‘Finite’ Poem

Written by The Silicon Tribesman. All Rights Reserved, 2020.

     I’m sorry that I always seem to dominate the conversation with all my fears and all my tears, as if I can’t find the time to let them go at any other time. I’m sorry that it seems like you only ever get to see me when I’m like that. I’m sorry that I overcompensate and accidentally suffocate despite my best efforts not to entangle and complicate. I’m sorry that we got stuck staring at each other across a square table spewing the same words that we’ve spewed for some time now, instead of working side by side on some project either one of us could have dreamed up. I’m sorry that conversations always seem to go south and I’m not fun to talk to lately; I know that wears on you and only pushes you farther from what I say that I want. I’m sorry that I overthink all the tiniest things and calculate the damage I could do, and I’m not more free-spirited around you like I am with everyone else. I’m sorry I’m not the friend that you deserve yet and that I’m always so caught up in my own head. I’m still trying to figure out how to fix that and so much more. And I’m sorry I’m apologizing now in a series of apologies instead of just making changes in my actions, but I won’t give up because I know I can do better, and you’ll never have to see me like that again.

~A.G. 11/13/19

Shaking hands
Prove nothing.
I’m not on drugs,
I just drank green tea.

~A.G. 11/12/19

Throw a penny
Into the deepest well
You find,
And hope you know
What you’re wishing for
Before it hits the bottom.

~A.G. 11/11/19

I suspect depression has been around for a while,
But thank God I’m still not suicidal.
They said they wanted to die before they’re old,
And that still hits home for me,
And I can’t help but agree.

Not only am I now in the hazy future of last year,
But I’ve thought beyond my current everyday,
I’ve been making more and more plans.
People are waiting to see the impact
They always expected to watch me leave on the world,
And I feel the pressure keenly.
Will my ideas be enough,
And do I have time for them all?
I’m still not sure there will be impact
Beyond these next 10 years,
A mission long dead before the age of 40.
The feeling that I will be too, looms.

A husband?
Some kids?
I don’t know,
She keeps trying to convince me,
Says it’s just my past that’s haunting me,
While I keep hurting boys who
Think they like me.
More people are getting attached,
So I’m not just floating
Through their lives
As an afterthought in the background.
I make them smile and laugh,
I listen to them and help them
Problem solve and organize,
And they thank me
And mean it.

I didn’t ask for this but I’ll allow it;
I have significance by my very existence
And the space I occupy while there’s
Still oxygen in my chest.
I’m here for a reason.
They say one day someone will wreck my plans again,
Pick them up
And smash them against the wall,
And I’ll listen to the pieces
Shatter to the ground,
And realize I’d been waiting for this moment.
For now,
I suppress any feelings
That would contribute
To such a foolish idea,
To something so crazy,
And insane,
And terrifying as the possibility
That my mother is right about me,
And what little I thought I’d figured out,
Is wrong.

~A.G. 11/10/19

(Reflective sequel to ‘Wrecked Plans’ 3 years later, and ‘The Rebuilding’ 2 years later.)

He said that
Hurt people often
Hurt people
Even when they
Don’t mean to.

~A.G. 11/9/19

Dear Winter,

     You’ve always been my toughest season, and as I write this, I am struggling not to struggle. I went to bed last night, and I was cold. I woke up this morning, and I was cold. I stepped outside, and temperatures below freezing greeted me. From my window, I’m watching snowflakes fall, just barely visible, and even though it’s not even 3pm yet, I can tell that the sun is nearing the end of its daily journey to below the horizon.

Dear Winter,

     I didn’t always dislike you, and I’m not sure I do even now. I know last year I said I was no longer afraid of you, but when I sense you near my heart still sinks. It might have to do with the worry and hurt I’ve seen in the eyes of my friends around this time of year. It might be the gray that you’ve put in my father’s beard, from hours spent pushing snow around parking lots, instead of sleeping in and building snow forts and dragon sculptures. It might be because you just make me want to sleep; I lost so many hours on the Hilltop because I wasn’t ready to get out of bed, and the thought of a nap was all that got me through classes I wish now I had enjoyed. It’s hard to enjoy anything when there’s a snowdrift heavy in your brain.

Dear Winter,

     I know you’re only just beginning to peek around the corner, but I’ve known you were on your way since I first felt you in August. I know you just want to play, but you’ve hurt me without meaning to. I’m trying to forgive you even though it’s not your fault.

