Spontaneous combustion

I see him, and I want to hide.  He sees me and wants to explode.  This is why we failed each other.

He called too much.  I resisted for the sake of resisting.  I should have outgrown reservations based on malformed principles, relics of naive teenage past, but I teach high school.

It is too bad.  We would have worked if he did not want kids. Or a wife.  Or a partner in crime.  I could not stand that.  Go to OKCupid with that shit.

Holding it together

My thing that is beautiful is trapped, and I do not know how to let it out.  I do not want it to go.

I am not a tortured genius.

But, in seeing my small, stupid process, I re-scale and wonder: is this what actual tortured geniuses do on a larger or more urgent or more genius scale?  Struggle with themselves to let go of the beauty?  Is that why they die so horribly, so quickly, or live so horribly, so unhappily?  Is it because the beauty does not actually belong to the world, that the world has no right or claim to it?  

If I keep it together hold on to it, do I remain sane and mediocre?  Is that what I want?

I would rather be crazy but not terrified.