whatcha ona bout girl??

whatcha ona bout girl??
A retrospective on the inner workings of love, flying pancakes, mensa disasters, dandelion cookies, number bending, super salt, bubblegum oysters, chicken spit, crystal kidneys, guerilla carrots, polychromatic tofu, paraphysics, tender vigilanties, black sand, phillastine placebos, wood soup, buttered shuttlecocks, apostrophe training, fish whips, bleeding speed, plastic fantastic lobster telephones, venus drug rehab, clowns on fire, kiosks on a leash, marshmello overcoats, bottled light, fried blood, unbridled hyperthyroidism, folding wine, amygdula tickling, fainting in coils, hamburgers for the apocalypse, plastic memes, and conjugal fritters.....well...the love parts true

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

a scar, a drink, and a loser of hide and seek


I kid you not………getting invited to play over at Johnnys house was……..a treat. Yeah dude… a POOL…A REAL POOL….and the TOYS!!!!! THE DOGS!!! Can I go mom?canI?canI? And regardless of how hard I tried to not embarrass myself…something bad ALWAYS happened. I burned my leg so bad on his motorcycle that I begged to go to the doctor. I nearly got electrocuted when I stuck something in a wall socket. I still have this scar over my eye from running into a door knob playing hide and seek…….yeah dude…I said hide and seek........It took 5 people to hold me down for the stitches and it’s a wonder they let their son befriend such a walking problem.
I make enough mistakes for all of us and I m sure I would have fewer scars if I had chosen some things differently. But I’m fairly sure I can’t change the past. So it doesn’t matter whether someone poured my glass half empty because it’s also half full.
I dated this girl in college and it didn’t last very long. I never got close to her. She was……..unavailable. Her scars were more serious and deeper than any I had. Half empty? Half full? I wasn’t even close. This girl had never seen a glass. We never got to a point where she could tell me a how or a why. Now I can’t take credit here.

Why don't you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can't help you fix yourself
Your making me insane

I wanted to help but I suppose I was afraid to push the issue. I might have been afraid of what was behind those sad, trapped eyes. Men are fixers. I like to fix things. I couldn’t fix this and plastic surgery wasn’t going to help either. In the end I just walked away and that was sad because she was a sweet girl and all she wanted was to be loved. I should have tried to pour her a drink. But I didn’t.

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much and
Our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Bring it…..Bring your scars. You don’t have a choice really. Do you? The best relationships I can remember were those where you confessed who you were without fear of rejection. When you’re young you don’t always get to decide what you get to drink or if your glass is half empty or full. Someone else pours it for you. When Im thirsty I don’t really care if the glass is half full or half empty Im just glad to have something to drink. Besides… I hear chicks dig scars……….cheers.

2 comments:

Kimberly said...

Ok...I so love Papa Roach. Jacoby Shaddix is a mini Nikki Sixx.

I could use a drink. Vodka. Cold.

Visible scars are cool it's the internal ones that take longer to heal. It is hard to check those internal scars at the door.

f1trey said...

True you! vodka?? really? is that your poison of choice? huh.....good on you for the papa roach....that was for you.....