What’s it called?

What’s it called?

When you’ve seen it all happen before

The same old, same old

Just another way

The same lull

The same soft excitement in the further reaches of your mind

The cautious half imagined breath of relief

Disappointing.every.single.goddamn.time

And if possible!

Even more disappointing than it was before.

What’s it called when you still think maybe… Just maybe not this time.

What’s it called?

Ahh yes…stupidity.

The shoe drops

I think the other shoe knows

I’m waiting for it to drop

I wait for it patiently

Pretending unaware

I’ve come to expect nothing less

I’ve learned nothing else happens to the contrary

I’ve stopped hoping for anything to work out

That doesn’t mean i don’t try

I give my best

But i haven’t seen any different

But this… This

I’ll take over been fooled.

Juxtaposition II

A shared birthday:

She walks into his embrace, gazing into his eyes. She can’t help but glow.

He sings “Happy Birthday” softly to her.

He asks “Do you want a cake?”

She looks at him: “Hmmm…I want something sweeter…”

They come out of their room,

Happily spent.

She takes out a box of indian sweets

All his favorites she hopes…

She presses the candle softly into a gulab jamun in the middle.

“Let’s celebrate both our birthdays!” he enthuses.

He pulls her into his lap, she puts her arms around him,

They sing to each other in boxers and lingerie.

she sings softly, her lips lightly grazing the side of his head with every word. They kiss before they blow out the candle together.

“What did you wish for?”

“You’re my wish come true” she says laughing gaily.

I wish we could do this ever year…

A much later birthday (hers):

They stand over the stove

Looking at a cake slice in a box.

“Why don’t we sit down?”

“Nah, let’s have the cake?”

He gets forks.

“Aren’t you going to sing for me, it is my birthday..?”

“Really?…uh yeah ok…”

“Happybirthdaytoyou. Happybirthdaytoyoudear…”

He sticks his fork into the cake slice and shoves it in his mouth. He goes for a second, intent on the cake.

“It’s good!”

She stands there looking at him.

She swallows her disappointment… She wishes it wouldn’t feel so intense each time she has to do it….

You would think by now i would know better.

The cake tastes pasty in her mouth.

easier

is it easier or harder

to want what everyone else wants?

what we are smiled upon for wanting?

what we are supported and celebrated for wanting?

or is it harder to want what no one else thinks you should want?

what you will be lectured about, advised about, discouraged and guilted about?

is it easier to try your best to conform and worry how you fall short?

Or is it easier to strike your own path and bear the cold shoulders and disapproving glares?

this whispers, the dead silences, the piteous, the nervous and ingenuine smiles?

when does it become easier to do your thing?

when does it become easier to do what you want?

when does it become easier to achieve what seems to come so easy to others?

when does it become enough?

when does it become easier?