I hear you
My constant companions
Some whispering, some insistent
All desperate to be heard
Reaching from behind to steer me
Safely through the world
A world you did not survive
I hear you
I do
But I must find my own way
Must live new mistakes
And leave this world
Having lived new ways of being in it
I hear you
I do
And I say
Thank you
And I say
Goodbye
I have finally come to terms with Life
We’ve come to a compromise
Instead of me wanting a different one or mine to end
I’m giving myself fully to this one, no holding back
In return, Life agrees to continue to be fully what She is
(And to let me think it’s a compromise when really, She has won me over)
I take a deep breath
Connect to all who’ve been before
Feel my mother’s mother’s heartbeat in mine
What I yearn for
I don’t always understand
Whose dreams am I living
Are they of the present or the past
“Have courage,”
The ladybug whispered to the budding rose
Whose hesitation expressed itself in a tight bud
And just that, that little bit of encouragement
Made all the difference in the world
And with that, she began to bloom
Pull me down from my pedestal
It’s cold up here alone
Strip me of my saintly ancestry
It’s too heavy, stifling, to be worn
Breathe life into my marbled joints
Let your sweat salt my flesh
Season my womanhood into full form
So I can become a stranger to my former self
Want to wear you like a costume
Stretch my arms inside your sleeves
Disappear inside your skinsuit
Make a home I’ll never leave
No more lectures
I get it
I’m nothing, compared to you
I see your size
You have the power
At this point
You’re preaching to the choir
Do you feel that small
Need me to know
My smallness next to you
Who would we both be
If you held me up
And let me reach
My full height
Where is she
I sit on the bed and wait
Eyes closed, heart in hand
Try again to conjure
The girl I once was
The one before
Before you
Before it
Where is she
Where am I
Well, it happened.
I thought I published yesterday’s post, but I just saw that I did not.
There is a part of me devastated by this error.
I call this part of me “Perfectionista.”
If I am not vigilant, she drives me. She wants to get things right. She wants to be the best at whatever she does, all the time. To be seen as the best. Perfect.
She hates making mistakes.
So breaking my daily posting streak of many months? Not going over well with her.
I try to reason with her. Technically, I did write it yesterday, and though clearly I messed up and only thought I published it, I created it yesterday. And after all, the point of me doing it daily is so that I do at least one creative act daily to stay connected to my creativity. That’s it.
So cool. I did that. Yay me!
But that part of me, Perfectionista, she wants more. And what she wants has to do with what she thinks others think of her.
And she is loud.
She creates suffering for me. She is going to incessantly remind me of this flaw, trying to create a very unsettled feeling that will saturate my system.
“You blew it,” she says.
Hers is a world of extremes, of black and white thinking, of a self-generated pressure to meet somewhat randomly selected standards and performance deadlines and levels or else…
She lives in world with an almost life and death internal pressure to seem perfect to others.
I cannot live from her world view. It’s too exhausting, too exacting. And empty.
I. Just. Can’t.
My world? I try to simplify these days. What a waste of precious time, worrying what others will think about me missing a randomly-decided goal.
More and more, it’s about doing my best on any given day and letting that be more than enough.
Don’t get me wrong: I still strive to be “the best.”
The best I can be on any given day.
As for what others think of that? No longer my business, thank you very much.
Lay down next to me
On a bed of pine needles
Underneath a silversmith moon
Let me tend to your wounds
Take you into my body
Gonna wrap you into a cocoon
Of warm skin and breath
Pressed breasts and lips
Leave our selves, become one in our spoon
Beyond the Skinny Branches 