call me rae

When I was a little girl, I would get off of the bus at Port Authority and my lungs would burn and my eyes would water and my palms would sweat because I never knew what home felt like but I knew it was this. And when I cried at the hot dog stand before we got back on the bus late on a summer night, my mom thought I was being "fresh”, but I was mourning the loss of something I had just found and wasn’t ready to forget. When I walked down St.Marks Place the Spring Break that I had no friends, I forgot about the time I had to do every project by myself in seventh grade, I forgot it so completely that I hardly remembered to feel small. When I went to see a Broadway show by myself for the first time, I walked from my dorm near Washington Square Park for forty blocks, just to make the feeling last. The feeling of being here and being free and doing the thing I always set out to do. Sitting in dark restaurants holding my best friends hand across the table, glassy eyes, fake ID in my back pocket. Running from a bar to a taxi when it was too cold to dress like that but we did anyway. Walking through SoHo and shopping with real money that I had earned for the first time in my life. Sitting in restaurants eating more courses than I knew I could eat for more money than I had ever seen. Late nights when I couldn't stop laughing. Late nights when I cried walking down the street and met the eye of a friendly neighbor that seemed to say “Yeah, it’s safe to cry here”. New York never gave up on me. When I was broke. When I was broken. When I was lonely. When I was hopeless. She picked me up every single time. How could I leave her now, when she’s sick?

Lie down in a small puddle. The crown of your head beneath the murky line. You look like an old oil painting of an angel with a grey brown halo and a sad sad smile. Lie down in a small puddle as the pit pit pat of ran taps taps taps your face. Let it grow grow grow until you’re covered in grey green water mixed with grey green earth. Lie down in a small puddle until soon you’re underwater. Under under under with just the pit pit pat of ran in your ears.

Heavy eyelids, full heart, I float away

That pull on the back of your mind. Something forgotten, something remembered, something to come, something passed. Sitting on the top of my spin. Laying at the base of my skull. Something like worry. Something like regret. Something like contempt. Something.

Inside of my mind is an entire world where I spend more time than not. It’s not especially beautiful or interesting or special. It’s lonely, loud, exhausting, being in there. Wishing I could drag myself out into the present moment. Wish I could feel and hear the world around me, feeling trapped trapped trapped in my skull.

What’s the lowest number that exists? 0? -1? Each one stacked on another, even the lowest having another below. Like us. At the top with titles that say money, that say breeding, that say man. Then lower and lower and lower we go, each stacked below the other, carrying their weight, reaching out to grab the scraps that fall from their mouths and wallets. We climb over others, stomping them down to rise. Comforted in never being at the bottom. But who is? Who rests upon the earth with no arms below to support them. Who carries the entire world on their back? Is it true, that they’re the worst of us all? Or perhaps, they are our savior, truly shouldering the burden of living.

Exhausted and full of hope. Beaten down but greatful. So many things at the same time. So full of contradictions in any one moment. Push and pulled together to form a work called ME.

I wake up nauseous with the feeling of hooves tap tap tapping on the inside of my stomach. With the feeling of paws splashing in the thick saliva thats drip drip dripping down the back of my throat. My head pounds with the chemical cocktail passed from farmer to beast to my plate. My guts bubble with the fermenting of flesh. How could this be natural?

SLEEP so soft so warm so perfect. Once a hiding place, a locked away asylum. Once so lonely, so long. No more. In your arms, no more.

Anger like fire burning like acid reflux burping to the surface, spilling out of my mouth, ugly, vile, messy. Acid dripping from my lips, running down my chin, splashing on the ground, spraying on your face. Anger so violent so painful so sour out out out of my mouth.

A heart that feels so small and so big at the same time. Overwhelmed by fear and love in the same moment. Fear always present, always shrinking and expanding that little heart. 

to put hope on the inside of you, follow these short steps first, you must remove whatever is taking that space pain, grief, disappointment, hatred, anger put it in a separate container for future consideration next, decide what brand of hope you want to go for today quiet and kind, bold and resilient, or even barely-there for the times where finding hope is scarce  finally, spread a thin layer on the entirety of your soul giving extra attention to any holes, burns, scars and wounds

Rushing, rushing, rushing, rushing, blown away to bits 

Halfway between dreaming and living. Halfway dreams halfway realized. Days spent with my mind halfway between the future and a present that never seems quite good enough to be whole inside of. Halfway waiting for tomorrow, halfway begging for tomorrow, trapped between moments in my body and moment in my head. Will I ever be happy where I am and is happiness even the point?