Dear Winter,

     I want to love you, you must understand; I think someday I will.

~A.G. 11/8/19

I’m tired.
Of walking on eggshells.
Of having no motivation.

Of faking smiles.
Of talking too much.
Of hurting others.
Of not being good enough.
Of being hurt.
Of trying too hard.
Of feeling I should try harder.
Of this back and forth.
Of being upset with myself.
Of this weight that threatens to crush me.
Of needing a break.
Of not doing anything.
I am tired.
I was not meant
To play this game.

~A.G. 11/7/19

Ones and zeros,
Roll the dice,
Morse code transmissions,
Particles inhaled improperly,
Computer glows,
Perhaps pay a price,
Deceptive admissions,
All count to infinity,
Hidden when smaller,
Change the notation,
53 4f 53 2c
4d 6f 72 70 68 20 6d 65
49 6e 74 6f 20 61 20 67 68 6f  73 74
50 6c 6561 73 65 2c
41 6e 64 20 64 6f 6e 27 74
4d 61 6b 65 20 6d 65
49 6e 74 6f 20 61 20 63 6f 70 79 2e
49 27 6d 20 67 6c 69 74 63 68 69 6e 67 20 6f 75 74 2e

~A.G. 11/6/19

“The best muse is
A moving target.”

Scattered thoughts,
Hurried steps,
There’s a method
In this madness;
It just needs
To be found.
What is wanted,
Already known;
What is needed,
Almost done;
Targets are
Somewhat fleeting.

~A.G. 11/5/19

The brightest stars
In the sky
Don’t make those
Hidden between
Any less magnificent.

~A.G. 11/4/19

The cost of one more
Hour of sleep,
Is every last leaf,
And 4:30PM darkness.

~A.G. 11/3/19

They replaced the picnic table
With a maintenance building.
As easily as we left our mark
On this place,
It is fading away,
Not by will but by force.

~A.G. 11/2/19

22 years is a long time,
And this is far from the
Worst winter I’ve had,
But I’ve ¾ of a life to go,
(It feels like immortality)
And I don’t want to feel
The cold alone.
That mountain log cabin
Burned to the ground
Long ago,
And I have yet to decide
If it’s wrong to drink soup
From a metal water bottle.
(It feels like immorality.)
“Love, you must always love,
I will never let you live
In a world where not loving
Is an option.
You must love.”
I’m trying, I swear,
But love is confusing
And there’s many different kinds.
Will pragma only ever
Inhibit agape?
Does ludus conflict
With philia?
Is eros necessary to
Know what love is?
There’s too much to consider.
(It feels like my achilles heel.)
I’m capable of loves,
I still don’t know which,
But it seems the cure to winter
Only ever makes it colder for me.
If you checked your phone
And called me sometimes,
Maybe it’d be just a little bit
Warmer and brighter,
Than previous winters.

~A.G. 11/1/19

I’m not scared to die,
Just scared of dying,
Take me painless,
Take me fast,
But don’t take me yet;
I’m not ready.
So Mister Reaper
Tell Saint Peter to
Tell God I’ll take
A rain check.
(Please).

~A.G. 10/30/19

Home

Heart on my sleeve,
Head in the clouds,
My soul wherever you are, right now.
Please forgive me.
Please, don’t hold it
Against or over me.

My body in Watertown,
Weekends in
Plymouth or Manchester,
I feel I have no base,
And each place is like a rug,
Being pulled out from under me.
Where is home?

“Home is a person, not a place,”
She said she had two homes.
I haven’t been home in a long time.
I think about it sometimes,
(When you still loved me,
And I was folded in your arms);
Take me home?
When I was safe as a chipmunk
Curled up in a ball,
When I was happy as a swallow
Soaring up in the air.

Now I’m a garter snake,
Always trying to escape myself,
Casting off skin,
Again and again,
Trying.
Casting off this jewelry,
Casting out these words…
Casting a line,
Until it tangles overhead,
And knots form.

Like the knots in my stomach,
When he used me.
Like the knots in my stomach,
When you left me.
Like the knots in my stomach,
For months afterwards,
All summer long.
Casting off 14 pounds,
In 2 months.
A garter snake.

Reduced to a skeleton.
I’ve been building myself
Again,
Systematically,
Methodically,
Who am I?
But there’s something
I cannot build inside me,
Or beside me.

Heart on my sleeve,
Head in the clouds,
My soul wherever you are, right now.
Please forgive me.
Please, don’t hold it
Against or over me.

