Where were you when I was still full of adventure and careless and carefree and fun?
Where were you when I didn't know what it meant to be judged.
When lies were dismissed as nurture to protect the innocent ears
from the truths that years would inevitably reveal.
Where were you when I was still young enough to not know better
and could articulate my feelings without second guessing my each and every thought?
Before fear had his hands in my head
and your old lies lived in my bed
making me think I was not good enough.
I remember a girl who only wanted to live
and love
and die when it was time,
but then time was a lifetime away.
And now it creeps up
like a cold breath,
a snake in the grass,
like the woman that I don't know
who's trapped in the reflections of the shiny windows
on my way to a daily routine
fit for the queen of nothing.
They call it making a living
I call it losing my life.
When will I have time to have time to be happy?
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Sunday, January 7, 2007
The beginning of a Fender Love Story
I remember the first time he brought me to life. It was his sixteenth birthday. His youth made him giddy and overzealous when he first laid eyes on me.
He took me in his arms the first time. His fingers were green and inexperienced. They fumbled over me, as he tried to make me sing. It was almost painful. He would run his fingers one place, bend me, stroke me in another, but he was not getting the reaction from me that he wanted.
“Damn! Why can’t I do this?” he would exclaim in his frustration.
He would mumble to himself about how he should just break me, but then he would touch me with such care I knew his threats were idle.
He would try and try for hours, I could feel his sweat through his shirt making my back wet. Every now and then he would stop and towel me off and then start again. When the day was over, and only when exhaustion finally overcame him, he lay me down and covered me in velvet before he went to sleep.
The next day I woke to all of his friends. He was proudly showing me to them, displaying me with care. Some of them would ask if they could touch me, he would say they could only hold me for a second, but to be careful. He did not dare try to make me sing in front of them yet, he needed more practice, but I knew that it would happen some day. I could feel how proud he was of me, how much he really loved me.
He spent the next year loving me, touching me, as often as possible. He took such care of me, he made sure I was always beautiful, and I was always tucked in safely at night. He would touch me every chance he got. Before school, after school, all weekend long, sometimes he would wake me up in the middle of the night, his room would be filled with stale pungent smoke and his eyes would be red and glassy. Those times he would touch me softly, his fingers would be less skilled than usual, but he didn’t seem to be as frustrated. He would just revel in the feeling of stroking me and holding me.
Eventually he learned to make me sing, and then howl, and then whale, and then scream! Sometimes he would be so rough with me I thought I would break under his touch. He would squeeze my neck so hard I thought it would snap. This mostly happened when he would leave our world for a while, those times he went out of sight. He would come to me with a wet face from tears and his hands would be shaking. He would tell me I was all he had and how we were going to leave them some day. He would tell me how I was the only one who would ever really understand him. He would just hold me and cry.
One afternoon he came to me and said we were leaving. He got me dressed and held me in his arms, we left the only place I had ever known as home, we went out into a world far larger than I had ever imagined was beyond the door that would take him away from me and bring him back to me every day. He brought me to a place that was full of smoke and people who talked loudly about things I didn’t understand. He met up with some friends that I had met before in our room.
“Finally bringing her out huh?” the pimply faced boy with the stringy hair asked.
“Yup.” He said, “ I think it is time everyone see what she is really made of.”
I didn’t want to disappoint him. He had worked so hard to learn how to love me. The growth process was hard. It was painful for both of us, but we did it, we persevered. I wanted to sing for him, to make him love me and be proud of me.
He displayed me proudly and I sang for him, we sang together. He was nervous; I could feel his hands tremble. He was fumbling a bit, but that didn’t matter. I was the only one close enough to be able to tell. To me it was perfect; my place in his world was solid. I knew he would love me forever.
When it was over and they all smiled and cheered. They surrounded us and admired us. Some of them told him how beautiful I was, how lucky he was to have me. He would smile and nod. Some of them even asked if they could take me home. He would only laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I am his.” I would think, I would never sing for you! I was never worried. I knew I was the most important thing in his life, he told me as much many times. I am the only one who really understands him!
After that he took me out more and more. We went all over the place; sometimes we went to bars, sometimes to coffee houses, sometimes parks. My world got bigger all of the time. I loved how it felt when people would admire me, how he took such pride in me. I belonged to him. It was like I was a part of him.
A few more years went by. He was growing into a strong and handsome man. We were singing together almost every day, fast and powerful. His hands would no longer shake. When he would touch me it was skillful and adept. I loved how he made me scream such a beautiful melodic scream. His rhythm was hard and fast, his sweat was that of exhaustion and pleasure, no longer of nerves of tension. And they loved us, how they loved us!
One night he slowed down. I thought maybe he was trying something different. His touch was shaky and nervous again, but his song was slow and beautiful. The song we sang came from a place of magic; it had an intensity I had never felt with him before. He was anxious like he was when we first touched, but he was filled with a feeling that was spilling over into me. My song was full and soft and brought the room to silence until all you could hear was he and I.
