Sunday, March 1, 2009

Excusing yourself from eye contact so that you can better hear.

There are days like this. That begin with little love things. And end with loving me so little.
There are days when I am so tired. And the word "so" makes me cry.
Maybe there is love in crying for myself.
There are days when my body is a full place. When my body can't stand up anymore- has to sit down on the subway steps. Walk away- cry when I think of how much I want to be followed. Sometimes I walk away because I know how, but I want you, want you to follow me. A hand on my back.

If you are 22 and terrified that spending your days studying Christ's martyrs may well be your best preparation for the future:
Let yourself cry on the subway, do not wipe your tears.

Crave someone else's words, even though you know yours are enough. Ache at their absence. Their absence everyday, not just today.

Breathe loud enough that you can hear it.

Knead your stomach with both hands so that it does not turn heavy and to stone.

Feel unsure of yourself as a writer- when there is this much to purge, how do you formulate anything but confessional enjambment?

Do not panic when no one answers the phone.

Tell the truth.

Worry about how honest you are- when other people compliment your vulnerability, let yourself cry for it. Not to qualify their compliment but to show them that it hurts like hell.

Fuck being embarrassed to hurt in front of the people that hurt you. Be a trauma survivor- not know whether it's ok to want that same person to hold your hand, shoulder, head, spine.

Let the hurt be what's hurting you right now, not the everything that's wrong with you nothing will be ok forever and never hurt.

Believe hard and fast in guardian angels. Be needy with them.

Marvel at how beautiful your deep eyes concerned face is in the subway door reflection. Don't feel bad if it reminds you of the boy that saw you crying after you were raped and told you how blue your eyes looked. Be patient with your associations.

Hold your memory tight. Touch it with kindness. Do not do not inflict it with violence. It is your memory and it needs you as much as you need it.

Know that it's ok if you wish someone were watching you in this moment- tears on big eyes, no red lipstick, soft black shirt, grey cardigan, deep purple lace briefs and gold on wrist and ears- because you know how unbearably sexy the combination is. Because you know you can be hot even when you're a hot mess.

Be in awe of how much of your body you can feel. Know that that is change.

Be content with the paradox- proud at the way your body is cycling its own energy to save your ass, and hurt that you are so strong.

You don't need to know what to do with your strength. But do not offer it up as sacrifice, holy or not.

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