~A.G. 10/15/19

“Religion is a fickle thing,” he tells me, with a lazy smile, as if we weren’t both stubborn believers. Not quite in the way our backgrounds would suggest or had hoped, but believers nonetheless.

There’s been trauma from religion,
There’s been strength from faith.
The enforced hasn’t benefited,
Only inhibited growth
To something more.
Something more than
Has always been,
The elusive “someday”
Of today’s ambitions.
Setbacks and ambitions both
Barely voiced over a whisper
To an almost empty room.

But God has been seen,
Held up before wandering eye
In celebration of the Sacrament,
In the laughter of companionship,
In the tear-stained faces,
Under tree canopy and open sky.

God has been seen in
Poetry stanza and
Song lyric,
Long nights under
Star-studded sky and
Various colored fairy lights.

“You’ve always been able to hold on to your faith and your beliefs, while also listening to good music, enjoying concerts, and just generally being a cool person. I really admire you for that, and this jacket is a symbol of that.”

~A.G. 8/12/19

I’m sitting in the corner, on a bench on our back porch, alternating between reading chapters of a book and scrolling through Twitter. The book is 383 pages long and about as thick as both of my oddly shaped thumbs placed side by side. I’m on page 345, and it’s only taken me 3 hours total of reading time to get there. I’ll probably finish it after dinner.

I’m wearing denim shorts, a periwinkle blue pocket T-shirt, and black crew socks. There’s a small but prominent bruise on my left knee, all green and purple, and I can’t recall how I got it. It looks worse than it feels (which is to say, it feels like nothing at all but looks like everything).

I can see the street from my perch, and the traffic going by. My neighbor to the left has been brushing a wooden board with a stiff brush. Why, I don’t know, but it’s taken her about 30 minutes so far. Behind me is our yard, if you can call it that, about 5 yards wide and 25 long. A rabbit nibbles the grass, its’ back legs hunched up and ready to spring at any moment. I can smell pasta and sauce from somewhere nearby. The direction is undetermined.

Every once in a while I’ll put down both phone and book and just look at the sky. It’s blue today, with lots of thick, white clouds shaded by a light slate color. Despite the slight breeze, the clouds don’t seem to be moving much.

These are all the things I know in this moment, have noticed passively without giving much thought until I began to type it out. It’s amazing how much one can notice without really paying attention. Yet I’m all too aware of the passing moments.

There’s something more, as I look at those clouds. A nagging feeling deep in my chest, and if I give it much thought, it will feel like too much. But as I look up I can’t help but wonder: does everyone always feel this way, even when happy? Does everyone always feel this pain of sad without a reason for it? And does everyone always feel this lonely?

~A.G. 8/5/19

I’ve never needed anyone,
And I’m not about
To start with you.
I’m used to walking
Streets alone,
Middles of streets alone,
But it’d sure be nice
To have you there,
To hold your hand
And know you are near.
Don’t you remember?
I haven’t forgotten.
On top of the world,
Building empires together,
The stars above twisting
In their endless cycle;
I’m learning to feel
That kind of alive again.
I’ve never needed anyone,
And I’m not about
To start with you,
But I can’t lie
To myself,
To anyone
Except for you;
I miss you.
But I’m not
Waiting around
For you.

~A.G. 6/8/19

I had a dream that I was talking to god in a greenhouse.

I walked around for awhile until I came to a stairwell that lead to what looked like the Garden of Eden, only darker. I started making my descent when a voice boomed overhead.

“You may ask me one question.”

I stalled for a second. My belief in god wavered over the last 5 years. The only spirituality I felt came from my own existence. Still, I wondered. I continued stepping.

“Who is my soulmate? Is that easy enough for you?”

I smiled like a jackass and looked towards the garden, hoping I’d see the face of the person who was meant for me. Suddenly everything in the room went dark. The flowers in bloom wilted and the steps started to disappear underneath me. The handrails I was grasping onto coiled like snakes and wrapped around me with a vengeance. I was lifted up towards the only light left in the room, a sunroof. The rails wrapped around my neck and I started to cry. The voice returned, but it sounded angry.

“That was the wrong question. You don’t have one.”

I woke with a start and realized that I had been crying. As I calmed myself down, I looked at my hands and feet. The realization started to flow through me like water.

I am meant for me, no one else. Maybe not even god.

the dream I had on Wednesday // hnl 2020