November 14, 2010 - 12:54 p.m.
And maybe that's how it always is, how it happens
that we give in to the pressure to crack, to burst and to spill
to fill in the blanks, the gaps
inside ourselves
beside ourselves
to fill them with whatever we can find,
lay our hands on
which is less scary than coming up
empty
handed
and I never really trusted what happened to me in your head
what your mind would do
would make of me
perhaps it would make me dirty,
because in my own mind, I wasn't even sure what was going on
perhaps I could not trust your mind
because at times I felt I had lost mine
and was looking to find answers in tangible, physical contact
in the way your hands gripped me
because I could not feel you in my head
felt distant, untouched,
confused
when idiot girls I went to school with could feel this, feel something,
it did not require an IQ, or street smarts, or manner, or skills,
which I knew I had,
how could these people who I envied nothing, feel something that took the world away from under their feet and left me, yes, above and suspended
but not anywhere close to ecstasy,
closer to the omniscience of a narrator, a medical examiner,
-performing an autopsy, on a body that seemed to work just fine
felt the familiar nausea that always preceded the first fumbled and caught suggestion that this might happen
getting my head into the game,
injuries were liable to happen
a viable consequence
I iced myself,
ready to play
hit hard, with confidence and 'eat shit' written in Sharpie across my mouth guard.
I could be anyone, with a weapon in my hand, teeth bared, in a smile
hair down, playing that field, like I owned it, like I even knew what fucking team I was playing for
team me.
yeah, right.
though in those moments, I was finding myself fit for a game that I had no interest in winning
so I faked my injury,
knew how to look
like a broken heart,
like I was crushed,
like the bones in my brain were breaking
and sometimes they were.
Rejection never feels nice, even when you don't really care that much.
The not caring was partly the symptom, partly the cause
but I laid myself out,
bare and ripped open, ribs spread and pulse waiting to quicken
I never gave up on those veins, or that body,
I was, however, more confused than I let on
I have always wanted closeness
and felt, sometimes like I'd found it
I have always taken things personally
to heart
and was so surprised when I found that I had been using it for so long at half its capacity
my god, when you touched me, for the first time
and my foggy head, and weak heart, realized it had been training for distance, when I saw how little,
how far, the space between us two,
that small distance,
a sprint
from past to present,
half-warm, half-fledged heart
to full-on, life-threatening pulse and crushing panic
how, god, I wished
I was not so terrified of those few metres
running so long, at a steady pace,
I was collapsing in self-doubt, afraid to start, over those few feet,
left, left
awkward and humble and frightened
but more excited
than I had ever been before.
And you will never be less to me
than you were, when you became a start and finish line, a line to a race, ending and beginning
a line to erase
everything
a line to begin and end confusion
you confuse me still
I do not know what to make of you
except everything.
I wish I had known myself sooner, and known you so much later.
to have saved you for last.
saved you
for the last.
