jonberger

Admit that you’re scared
and then do something about it.
Admit that you’re scared
and take a chance.
Admit that you’re scared
that you’re worried
that you’re unlovable
and irrelevant
and maybe even insipid.
Admit it
and get past it.

Admit you’re afraid
of all the things you’ve failed to do
and continue to fail to do
because success seems so inconceivable
that it seems to come
from some foreign culture
you only saw once on PBS.
Admit your ineptitude
and anxiety about how everyone can see
what a fucking fraud you are:
incompetent and awkward
in all the worst ways.

Accept that you’re frightened, man.
It isn’t so hard
and anyway
it’s so bleeding obvious.
Everyone can tell what’s wrong with you.
Just say it
and everything’ll get easier afterwards.
Do it,
you fucking coward.

The thing I’m trying to say is
I haven’t connected to anyone like this
in quite some time.
I don’t say these kind of words
with any frequency or any accuracy
and I don’t meet people like you
often.
I couldn’t say any of this
in person
with words
but I hope my actions
stunted and ridiculous as they were
got it across.

But of course they didn’t.
The man I just described to you
can barely communicate his name
without stuttered mutterings,
let alone the complexity of
what I’m struggling to get at.

I
like you.
I’d like to see you again.
I’d like to know you.
That’s it
I think.

So this
is the emotion I’m supposed to feel?
The form of connection to the world
that will make me grow as an individual?
This
feeling
and others like it
this is how I’m supposed to become a better person?
This is the way to my own personal transformation?
This?

This sucks.
This thunk in my chest
the shake in my legs
the weakness and withering looks
I’m getting from everyone around me?
This is a horror show.
I will not repeat this willingly.

If these emotions
are the price of adulthood
then book me back to Never-Never Land.
Fuck this place.
I’ll look for some pirates to fight.
This is some shit I do not need.

Well, I can’t say
you didn’t warn me.
You told me you were just being friendly,
that you were so good
at feigning interest
and boys were so used
to getting the wrong idea.
You provided me ample access
to accurate information in advance of my…
accident?
That’s not the word.
Erroneous assumption?
That’s it.

I misunderstood.
I picked up the wrong signals
the ones I wanted to read.
I thought something was happening
when obviously
I was incorrect.
No one can be blamed
but me
for the mistakes I’ve made.
You just were so perfectly kind.
I’m not used to that.

I wish
I had understood better
what you meant
when you said
I should reach for the stars
when all I saw
that seemed to apply
was your celestial smile.

Sidewalk cafes are not the best
for writing
if you’re so busy watching the street
that you barely notice your notebook.
It’s an awful coincidence
that the same season
when it’s warm enough
to drink outdoors
is the exact same time
that skirts shrink
and tube tops turn up.

None of this
is any sort of revelation,
of course.
It’s just the sort of writing
that comes out
when one is otherwise

distracted.

You told me
that claims of shyness are just a scam
that anyone who states as such
would likely be lying
that it’s just the sort of thing boys say
to get over.

I’d never dream
of seeming a cliche
but I am so afraid
of saying the wrong thing to you
that I’ve risked saying nothing
which sounds suspiciously like “shy”
and is the opposite
of what I want.

I want to say everything to you
just talk about this and that
and that other thing
that I was too terrified to bring up before.

I wish I had been braver before.
I wish I had tried
and said stuff that was true
as nothing but.
Plus
I really wish it didn’t sound to you
like I was pulling some kind of line.

I’m afraid when next we speak
you’ll no longer remember me.
If enough time passes
between alcohol-fueled adventures
you might not recognize your little Sweet Pea.
That’s me.
I’m your little Sweet Pea.
Look…

We were getting along so very well last time.
I thought we were approaching intimacies.
You gave me some glances
that were really hard to ignore
and I don’t think you ignored
just how hard I was
when I helped you into that cab.
There was that Sweet Pea thing, too,
which I hope wasn’t a urine reference.
Moving on.

The whiskeys kept flowing
and by evening’s end,
you seemed real gone,
drunken well into the state
of the junkie nod
you waving your cigarette hand
like a spell was being cast
and looking through objects
with some second sight.
When we stumbled out of the bar
we somehow lost each other
and now I fear
it might be forever.

Like last time
when I recognized you
from months before
and you had no clue
about who I was.
I worry that the bourbon
leaves more of an impression than me
and it’ll be months
before we may meet
for a third time.

I hope
when we next see each other
you can recall
some of what we knew
and see in me
just a little bit of Sweet Pea.

No, I’m not telling it right.
I’s like…
It’s like this:
You know how love and hate are really close?
Kissing cousin close?
Coin flippingly close?
It’s like all of the rage, emotion
and passion can’t easily be defined by just one feeling.
It’s like love and hate
are practically the same.

It’s like that for us.
We fight.
We argue
and I harangue you
all the fucking time
about the littlest things.
It seems like
there is nothing but anger
and frustration between us
and I’m beginning to think
it’s because I haven’t been honest
with either of us.

So wee goes:
I love hating you
and I swear,
if you let me,
I will continue fighting
until the very end
– hopefully tomorrow.

Today could be the start of something special.
Today is a time for spring cleaning
for rearranging furniture
for changing color schemes.
Old carpets? Dye ’em!
Today is when you wipe all else away.

Today, all rules could be broken.
Today, we may become new people.
Today is for change
for foolishness and frolicking.
Today is a wonder
only partially beheld.
The rest is coming
and excitement is its harbinger.

Today is special.
Today is unique.
Today can be magic
just like yesterday
and tomorrow.

I thought you’d be a wine girl.
I thought you’d have multiple Chucks
in different colors and designs.
I thought for sure you’d have a foreign lover
or three
who didn’t appreciate you,
or realize
just how out of your league he was.
She was (I wasn’t sure about the gender).
I thought you’d be Jewish.

I figured you’d’ve dropped out of an Ivy
for math
or rocket scientry.
I figured you’d be willing to dance anywhere.
I figured
underneath all those spectacular layers
you’d be bit plumper than you turned out to be
(So I guess I figured on a bigger figure).
I figured you’d be chaste.

I assumed
at first glance
how cool you’d be
how sophisticated
how wise and witty and willful.
I assumed you’d be wonderful, and
for the most part
I was right.

The devil, however,
is in the particulars
and I didn’t realize
all the things I’d gotten wrong
until it was all too late.