Are you fucking kidding me?
I thought.
What the fuck?
I thought.
Who does that?
But I know
the answer to
that. particular. question.
I asked a question that
You didn't want asked.
And
you wanted the answer
even less than you
wanted to hear the question.
And you don't like it.
And now,
I have to listen
while you connect events,
feelings, needs, desires,
intended consequences
and
The Feared Ones.
Your constant, "why am I doing this?"
followed by
Your constant refrain, "why am I willing to risk everything in my life that I love so much?"
Do you really want the answer?
Pay close fucking attention.
This is not deep.
This is not complicated.
This is not what you will want to hear.
You are willing to risk it all, because you have realized
In quiet intimate moments with yourself or with me,
That perhaps, just maybe, this - THAT is not what you want
At least, not now.
25 years ago?
Sure.
I believe it.
But now, 25 years later?
Not so much.
And I cannot help the fury I feel
or
perhaps I could help my fury,
but simply will not,
if doing so only serves to make things easier
for you.
I've made these concessions before.
It doesn't matter to whom or when or why.
But with this? for you?
I refuse.
Let
the gale force winds of my own storm
stir around
churning water and stomachs as
I Scream into the Wind.
Do you want to know what I think of your Code?
The once you desperately want to be real?
It wasn't enough for Hemingway,
It cannot be enough for you.
Not here.
Not today.
Not ever.
Because THIS is not fucking real.
WE are not fucking real.
There is no Code.
There is no Winner.
There is no Great Recognition.
There is no, "he did or indeed, he did not."
Do not cheapen yourself,
assuming your motivations and choices
will be considered ~ even remembered by
anyone looking for evidence of a hero
in the debris field when you ~
Quite Deliberately ~ blow your shit up.
Broken promises,
mortal wounds,
unintended casualties
are never assuaged by
risk-benefit paradigms
or
the burned out shells of wrecked dioramas.
Hit you or Fuck you?
Both.
I want to hit you.
Then
I want to fuck you.
I want you to fuck me.
Hard.
In fury.
In rage.
In silence.
An acknowledgement
of what was
what is
what will never be
and
it should hurt.
Because it does already.
then,
I want to fuck you
for slamming us into this interminable dance of whatever the fuck this is.
I want to fuck you for leaving me 25 years ago
without giving me a chance to comprehend,
more importantly,
without giving me a chance to understand what the fuck was even going on.
With you.
With us.
With me.
Because I had no clue.
Not a single one.
It never even occurred to me
that I should be looking for them
or
that they might exist at all.
It takes such little effort
for the dandelion
to release its feathery seeds
into the wind on nothing but a breath and a wish.
Would such gentleness have been strong enough to carry my wishes too?
Would it have been just enough to nudge me
onto a path
less brutal
than the course I was charting for myself?
But you were not thinking about these things
when you stormed out.
Clear in your refusal
to be defined
to be contained
so right, so strong, so careless, so brutal.
Your certainty
and flimsy justifications
were necessary,
because
our stupid girl
didn't know who she was
Nor
with whom she was dealing.
But ~
(and wait for it) ~
Neither.
Did.
He.
Not that day.
Nope.
On that day, he clearly did not know.
He simply could not have known.
But our boy
pretending to be a man
Left a note
for our girl
Like the one from a story
about the girl who falls from one world
into another.
I still need to understand
what
our ignorant, arrogant girl
did
that
caused you to blink
and miss something so vital,
that your only response
was skittering out into the snow ~
in a beach town where snow
was not even a possibility
on that day.
Perhaps you fell into the rabbit hole, too.
Perhaps you were never real to begin with.
I have been honest ~ these past 25 years and 27 days.
I have been vulnerable.
I have held myself accountable.
I have apologized for the slights I was aware of and the ones I am still discovering.
I am trying to understand why I push back
when I am not even cornered.
I am trying to understand why drawing a circle around myself,
and taking no prisoners,
always feels like the better choice.
I am trying to remember what I wanted, after all the things I wanted showed up.
I didn't think to ask for more.
I didn't want enough, so it seems now.
But, do you know Why I even want the things I want?
You should.
It should feel familiar to you ~
nothing complicated, hidden, or convoluted.
We want the things we want
simply because
we think we will feel better
in the having of them.
There is no judgment.
No verdict.
Just silence and
stillness ~ anticipating what is coming.
When it comes ~ it feels like a window has finally been cracked
in a room where the air was too heavy to breathe.
The only thing left
for us to do
is to ~ deliberately ~ feel for the
path of least resistance.
Let fingers and thoughts work & sift until they find the exhale, something that feels like peace.
And,
I never asked you Darling,
how did YOU come to be here at all?
Discovered?
Not quite.
More like you FLUNG yourself over to me.
Maybe you blew in on the breeze.
But wouldn't I recognize my own magic?
Summon you, I certainly did not.
Well, at least I didn't mean to.
Yet, in spite of all this:
of you,
of me,
of us,
both versions,
the then, the now, the lesser, the better,
the Universe
waits.
Pausing and
delighting, watching as we discover
the
synchronicities,
coincidences
between us,
because
that is the language she speaks.
She is feeling
as optimistic
as an oyster
if only,
because
she suspects that
we
might, finally, one day,
have the grace
to acknowledge
the stars falling over our heads.
Daughter of Circe 