No Apologies. No Excuses. Go.

"Let the beauty we love be what we do." -- Rumi;

This is a blog where I will publish my poems, black out poetry, stories art projects, cooking experiments, yoga practices and basically anything I am passionate about.

17/30: Plane Ride

The icy air conditioner air circulates around me like
it is being forced. I fidget in my
poorly padded metal seat and raise the blind
covering the tiny window in the wall. It looks out
at the wing. This is the moment when I should
pull out my phone, send my goodbye texts and I
love you’s, just
in case. And just because, I am alone
on a plane for the first time and I know
my mother will be worrying. Just because, this
is goodbye

for now. I will be back
probably. My mother told me jokingly that this
could be the last time I live in Boston. That maybe
I wouldn’t come back from California.
I didn’t believe her. But part of me
was dying to.

So as the nameless strangers filter past,
fidgeting with their suitcases, mumbling
about overhead space, I wonder how many people
are like me. How many people have just up-ended their lives
and left, turned off their phones,
cut ties from the only things they have known for years and
ran away for six weeks. How many people feel as lost
as I do. Does the urge to never return
tug on their veins like a 4 year old’s game of tug of war?

16/30

Today I had coffee with a friend

someone I had never assumed I would get

close with but she still

calls me to have coffee occasionally; we

still make jokes about how we are the only people

we like spending time with. We still

share intimate moments, share stories we are still

too cut open and bleeding to tell anyone

else but we always, keep a straight face. No

shaking voice, tears welling up, just

facts

about the fucked up things our lives get tangled

in. so today

I told her about you. how

more than six years later

I didn’t think I loved you anymore. About my pragmatic

approach to not taking away your

whole life, but at the same time having to spend the next

few weeks wishing

your touch still made me feel safe

instead of feeling like my skin was on fire every time

you try to hold me. I told her all this

and shrugged, like I was telling her about a school paper

or getting the wrong sandwich in the coffee shop.


She sighed, and stared at me, eyes

full of apologies and bandages like I

was the one that was drowning. I did not tell her

I was numb today. I did not tell her, I

have been drowning for months now. I did not

tell her I was numb today and that meant

it was a good day. I just nodded and wished

she could help me stitch myself up, plaster

my pieces back together and figure out what

I need, but only I can fix this. I guess

I have to heal myself.

 

13/30: How To Stay

Today, there are trees

growing in her chest, taking

root in her tiny apartment but she

is out growing this place. The moment

she has grown enough to settle in

is the moment her leaves start

bursting through the windows, her trunk

too thick to fit through doorways.

She does not know

how to stay; how to grow and not

outgrow.

12/30: Selfcare

I am still learning

to take care of myself, to take

what I need

when I need it. To ask for

help. Some nights that means staying out late

with friends where casual conversations

keeps me safe from the tornadoes in my head. Some nights

it means sitting in the bath tub

reading, until I believe

he is asleep. Some nights it means

remembering to eat dinner,

opening a window

and listening to the birds lull

themselves to sleep. 

11/30: Labels

I am sitting at a table and a girl

I know from middle school is telling a story

about people I do now know, I do not care about but

she says one of her friends was “trying being gay.”

I wonder what that feels like, to try on identity

like a suit, to become something else for a day, see

what happens. This is not about trying. This is about

finding ourselves, figuring out

who we are. We are not trying to become anything.

This is not something you can shed. This identity

this inner meaning this

life, this love. He did not

“used to be gay” just because he has a girlfriend,

I did not become straight when I got a boyfriend

you are not trying out being gay like it a pair of shoes

with a 30 day return policy. Stop

using language

to label us all into a corner. Stop erasing

the past for what is right now. We do not need

to bend who to fit into the image of what other

see in us in this moment.

We all have identity. We all

have a past, a present and

a future here. Most of us

don’t know how to label ourselves anymore

so we resort to what feels concrete. This is only

going to hurt us, make people think they know us

from our dumbed down expressions of

who we are in this moment.

You can be a butterfly if you want to. You

can be straight or gay or bi or boy or girl or everything in between.

You can be everything. You can be the light

at the end of the tunnel, the first star we see at night, the

sunrise. You can be all of this. Or nothing at all. If you want

But stop telling me who I used to be

like it is not a part of who I am today. 

9/30: Letter to an old friend

 

It has been a long time since I needed your call, since

I stared at your knees instead of your face

because I was anxious of being

too intense or doing something wrong but today

every voice in the room sounded like yours,

Every time someone said something I spun around

to search the crowd for your face and

I wanted to call you. I wished you were there.

I probably won’t call because I know

you have better friends, people you spend

all of your time with, and I’ve stopped expecting

a return call, or plans to work out but

tonight the hoping came back.

I wished you were there. 

I visited the animal shelter today

I met a cat, whose cage was not label so I didn’t know his name but he was the sweetest. He lay close enough to the bars for your to reach in and pet his paws or scratch his cheek. He didn’t even sniff you first he just let it happen. I stood with him for ten minutes and rubbed his head as he pushed his head into my hands and started to fall asleep. Then a woman came over, pointed out his ear that was half missing and told me he was a stray. If I could I would have bought him right then and there but my apartment is being shown, I’m leaving for California for two months in a few weeks and I don’t have the money for it. But all I wanted was to take this cat home and be broken and loving and way too accepting together. I just want something to take care of, someone to love me unconditionally, not make me feel judged or ignored. I want someone to come home to, to know I can go to and not second guess. I wish I could adopt that cat so badly.

5/30

the rain

outside my window

sounds like the water boiling

in a teakettle and I

am thankful.

My mother is in the kitchen

making scones. They smell

like home, like

comfort, like everything

                                    I will not let myself feel

at my own apartment.

My mother is in the kitchen,

baking scones and boiling water

for tea and she offers me a cup.

I am

grateful. We are not perfect.

But we are here, and we are making sense of

everything sensless

over shared cups of tea and fresh scones

and I am

               loved.

 

I am

grateful. 

4/30

There are so many things

I don’t want to talk to him about, I just

wish he knew, wish that conversation

already happened, the screaming, the

crying, the understanding, the love. I wish

he and I were on the same ground, holding each other

holy, only in the way we deserve but he

does not see the whole me. I know. He

does not know the everything I have become and

I don’t think he wants to. Don’t ask, don’t tell

me that I am perfect and worthwhile, I know that.

He still sees the 16 year old girl I grew out of, the scared one,

slumped in the corner of a high school hallway, sobbing,

while everyone else is in class; won’t let anyone see her

cry. But that girl is still in me. She is not gone. But she is

so much stronger thanks to everyone else I have been along the way.

He does not see the everyone else. He does not see her. But I know

she is there. She is loudest when he is around. She is the saddest,

the most silent, when he is around. She forgets

how to speak, to communicate, to accept love when

he is around and I guess

I should start listening to her a little better.

She will never leave. He should know that.