The Life Cycle of a Quarrel

The Life Cycle of a Quarrel

Me.

ME!

me Me ME!

ME ME ME ME ME

No, ME!

NO!

US!

us.

Epistle

When I first met you, I was overwhelmed. My blood was thin. I was dying. I've heard so many times of the lives you saved. They swore to it, even as the nurses pumped their veins with the blood of others. It wasn't the medicine, or the science, it was you.

As I sat there naked in the white linen sheets, you watched me. You smiled while I vomited black bile. You laughed while I pissed blood. You thought I was alone, but I was laughing too.

I smiled every morning after I wiped the blood from my mouth. I laughed every evening with the sleepless nurses and dying children. They prayed for me, every one of them. But it wasn't you who saved me. It was them.

My First Dance

When I was in middle school, I had a crush on a girl. It started when we made eye contact, and we both smiled at each other. I was smitten ever since. Considering the way she looked at me, I had a feeling she liked me, too.

Our middle school had a number of dances every year. They were fairly awkward events in the cafeteria, particularly for a boy like me who was more shy and insecure than most of my peers. I was fairly slow to grow, and so I was still one of the shortest boys in my class. I sat in the front row, and asked way more questions than anyone else in my classes. I always had to share my opinion with everyone else. Braces were just sprinkles on top of my nerd sundae.

It turned out that one particular dance was not a total disaster for me. There she was - the girl of my dreams; we made eye contact; we talked; she asked me to dance! The moment where we first started dancing is frozen into my memory even to this day. It was my first real dance with a girl. Inexperienced and nervous as I was, I placed my hands on her shoulders, but she was bold: took my hands and placed them on her hips. From that point on, my heart was hers.

I never made much out of that experience. Even though I danced all the way home and was so excited I could hardly sleep that night, I never asked her for her number. We would see each other in the hallways, but I never spoke up. I'm sure I could have had a chance with her, but I didn't take it. My crush continued even through high school, and when I saw her years later in college it didn't change. I'm sure I could have asked her out and she would have said yes, but I didn't. By now, it's far too late: she'll forever remain that one who got away.

I've had many conquests with women over the years. I've held hands in July and grown goose bumps. There were kisses so powerful that we both staggered to stand afterwards. There were nights so passionate I'm sure my neighbors filed noise complaints. Even so, no memory with a woman is as vivid as that first dance, and no regret weighs so heavily as my failure to pursue her later. It's easy to not do something to avoid rejection, but rejection is a light burden compared to regret.

The Dream Menagerie

You can’t pull away

            It draws you in

The Dream Menagerie

With a hellish coaster ride of doom

            Hear the Maddening screams

You have to unload your pockets

            On carnival rides or funnel cakes.

Here a swarm of Clowns

            K&W lead the way

And there a Golden Elephant

            Take a ride

Stop by the fortune teller

            You know what you’ll hear.

Rush through and wait in line

            In queues with razor fence

Live the Menagerie.

            The Dream Menagerie.

The Path

The Moon,

   (beneath) – In the daylight

There, is a place

            An asylum

            A menagerie.

Here, the money flows

Like a R

                I

        V

               E

       R

Rushing

            Rushing

                        Rushing

And Pulling

            US

                  US

                        US along

We’ve lost

            (Our minds)

            The paddle

So it leads US

            There.

In a town named Indiana

A dirty river bends and winds, writhing
and churning, wallowing around this

town built with clay bricks
cemented and burying a past

now nearly forgotten, nestled beneath
the cemented streets that lie over the
decaying bones of prideful people.

We accept ourselves with sweet amnesia
cruising in cars, captured by computers;

Yet the river still remembers the days
when it once was clean, celebrated and sacred.

Purpose of this blog

Greetings, everyone! You may or may not know that in addition to law, I've wanted to be a writer for a long time. I always worried about being picked up by a publisher, but times have changed greatly. Instead, I will now be my own publisher.

This blog will include all my creative writings that I make from now on. I have a goal of writing 1 short story a week, and 1 poem a day. Sometimes, I may produce more, but that's my goal. Keep me honest, friends, and don't let me forget my goal!

To everyone who takes their time to read this, thank you, sincerely. I love writing, and I hope you enjoy what I produce.

Sincerely,

-Patrick Sean