Lover, Destroyer, Pussy Extraordinaire
by Christopher J Davidson
You are a lover of love, a veritable tyrannosauric teddy bear seeking out something to want and care for and nurture and to do the same in return. Unfortunately, at times, your personality cannot accommodate your necessities. You love to love. You love to be in love. Hell, you love to think about it; but you are horrifically unskilled in the act and followthrough of it. Someone built your Superstore without a love department. The demand remains high, but the CEO says, “Why? They’ve got tons of other toys to play with? It’s an unnecessary expense. I’m not signing off on this crap.” And so it is. You’re stuck with blue light special deals on love where it says ‘Made from Concentrate’ on the box; and that only last for about 6 months with no warranty and no returns. And every little bit of the discount price shows. And you will keep buying the cheap stuff, not understanding that love is not a nice dress that you wear when you feel like it. The heart is a tender thing, easily bruised and more easily broken. It must be cared for, gently nurtured, and, most of all, loved - in return, in kind, with accumulated interest; and you lack the financial proclivities and understanding to know how to give back more than you’re given. It’s just not in your nature.
Oh, you’ve have had love, experienced it, enjoyed it; but it never seems to last. Either you fall out of it or the intended recipient realizes that there just might be someone better out there. Puppy love, childhood crushes, infatuation, one night stands, and bitter endings make up your world. And you know what? You’ve learned to deal with it. Finally, you’ve relegated yourself to remaining alone. You’ve got your music. You’ve got your computer. You’ve got your guitars and strings and picks and tuners and gadgets and…
But, God, then you think of her. And it all seems so useless. And you just want to say to her: “I love you like the sun loves the ground. I need you like the tides need the moon. I want to kiss you, full-mouthed and be kissed in return. Oh, God, it’s been so long since I touched you, since I ran my hand down your belly, and pressed my lips against yours. I’ve been so long in waiting for you that I think I might scream. I want you, dear. I need you. And I want you to feel the same. Take me back, flawed as I am. Take me! Just do something to fill up the emptiness I’ve felt inside over the years. I’m begging and crying for your love. Just tell me what I should do to grab your heart and make it mine.”
You would love to say it, but you never will. Because you’re a pussy, and because nothing that you can do will ever win her back. That’s what happens when you shatter someone’s heart, someone’s dreams. When you hold the entire world in your hands, the love that encompasses your entire life, the whole she-bang, and you say “Fuck it,” and smash it on the ground, there is never a way to pick up the pieces. Sure you can try, but it will never be the way it was before. The world you held is pieced together and is missing pieces and has gained others. The love you held is molded into something else, the relationship is gone, and there will always be a slight tension, a dropping of stomach, a tightening of the throat, and a loosening of the heart when she walks in the room. And you just sit there silently cursing yourself for fucking up something so wonderful. She’ll walk up to you and start up a conversation like she doesn’t even realize the roller-coaster of complexities rushing through your mind, and you’ll ask her if she wants to go grab a cup of coffee or lunch somewhere else. “Shit,” you think to yourself. “This will not end well. This will not end well at all.” She’ll accept, because you’re harmless now, just another friend. And the entire time you will fumble with your coffee cup praying for some god of rum to spike your coffee so you can have the nerve to tell her how you feel, how sorry you are, and that you wonder what could have been, and, yes, that you still love her. But you won’t. Because you’re a pussy, and pussies don’t do that sort of thing. It’s just your nature.
Author's Note: Don't actually feel like this about anyone in particular. Ended up writing this for a friend who is going through ex-girlfriend troubles. Portions of it are quotes from my conversations with him, a majority of it is fiction.
Posted on 07/31/2009
Copyright © 2020 Christopher J Davidson
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Jo Halliday on 08/01/09 at 02:50 AM|
Sheer brilliance! I just felt the tone shifted a little towards the end, in the third para: was it deliberate? It would have been even better for me maybe if it hadn't tried to take a more sympathetic turn there, but in any case written very well.