dancer. And by dancer, I mean a blonde, gorgeous, well-proportioned, sexy and provocative female stripper.

*Note: I must mention that Uncle Tree answered this one with characteristic grace and a kind sensibility that is incredibly endearing and almost makes me question my urge for seeking revenge. 😉

#5. What makes a poet “good”? (And you are good, Uncle!)

Thank you! It’s nice to know you think of me as such.

Success in any endeavor is highly personal, and the meaning of it depends on where one currently fits into the mix, and one’s general expectations, hopes and dreams. Like happiness, once you’ve had a taste of success, you inevitably wish to savor it again. If at first you only receive a morsel, the next time you’ll want a bigger bite, and so on and so forth until you believe your plate is as full as the possibilities allow.

I take the title of poet very seriously. Within the elite literary circles of today, I honestly do not know the requirements necessary to earn such a lofty label. Personally, I do not consider myself to be worthy of the name, nor can I say that I will ever rise to those heights of grandeur. Therefore my thoughts on the subject will pertain to the ladder as I see it, and the steps that might be involved in the process from beginning to end. Again I will stress that this is my guess, my opinion, my estimation.

Anyone with a firm grasp of their own language is capable of writing. That doesn’t make them a writer. We can say the same thing about poetry. By the age of 10 or so,
most anyone can create and produce a finished product, but that doesn’t necessarily
make them a poet, however easy and natural it seems to seep forth, as if it were on it’s own, and only needed a little direction.

When first starting out on this road, success would simply mean a piece of work that pleases its author, and brings to them a sense of pride and satisfaction; a poem with which the originator may be well pleased.

The next step might be to show off, or to display your new wares to family and friends in order to receive some friendly feedback. It’s up to the author alone to decide whether or not the praise is worthy, or if the unwanted criticisms are well intended. It is highly likely that you will procure positive, reinforcing encouragement from this group of readers. The worst bit of advice you may hear is familiar to all: “Don’t quit your day job just yet.”

If the author is attending a school of higher learning, they could gather up enough courage to show their beloved poetry to a teacher, or professor of literature. Here one would hope to obtain an objective viewpoint, constructive criticism, and maybe even noteworthy praise from an ‘experienced’ reader of letters.

Another venture might entail a step that would allow complete strangers to freely read what you have done, as in the case of internet exchanges such as we have at wordpress and blogspot. Just how difficult it is to get a comment from someone you don’t know at all is another short story that I’ll not get into at this time. Again, if you do get one or several replies, it’s up to you to determine their trustworthiness. Your perception of these can then be the deciding factor in the measure of your success.

My personal knowledge of the ladder ends at this juncture. That doesn’t mean I’m done here, nor does it mean that I’m through climbing myself. Moving on up —

If you are now more certain of your abilities, entering a poetry contest may be in
order. From what I’ve heard, there are usually a lot of competitors, and taking the first prize would be akin to winning the lottery.

One more option would be the act of submitting your unpublished work to a magazine or journal that specializes in art and literature. Let us say you are successful. Let us say that you are now one of the critically acclaimed authors of your generation. You may choose to write a book that contains a selection of your finest poetry. The meaning of success from this point forward will depend on the quantity of books sold.

Let us assume your book of poetry becomes a best-seller. I would have to say, “You’ve made it to the big time!” Certainly, at this point you should be deemed worthy of the label, and have a right to think of yourself as a poet. Others will now call you by that name. They may even take a vote, and choose you to be worthy of holding the honorable office, and dignified position of Poet Laureate. This is what it means to be highly successful. And yet there is still more to be had.

You may become world famous. Your work may be translated into several, if not hundreds of languages. You may be nominated, and you may win the Nobel Prize
in Literature. What a success you’ve now become! But have you finally reached the highest heights? Have you reached the pinnacle of success?

Nay, not if you ask Homer and the Bard! If your name, your poetry, and your achievements are remembered, talked about, and taught in educational systems all around this homey globe of ours for hundreds, or even thousands of years, that my friend…that must be the zenith. That deserves the praise of The Masters. That is when we all can say, “You, dear poet, you have shown us the true meaning of success, and the ideal way to live and love that leads to a successful life. Thank you!”

Please visit Uncle Tree’s House at http://me2watson.wordpress.com/.

Bunny and I met recently through Bryan and we’ve fallen in love. He’s also our Asian love child, which has a little bit of an Oedipus-esque twist minus the shame and eyegauging, and I am happy to share the fruits of our love with all of my dear readers.

I. From dearest Bunny Belletryst.

Careful, my medicated lady, for if
you prescribe, know this, a narcotic, is what
you’ll imbibe.
A bunny leaps,
reads the label, but what it should say,
is a bunny takes you, takes you,
may lead you astray.

Should my jolly roger affect you lightly, pop a few like jolly ranchers…
Should my taste suit you, a Pavlov-drooling, babbling, witty banter…
take more. take more. take more.

What’s your dosage, my lady?
Can you take the bunny-pill pledge, Lady?
If you think the shoddy design on the old bottle is faded,
just read the poem,
the inscription, get jaded.

A bunny leaps and leaps and leaps.
And so will you, come, creep
to my bottle, hold out your hand.
Look before you leap,
or you may never understand.

II.
From MedicatedLady to Bunny.

An indelible duo
of heart and head
Your Honey to my Bunny.

Twenty-four hours is too long to decide to love.
Let’s make it snappy
and I’ll give you double snaps
and a freckled smile
not much to give
but what I have.

It’s not that I think I’m good
it’s that I know you are
and I’m happy
to follow you
wherever your bunny trails may lead.

See Bunny’s blog at http://brbelletryst.wordpress.com/.

SOB with me

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