Como Se Dice. February 21, 2009

Ask for unquestioned support and you will be denied.

Oh god, don’t admit how you feel. Don’t say it. Not because it will offend but because they won’t understand it. You see? It’s not angst, it is quiet resignation, coupled with experience, coupled with that (those) time (times) I tried to explain and then you laughed at me for crying.

But give up the weight. Remember: I am free so long as I allow myself to be.
Or not?

Rework ideals, ignore conflicting emotion that sits hot in your chest and grates against your ribs like fingers moving quickly along vertical, metal fences. It makes that noise like unzipping a zipper. But do not unzip the zipper, staple it shut, lock it up, keep it inside. Sexuality like heated buttons, overcome what feels natural. Learn to fear what you feel because they don’t understand.

You see? I asked you, do you see? It is not angst. It is quiet acceptance. It is those times you laughed while I cried when you should have held my hand and said, “Hush up. Be quiet now. I believe in you.”

But let go of the weight. Isolation does not make the implication of importance, or of one who is special. I do not think I am so special, or different. I am alone, that’s what I was saying. I recognize (RECOGNIZE) that I am not the only existing being to have ever felt this way. I am just saying. I was just saying. I do not connect, like faulty technology, like stranger’s hands in a crowd, like my ideologies and my families: I do not connect.

And I would throw out the luggage if it made it too heavy for the plane to soar. I would irrigate the soil. I would tell you that I finally understand: I am a _________ of _________ out of place (do not say it, they will not understand), holding your strange, unfamiliar hands in the crowd.

A Snippet February 10, 2009

The presence of one thing implies
an acute awareness of the absence
of all others. For instance:

Your arms are not his,
I am glad for this.

I did not misdirect my anger today.

When you rub the small of my back
it makes me feel safe.

On Getting Robbed February 8, 2009

All of the cash in my wallet was stolen last night by a stranger.

I threw up in the cab on the way home.

I sat outside of my building, gathering myself, drinking some water, resting for a moment before heading into my apartment when two men came over and started talking to me. I ignored them, pretended to be calling somebody, when they said, “It’s okay, we’re from the neighborhood, don’t be scared.”

I continued ignoring them, it was 5 a.m. and I was in no shape to take on potential confrontation. When suddenly, a woman came across the street and started yelling at them. I found this to be uncomfortable, and stood up to go into the lobby of my apartment when she said, “Yeah, that’s right bitch, you better get home before I rob you of your purse.”

It’s the principle of things, you see? It’s not the money or the time of the morning or the amount of liquor. It’s the principle. It’s honesty and respect.

My heart is all twisted up in sadness for the human race. We’re not good to one another yet expect decency and honesty from others to us.

I’m going to go grill some squash and boil some wheat pasta and sautee some spinach and shitake mushrooms and make some tea and try to make some sort of sense out of people. Really, I want to believe in the best in all of us, and hope that we want to exercise it, but you’re not giving me much to keep faith on. A few bread crumbs, is all, an eyelash or two.

As Long As We Suffer Apart From One Another You Can Hold My Hand But You Can Never Hold My Heart February 5, 2009

Last night I jumped up and down and cried and laughed and I’ve been laughing at the hard stuff so often now and it feels good because it means that silly things that used to hurt me are falling off like teensy flakes of skin.

Last night I cried and laughed and jumped up and down and it was because after 11 months of carrying your weight and feeling sorry for myself for not being what you wanted me to be and for your not allowing me to help you and for your heroin addiction and your cold shoulders and your lieslieslies, I finally let it all go. All of it.

All
of
it.

Gone.

And I can point to the catalyst but can not figure out why, and I am afraid to question it because it feels so fucking wonderful to be free of you.

My god, it’s about time I moved on with my life.
I forgive you, but more importantly, I FORGIVE MYSELF.

(If I could compress a hundred emotions into one word it would be this little two-syllable wonder: overdue).

It’s Only the Best Way to Say It February 4, 2009

I still refuse to acknowledge winter.

Every day I first put on a pair of cozy moccasins and walk around my apartment imagining the feel of warm breeze on my legs. I later change to weather appropriate shoes and it starts my day off with a general crankiness that is hard to shake off.

I just want comfort and beauty and ease. So why did I follow a life filled with hardship, and struggle, and a pocket of glaring ugliness?

It made you laugh when I said it a few years ago, so I say it to others now: it probably has a lot to do with being an internal masochist.

‘Suffer’ is a Word that Should Not be Used in Modern Poetry Because it is Cliche and Nobody Wants to be Commonplace, Unless They Do. Do You? February 3, 2009

It is not difficult and takes little effort to be one’s self.
It’s not caring what other people will think about who that is that is the hard part.

I am working on mastering myself daily. Letting go is so much harder than letting things in/becoming attached/assigning meaning/being let go of. It’s as though we can choose between being affected and open and as a result being hurt often, or to remain apathetic and closed off and as thus causing a drastic limitation to our own experiences and happiness.

I know which of these suit me best, it’s only tempting, however, to want to sequester our inner selves from malice.

“I only hope to be worthy of my suffering.” -Rainer Maria Rilke