I’ve done shrooms the last 3 days, a spiritual journey to think about why I’ve been thinking of prey. 4 am to the airport, there is nothing left of the feeling of care to keep me company on the way. The potholes and I dance alone on empty highway. When I came into town I’d see your face, I was hoping I’d find another reason to jump around the coasts. I’ve been flighty for a while now, getting away from the things that feel unresolved, I hoped you’d wait a little bit longer. I can’t count months properly, days felt like lifetimes when you’d come around. Last time I’ll see you, framed by windows paid by money I didn’t yet have. Safe flight, you’d wish me well but I’d know the look in someone’s eyes when I’d let them down.
You told me late at night the reason I’m used is because I love too much, too open, too free, too many faces that matter to me. I told him late at night the reason, tomorrow I will forget, yesterday I’ve forgotten- I am reckless with my heart. I left that night, knees collapsed outside of blue truck, I can’t walk away if my body doesn’t want to leave you like this. I left that night, too many words said, too many knives piercing my own heart.
When I get back to New York, this time I feel relative comfort. Comfort of being somewhere familiar, comfort of my candles and incense, comfort of routines. Suitcases lay half full on my bedroom ground, never having been unpacked from the last time I left town. I’ve been walking around with your words heavy on my mind. “I just thought, I just thought”. I’ve been walking around with feelings of guilt, am I wrong for who I am ?
He’d come over late every time he came, he came over late to sleep in my bed. In the morning we’d fuck and I’d forget that I told myself I don’t like this but I did and I do. The attention of someone I could look up to, someone who didn’t treat me like an entity. I’ve been wanting to get slapped but it made me feel bad to tell you. To let you know that my face begs to sting when I see a certain look in your eye. I sit alone sometimes and wonder if its okay to want things that hurt.
Question my relationship with pain; Question my relationship with love; Laugh in the face of the devil
It's been a while since I wrote the beginning paragraphs, fresh off a heartache I started pondering on the sentiments behind shame. Here I sit, over two decades old still deciphering how to deal with my shame. I am ashamed I still even feel shame. Shame is defined as: a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. I've personally been trying to grapple with how shame is ingrained in how we participate in ourselves. Our sexualities, physical pleasure, aesthetic self representation are all influenced by the shame taught to us. When I began writing this, I was actively participating in my shame. Trying to express myself about these topics has not grown easier as I age, to feel peace in vulnerability, without shame is something I desire most. To say we fucked and fucked and fucked. To hear words from someone I care for and have them drift with ease out of my head instead of lock themselves into my set of standards. I am still trying to figure out how to say I am understanding with myself, say I don’t care what others think of me but how do we figure out things that cannot fit into the binary of done with or not? How can we not care about thoughts of people we care about?
I wish we could indulge, in peace.
Sweet things taste just as sweet when we’re allowed to have them.