Indulgence

Good for Something

as texted to me by my Dad
Being loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone gives you courage

I don't know why, but I went through Indulgences again and tried to see what was going on my mind these past few days/weeks. After all, I was really fucked up but it's out of my system now. And I remember the pain but I can't recall how much it hurt. I know the cause but, from where I am standing now, with all that I know, it seems strange to even have felt that pain at all. It's almost as if, with maturity, with the gain of knowledge, we look back at ourselves and end up thinking so lowly of ourselves. How stupid of me to think that! or What was I thinking?!?! You look back and think that if only you knew what you know now, so much pain could have been spared.

But then again, you never reach that point without getting hurt. It's almost as if wisdom only comes from pain.

I went through some of the old stuff that I've written. Almost 2 or 3 years ago, I came into another situation similar to the ones that I've been wracked with recently. Someone used me and even if there were no promises made, I made it mean more than what it apparently was. My own desire and need for this person created a reality that was not, in any way close to the actual reality of the situation. In the end, I felt used, abused and hurt. The person walked away without batting an eye-lid; without care. I really thought it meant something; or worse, that I could make it mean something. Of course, it would have been a totally different story otherwise if I had succeeded.

I wrote something then. It wasn't a poem. Maybe it is a song. But I can't put a melody to it. Maybe someone could. But I wrote something about the situation. Here it is.

Good For Something

Two nights have come and gone with me home alone
It's just another ordinary morning without you
It's good to know you're not depressed (anymore)
But I've lost all hope on knowing what is true

But at least I know I'm good for something
The other night I proved I was good at something

The hours can be counted on the glasses I have drunk
Rum cokes, gin or brandy; scotch if I've run out
Anything to keep me going while the moon's still up
Liquid fire is good company in these moments of doubt

I thought I was your refuge where you come to rest
But you no longer have a weary heart tonight
But this world is dark and cold and hurt's around the door
And in that time I'll know I'm good for something
That's the time I know I'm good for something

I'm just 10 minutes away but we're miles apart
I just sit here waiting to heal your (sad/damaged) heart
If I'm the one you'll run to when you end with nothing,
Then at least I know I'll be good at something

Don't we all feel this way at some point in our lives? Well, I know martyrs and masochists and people who have that messianic complex that believes they could save everyone that comes their way. I have that complex. And I guess that situation was really appropriate for my character. In the creation of fantasies and dreams, I wrote 11 poems about waiting and hoping and making so much out of nothing. They were good poems.

They were all, also, unfortunately deleted when my Mom re-formatted her computer. I was able to save 3 or 4 of them. But I lost the rest. That was painful. That was even more painful than the actual situation; all because the memory lingers but I was able to make something out of it, something I could use and then the product was lost. So now, all I have is the memory. I don't even have what came out of it.

Well, except for the 3 or 4 I was able to save and this thing, this almost-song. I'll hold on to it. After what I've been through since then, this is enough for me. I'm happy with it.

posted by wanggo @ 3:19 AM