When it was over, the thunder of claps and cheers was louder than it had ever been before. I knew he was proud, we had reached a new level, but then something happened. He let me go. Just left me there on the floor. He took no care in what happened to me, just walked away from me to her. She was the girl sitting in the front with the long brown curls. The one who kept watching him, like so many girls had before, but he would always ignore them. She was different; he walked away from me, and went to her! That had never happened before! Who was this? Can she sing like me? Does she think she could take my place? Could she?
I watched him nervously kick the floor as he talked to her. He didn’t once even turn to check if I was ok. He had his hands in his pockets so she would not see how they were shaking.
He took me in his arms the first time. His fingers were green and inexperienced. They fumbled over me, as he tried to make me sing. It was almost painful. He would run his fingers one place, bend me, stroke me in another, but he was not getting the reaction from me that he wanted.
“Damn! Why can’t I do this?” he would exclaim in his frustration.
He would mumble to himself about how he should just break me, but then he would touch me with such care I knew his threats were idle.
He would try and try for hours, I could feel his sweat through his shirt making my back wet. Every now and then he would stop and towel me off and then start again. When the day was over, and only when exhaustion finally overcame him, he lay me down and covered me in velvet before he went to sleep.
The next day I woke to all of his friends. He was proudly showing me to them, displaying me with care. Some of them would ask if they could touch me, he would say they could only hold me for a second, but to be careful. He did not dare try to make me sing in front of them yet, he needed more practice, but I knew that it would happen some day. I could feel how proud he was of me, how much he really loved me.
He spent the next year loving me, touching me, as often as possible. He took such care of me, he made sure I was always beautiful, and I was always tucked in safely at night. He would touch me every chance he got. Before school, after school, all weekend long, sometimes he would wake me up in the middle of the night, his room would be filled with stale pungent smoke and his eyes would be red and glassy. Those times he would touch me softly, his fingers would be less skilled than usual, but he didn’t seem to be as frustrated. He would just revel in the feeling of stroking me and holding me.
Eventually he learned to make me sing, and then howl, and then whale, and then scream! Sometimes he would be so rough with me I thought I would break under his touch. He would squeeze my neck so hard I thought it would snap. This mostly happened when he would leave our world for a while, those times he went out of sight. He would come to me with a wet face from tears and his hands would be shaking. He would tell me I was all he had and how we were going to leave them some day. He would tell me how I was the only one who would ever really understand him. He would just hold me and cry.
One afternoon he came to me and said we were leaving. He got me dressed and held me in his arms, we left the only place I had ever known as home, we went out into a world far larger than I had ever imagined was beyond the door that would take him away from me and bring him back to me every day. He brought me to a place that was full of smoke and people who talked loudly about things I didn’t understand. He met up with some friends that I had met before in our room.
“Finally bringing her out huh?” the pimply faced boy with the stringy hair asked.
“Yup.” He said, “ I think it is time everyone see what she is really made of.”
I didn’t want to disappoint him. He had worked so hard to learn how to love me. The growth process was hard. It was painful for both of us, but we did it, we persevered. I wanted to sing for him, to make him love me and be proud of me.
He displayed me proudly and I sang for him, we sang together. He was nervous; I could feel his hands tremble. He was fumbling a bit, but that didn’t matter. I was the only one close enough to be able to tell. To me it was perfect; my place in his world was solid. I knew he would love me forever.
When it was over and they all smiled and cheered. They surrounded us and admired us. Some of them told him how beautiful I was, how lucky he was to have me. He would smile and nod. Some of them even asked if they could take me home. He would only laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I am his.” I would think, I would never sing for you! I was never worried. I knew I was the most important thing in his life, he told me as much many times. I am the only one who really understands him!
After that he took me out more and more. We went all over the place; sometimes we went to bars, sometimes to coffee houses, sometimes parks. My world got bigger all of the time. I loved how it felt when people would admire me, how he took such pride in me. I belonged to him. It was like I was a part of him.
A few more years went by. He was growing into a strong and handsome man. We were singing together almost every day, fast and powerful. His hands would no longer shake. When he would touch me it was skillful and adept. I loved how he made me scream such a beautiful melodic scream. His rhythm was hard and fast, his sweat was that of exhaustion and pleasure, no longer of nerves of tension. And they loved us, how they loved us!
One night he slowed down. I thought maybe he was trying something different. His touch was shaky and nervous again, but his song was slow and beautiful. The song we sang came from a place of magic; it had an intensity I had never felt with him before. He was anxious like he was when we first touched, but he was filled with a feeling that was spilling over into me. My song was full and soft and brought the room to silence until all you could hear was he and I.
When it was over, the thunder of claps and cheers was louder than it had ever been before. I knew he was proud, we had reached a new level, but then something happened. He let me go. Just left me there on the floor. He took no care in what happened to me, just walked away from me to her. She was the girl sitting in the front with the long brown curls. The one who kept watching him, like so many girls had before, but he would always ignore them. She was different; he walked away from me, and went to her! That had never happened before! Who was this? Can she sing like me? Does she think she could take my place? Could she?
I watched him nervously kick the floor as he talked to her. He didn’t once even turn to check if I was ok. He had his hands in his pockets so she would not see how they were shaking.
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