words of snide courtesy fit me to a "t."
a thing is nothing until it is named.
we pick up cups by their verbal handles
and know to drink from them.
you could crack me like an egg -
with pressure from all sides evenly
then i may stay whole -
but one swift hit and i
am pure gold yolk dripping through
i would be called Delicate,
you would be afraid to touch me.
i would move into the china
cabinet and wait for dust to
line my edges like the teacups
at my elbows.
or i would be called Weak.
i would grow old then,
but more quickly growing
(you would see then, i am nothing
but waiting soul and
Sunday, September 12, 2010
I have an awful case of rapebrain tonight.
Also, guess whose rapist has disappeared off Facebook? Why does this bother me? Because I think NOT knowing about him or what he is up to means he could be ANYWHERE, doing ANYTHING, and that is far scarier. Also: it might mean he is in a bad place, and doing some bad shit again, with the no Facebook page. And for some reason I got onto replaying this, like, imagined scenario, in my head today, of what if he dies: do I cry? Do I go to the funeral for closure? Do I just get furious, or finally tell all the people who mutually know us what happened? I DON'T KNOW. And I don't know how I got there, with that particular fantasy, or like what the fuck my brain is up to. But I am struggling with issues around sex and intimacy and relationships (like apparently, if you like me, and you express wanting to be with me, I might freak out! Because I was raped by a kid with whom I was involved on and off for ten years and also did indeed consider My Greatest Love! And hey, that makes me a little weird about anyone asserting they like me, apparently! Or getting too close or intimate! Who knew!) tonight, and so, yeah. I am also trying to get work done. So, fuck it, I am leaving you possibly my favorite poem I have ever written about myself. It is especially true tonight.
Posted by Gayle Force at 10:28 PM