looking out my window this morning, coffee in hand, wanting to curl myself up in the crux of your arm as i remember the way it so easily wraped itself around my shouldersbutterfly kisses and eskimo kisses--a different kind of kiss, a different kind of elation, one that does not plummet in your absence but only grows stronger. what i'm trying to say is that i miss you on most days. there are days when i feel like my heart has gone on strike because it can't take the constant remembrance of things pastand then my memories flood my body and i all i can do is remember our interlocking fingersquick 'love yous' at the end of your letters to lighten the weight of not knowing how you are, leave me with a temporary kind of relief. i do not fault you for this, love. it's just that i've never felt such an eagerness to know...before THIS.
Objectified (past tense)
I objectify people;i make people into things that I can hold.I objectify myself.I stare too long in the mirror, searching my own eyes for truths to the lies that I tell myself.I objectify you...You said don't.In a way that is yours, you said to just love you:Don't cling to me, your hands are too small and I will break free;i just want you, the you that I know and have always known.you delicately held my cheeks with the tips of your fingers and said, 'sometimes, i just want to kiss you like this...thank you for your honesty'it's a constant dialogue between me and my reflection--a back and forth between the truthful me and the mirrored me. over and over again: tell me like it is...no wait, don't....i'm not ready...but, if not now, when?you leave me no other optionbut to answer you with honest kisses
My skin feels light My eyes feel brightMy smile is wide My heart is trembling My thoughts are still ...and all feels as it should: RealComplete Knowingi love you
to whom this may concern:
Today I saw my new therapist for the first time. She was an actual doctor with the letters D-R before her name. Those two letters, D-R gave me a sense of legitimacy.
She is a real doctor who will help me with "my issues".
She had one of those Marylin-Monroe-like studs on her face, she wore a finely tailored suit, and she had these fantastic light brown square framed glasses. Her voice was soft, re-assuring, calming with a hint of nervousness. She was nervous, I was nervous. Two nervous women sitting across from one another, uncertain...
The room was stale looking. I could see that she was in the midst of moving in, starting a new job in a foreign place. Her newness gave me comfort; it let me know that she was human, alive and breathing as humans do. I am not used to that. I am not used to doctors that breath the same air that I do. Knowing that we were both breathing the recycled air within the confines of that stale room opened me up somehow, giving me the permission to speak the words as they entered my head. Part of me was cautious that I didn't speak over her. I wanted to take in what she was saying.
I will listen to remember.
It is this label that elevates her in my mind. I've heard over the course of my adolescent life that I must make sure that I see a doctor, a professional that can perscribe medication for whatever ails me. The label will cure my fears, halt my anxiety attacks. The prestige of the title coupled with years of higher learning will set me FREE. It's funny because now I am sitting in a replica of a replica of a replica of the office that I sat in many years ago, with yet another labeled person, beginning a process that should help me unravel the knots in my stomach. I told her that I wanted her to catch me in my lies--catch the patterns, catch me weaving fairytale-like stories that conceal what I am actually trying to say. Guide me towards raw words and feelings, but most importantly, lead me to a place where I will have no choice but to turn my rawness into actions that will keep me moving forwards.
My words will never be truth unless I act on them.
when I was a child...
Teary eyed, bleary eyed, stinted breathing and the rain continues to fall...I'd like to believe that the elements are not connected to my state of being,That the rain does not appear when I ask it to in my own melancholy way,That the sun does not shine because I feel glad to be alive on this earth,...and yet...it just so happens that the rain DOES fall when I feel sad and the sun DOES shine when I feel like life couldn't be more glorious. When I was a child, it was the rare gloomy Sunday that I would seek. I had my own little safe spot in the basement where I would play, surrounded by my books, concealed by my little tent. It was my safe spot away from the noise: my own private imaginary life that at times feels so far away when I envision myself back there. When I was a child, I did not respond to my name.I did not answer and not because I couldn't hear them when they called me--I heard them and chose to ignore. I did not answer their questions and not because I was scared of what they would think--I feared them, yes, but I chose to disengage......and it was in this disengagement process where a part of myself got lost; the part that reveled in rain storms on those gloomy Sunday afternoons.
With you I have a place in this world
You take me out of my head and render my thoughts intelligible.
I respond to your thoughts with my own and it is in this magnificent exchange of unmentionnables that I can find peace.
You help me grow as a human being, calling into question everything that I say and every action that I make.
You make me give you reasons for my words, reasons for my behaviors--why did you say that, what does that mean, who were you trying to protect...
...where was your heart at the end of it all?
...where was your heart at the end of it all? I cannot answer you in words anymore because I have no more words that can even come close to describing the way that I feel when you look at me, into me
...but never around me.
In all this time, you never looked around me, or through me. Your gaze looked into me, reading past my surface, exposing my quiet truth.
I love you is simple and powerful and yet it leaves me with a half full feeling. My other half relishes in and anticipates for the way you touched my hair at 4am, when my mind and body connected to yours. I too was under the illusion that I am merely an individual navigating this life. The longer you stared at me, the freer your hands became....I knew, I know that you and I will go through this world together.
The question is: how?
i restrain myself on most days
from the heaviness that sometimes sits on my heart
i push through the heaviness and inhale
i throw my arm into the brick wallknuckles white with fury...fingers curled....nails concealed by the palms of my hands....and i fight for a second chance