There is a reoccurring twitch that's setting up in my spine. An indication of an emotional breakthrough about to erupt. Whether it makes a scene or not is the question. It feels like drama and the stage is set so stand the fuck clear.
If I could only claim crazy occasionally then I could act a fool and get away with it. I could crack like the sad and discontented egg I am and fry. But most of all what I need to claim is the gift of how to give and stop caring so much about how to get. I am a selfish only-child at Christmas. I still have that picture of me surrounded by my loot. Hair brushed straight and white, hands folded like a little princess.
I wanted you. I wanted. And I can't have so fuck you.
Mean girl inside, useless strategy considering my soul is sooo soft. I am so soft, you'll never know. I am a contradiction. Able to shock the best of you who know me. Once she said, "Why are you so nice?" Then later she said, "Since you were so mean, I've done my best to detach."
I do not know how to make peace with the Want and the Give. I can't seem to drive that clear flat plain on cruise control. With all the enlightenment flickering around me like fireflies I fold my hands over my eyes, mouth and ears like a multi-armed Hindu goddess of ignorance. No officer I didn't see the signs..
I swear to god I'm gonna break and leave a wet smear on the subway platform. And people will walk by and say, "What the fuck? Did someone wretch?" But it will just be bits of me, not dinner. Bits of useless rage and childish self pity and the deep heart break of dreams deferred. As she sits in her forget. In her multi-colored bandana forgetting. Forgetting me.
Yesterday a great, fat wall of flesh stepped in front of me as I stepped off the train. Closing off my escape route, he did. I was on a mission, racing to get into my apartment. The slovenly beast lumbered to and fro too fat for me to move around. Too selfish, gloating to not enjoy his blockage of my freedom.
I squeaked between him and the wall and as I passed in a rage I raised my hand to the sky and shook it. Like a fucking 'jazz hand' move from an age 7-10 dance class and I knew then that I was on the fray.
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6 comments:
A dream deferred explodes.
Keep raising your fist and shouting at senseless flesh and stupid squares of sky.
Fuck them if they think you're a nutter. What do fat men and bits of sky know anyways? Assholes.
This poem's for you: Lullaby
Some day I will come to NYC and I will meet you and kiss you on the lips. So stay out from under trains until then, and keep a running list of people whose asses you want me to kick.
Love,
TS
"If I could only claim crazy occasionally....".
Why don't you? It's worked for lots of us. The more one claims it the easier it gets.
Sure, crazy people don't win many Nobel Prizes but, nobody blocks the way of a crazy person either.
Besides, I can't stand the vision of you as a disconsolate egg cracking and frying on a subway platform.
Miss Toasty,
As father of GR may I add my list of names of asses I wish you would kick?
I'm claiming rights of osmosis.
cotton candy.
It's kind of gross, but it's fun to eat.
Toasty- Thank you very much for the poem, it's soo lovely, like you. This especially carried me away:
'Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,'
I will keep the list and I will expect the full frontal lip kiss as well.
Seriously, come.
love you
Dad-Yes, egg on subway platform sucks. I'll try to claim crazy and not be embarrassed..
Did you know that you could open a convenience store and call it GandhiMart in good conscience? Or that your boat would be a Gandhola? Or that you could be Gandhaleeza Rice if you felt like messing up your polisci image? Or that it's really fun to replace 'candy' with 'Gandhi' in BowWowWow's one hit song in the 80s? Really good tribal-punk drum beat with that. Thought I'd add.
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