Speed written by me
Speed
I know him pretty well, the cop on the Harley,
he doesn't give a second thought to women,
even those destined for greatness. He's
versatile, changes his style of clothes to fit
his moods. He says a lot of things about
pride, honor, opportunity, without showing
much vulnerability, even though he's got great
wit and personal goodness edged by a symbolic
little boy smile; his personal contribution to
the idiosyncrasies of his behavior.
I serve as the heroic actress in his goddam
dramas, the ones he fabricates to keep from
getting bored, but what he doesn't know is
I'm compelled by the same emotion, the same
adrenaline rush. The creation of my pen takes
on full life and I can smell the scent of an old
theater as we ride his bike together, we, two
mendicants, two travelers, staring at sundown
with a sense of humor and defiance. There's no
semblance of romance inhibiting the spirit,
and I'm already in love with someone else, but
I like the way he shakes the foundation of my
literature, forcing me to occupy center stage with
him; having some fun. He makes no apologies,
doesn't cater to rabbi, minister or priest yet he's
not misguided. He's Hell's Kitchen, Scrap Bar Metal,
the guy who hunts down sociopathic serial killers
building pyramids of humanity with bricks and hard
granite. He's strong but not inflexible. We've talked
about love, God, moral law, and the battlefield of
the spirit. He's from my neck of the woods and he
speaks about the old neighborhood with sufficient
reverence. He's no martyr but he does champion
revolution with genuine artistic flavor. He is the
keeper of the keys to his own kingdom, a father,
who buys Bratz dolls for his baby girl and agonizes
over his older daughter's relationship via facebook.
I don't complain when he says it's a privilege to
speak to me, to hang with me; being with him is
complete relaxation.
I've received kindly forewarnings about his charming
speech and how remiss he can be emotionally, but
they just make me laugh. I know all about last-minute
surprises, I understand his jargon, we're not all that
different he and I. It's a mad place the one we reside
in, created by the pitfalls of our past, our childhood,
but we come to terms with it in complete honesty. The
many facets of the internal us pours forth from our
friendship, and I personally like the way he encourages
me not to hesitate when I lift both my voice and pen.
Today I emerge feeling blessed, happy, and having all
the answers. Sometimes imperfection is captivating!
It may be mediocre to the rest of the world but to me,
it’s satisfying. This road trip of ours is just beginning
and the man who collects action figures by the
hundreds; who knows the name, make, of every
collectable doll made has become my good friend. I'm
still hurting over the loss of the man I love but I must
also confess that my friend has my attention. While he
will never have the opportunity to break my heart,
he does hold my interest and has my profound respect.
All I can say is, Harry, rev it up baby, I'm ridin'.
I know him pretty well, the cop on the Harley,
he doesn't give a second thought to women,
even those destined for greatness. He's
versatile, changes his style of clothes to fit
his moods. He says a lot of things about
pride, honor, opportunity, without showing
much vulnerability, even though he's got great
wit and personal goodness edged by a symbolic
little boy smile; his personal contribution to
the idiosyncrasies of his behavior.
I serve as the heroic actress in his goddam
dramas, the ones he fabricates to keep from
getting bored, but what he doesn't know is
I'm compelled by the same emotion, the same
adrenaline rush. The creation of my pen takes
on full life and I can smell the scent of an old
theater as we ride his bike together, we, two
mendicants, two travelers, staring at sundown
with a sense of humor and defiance. There's no
semblance of romance inhibiting the spirit,
and I'm already in love with someone else, but
I like the way he shakes the foundation of my
literature, forcing me to occupy center stage with
him; having some fun. He makes no apologies,
doesn't cater to rabbi, minister or priest yet he's
not misguided. He's Hell's Kitchen, Scrap Bar Metal,
the guy who hunts down sociopathic serial killers
building pyramids of humanity with bricks and hard
granite. He's strong but not inflexible. We've talked
about love, God, moral law, and the battlefield of
the spirit. He's from my neck of the woods and he
speaks about the old neighborhood with sufficient
reverence. He's no martyr but he does champion
revolution with genuine artistic flavor. He is the
keeper of the keys to his own kingdom, a father,
who buys Bratz dolls for his baby girl and agonizes
over his older daughter's relationship via facebook.
I don't complain when he says it's a privilege to
speak to me, to hang with me; being with him is
complete relaxation.
I've received kindly forewarnings about his charming
speech and how remiss he can be emotionally, but
they just make me laugh. I know all about last-minute
surprises, I understand his jargon, we're not all that
different he and I. It's a mad place the one we reside
in, created by the pitfalls of our past, our childhood,
but we come to terms with it in complete honesty. The
many facets of the internal us pours forth from our
friendship, and I personally like the way he encourages
me not to hesitate when I lift both my voice and pen.
Today I emerge feeling blessed, happy, and having all
the answers. Sometimes imperfection is captivating!
It may be mediocre to the rest of the world but to me,
it’s satisfying. This road trip of ours is just beginning
and the man who collects action figures by the
hundreds; who knows the name, make, of every
collectable doll made has become my good friend. I'm
still hurting over the loss of the man I love but I must
also confess that my friend has my attention. While he
will never have the opportunity to break my heart,
he does hold my interest and has my profound respect.
All I can say is, Harry, rev it up baby, I'm ridin'.
Add a Comment
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Comment by Connie Jo on November 8, 2009 at 12:46am -
How are you and Lee? Are you communicating?
I'm upset with Lee...he gave his word he wouldn't hurt you. :(
Still...I hate to see you close your heart to another love if Lee and you don't make it. I'm a firm believer in the lyrical message relating to Love in the song "The Rose". :)
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Comment by Connie Jo on November 8, 2009 at 12:40am
-
Well, there's a twist of fate at play once again in my life...if you have time, read my latest blog posted tonight related to facing yet more choices in life. No doubt you'll have a visonary opinion.
I really, really, really...am very attached to my friend, and don't want to give him up at this stage in my life...the thought of such brings sadness to my heart. I have love for him, though I'm not in love with him...I don't think anyway. Heck, maybe I am and I'm in denial trying to protect my heart by lying to it, hahaha.
It's complicated no doubt due to our past heartbreaks. Likely more complicated for him than me. I keep sensing God brought us together for more of a reason than the friendship we have now...though only God knows what that reason may be...till God reveals the purpose for bringing us together...I take it one day at a time.
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Comment by Belle Green on November 7, 2009 at 8:47pm -
I hope you fall in love with him Connie Jo. And I hope he falls in love with you and a new beautiful chapter of your lives opens up for you both, together.
My heart belongs to Lee, no one else, whether he comes back to me or not. I have a lot of male friends, but that's all they are, friends and they'll never be anything more, no matter how hard they try.
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Comment by Connie Jo on November 7, 2009 at 8:25pm
- I warned him a while back...but he continues on with our friendship, regardless of my warnings that I could fall in love with him if I let myself. Hope he knows what he's doing, hahahaha. :)
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Comment by Connie Jo on November 7, 2009 at 8:23pm
- In many ways...this writing reminds me of my 'friend' and my inner thoughts relating to our ever growing 'friendship', as well as, my heart belonging to someone else...though that love is fading with each passing day. My friend does hold a special place in my heart, and he's earned that place in my heart for life. Thing is...he could have the opportunity to break my heart 'IF' I allowed it. He's someone I could easily fall in love with, so I must be careful to protect my heart, which isn't as easy as it may sound, or as I may choose it to be. The heart has a life all it's own when it comes to falling in love, regardless.
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