Hope Dies Last

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.”

D.H Lawrence

I’m going to be still for awhile. But, I’ll be back.

It occurred to me on Saturday night that my heart has hardened.

I don’t mind this change at all. Indeed, I’ve welcomed it. I’ve used up too many tissues and ruined too many perfectly drawn lines across my eyelids to last me quite some time. It seems about right that I put up some defenses. I sat–alone–once my plans for the evening had fallen through and it made sense to be alone. It was easy. I picked up a DVD effortlessly and secretly smiled as I watched couples and friends arguing over movie titles. I ordered food for one without looking at a menu and I poured my body into an over-sized t-shirt and torn leggings. I twisted my hair into a bun and ate ice-cream from the carton and I couldn’t care less that I’d become a cliche.

Once the heart hardens and once its gates are protected, there is no way for sadness to sneak in.  Hope is lost and the silver lining is that it will force me to stop looking for fulfillment through other people. My heart feels stronger. Even though my head knows  that the only reason I feel stronger is because I’m closed to the potential of feeling vulnerable.

Whatever. It’s working.

In fact, I’m smiling more. Inside, at least. And I think bright thoughts like:  Colour your life with lipstick. Even waterproof mascara has been known to smudge. So, I paint my lips pink to show that I can play this game too; even when I know that my lips are lying.

I’m not a pink kind of girl at all.

I’m a lips bitten to a raw red  girl;  a deep red that will always  match my short, neatly squared nails. And even though they’re short, and even though they’re square, they are still nails that will scratch. Particularly those who ask to come close to me and when I do, huff and puff and blow the house down. And, I’m still rebuilding from the last time.

I’m lying through my teeth. I say that I don’t believe in me. I say that I don’t believe in him or us or the future. But, I do. I say I’m over him and I say that I don’t care about him and I say that I’m friends with him but I do and I do and I’m not.

I lie because I don’t want to give in to feeling. I want to stay numb. So, I paint my lips pink and pretend that I can play too.When the truth is that I’m all lies.

My heart hasn’t hardened at all.

I’ve been pretty vague about the illicit in my life. Vague adds a certain amount of mystery and drama in prose that is not necessarily there in reality. I was ready to be un-vague in this post, but I’ve forgotten how to structure a blog post. Instead, I’m posting a poem–because that is not vague at all.

I’ll be back. What do you think? Could I pass off as a poet?

Sir

I am not a poet

I do not camouflage

Clichés; I do not mould

Abstractions from the remnants

Of the Parthenon’s empty facade

I am not vague like you.

Your lines are art

Open for interpretation

They mean something to everyone.

I am not a whore like you.  

My crushes are not poetry

They do not apply to all.

And my couplets, Sir

will never rhyme

For your comfort

I am not a coward like you.

My words are not

Sealed in a frosted bottle

I do not allude or imply;

I am not a veiled woman.

And I’m unlike the simile you think I am

My lips are not scars to trace

My body is not a map

And your love is not my final destination

Your analogy of me is wrong—

You should edit it.

Over the last week, 5 bloggers and 5 photographers took over the internet with 5 stories for Just A Moment.

Here is the lineup with some of my favourite excerpts.

Day 1: Words by Peter/Image by Jen

The door opens.

It’s him.

Him.

Messy hair.  Unshaven.

He looks even more handsome than he did a month earlier.

The day she broke his heart. More…

Day 2: Words by me/ Image by Rachel

I want to know that on my death bed there will be a soul that will miss me. A soul that could confirm I had indeed existed.  Without him, I will be a red lipstick imprint smudged on the rim of a cracked tea cup. More…

Day 3: Words by Joy/Image by Lauren

I lacked stabilization; felt as though I was going to break apart at any minute.

Like if I didn’t spend every moment of the day concentrating on keeping it together, my heart was going to explode out of my chest and flop around on the floor like a fish until it finally stopped from sheer exhaustion and pain.

Because that’s what happens when you’re ruined. More…

Day 4: Words by Tia/Image by Ashley Forrette

When the strongest person you know says those words, you don’t ask questions.  You come home.  You leave the city that never sleeps for the village of vicarious living.  You blow in like a bad storm on a codependent night, full of airplane vodka and regret. More…

Day 5: Words by Ben/Image by Ashley

Their walks would always be leisurely and always pass through the nearby fields. He would always grab her. She would always squeal. They would always fall. Planned spontaneity? Perhaps…but he considered it their own daily dance for the dandelions in the fields that never gave rise to roses. More…

If you haven’t already, go get yourself some tea, hunker down and prepare to be blow away.

Today you will find me over at Just a Moment.

It’s fiction.

I really hope you like it.