LOVING YOU IS COMPLICATED

I clench in my fist a small, smooth pebble It is glassy, and you can see my eyes reflect wide, like a baby’s  If you peer into it, of course Only if I unlock my fingers and allow the light to  Reflect off of the glossy surface, waves and particles packeting, hustling, bustling But only for a moment - hush! This secret is between you and me.

But eventually, my secret becomes his secret, her secret The pebble still reflects, and it’s still hidden in my hand, warm and snug But I see the audiences glance at my balled fingers, wondering, questioning, but worst of all,  Doubting.

It’s my rock, don’t you see? It’s not for them to see And I happen to have shown it to you, Let you hold it in your hand, twirl it around your fingers I don’t say a word as you spin it and toss it and catch it It is my most prized possession, and it is my rarest and most vulnerable stone, more precious Than the diamonds he bought you, or at least promised on your finger.

I am silent still, watching you throw it up And catch it, smiling, toothy and calm,  The sun is getting woozy and the hues of the sky get blue, violet, black Until the only light I can see is that which reflects from the pale moon Off of your watery, big, beautiful eyes.

Of course, I am silent, in awe Lovestruck... And I am silent still, as you turn to me unabashedly Toss my stone across the water And in my shock, I avert my gaze to watch it skip-skip-skipping across the peaceful reservoir,  Making little gasps and sighs of pleasure as it dances.

I am silent still, as you  Hug me tight, look into my eyes, kiss me, and promptly Walk away, leaving me alone at the crisp, cool beach As the stars gaze at me Panicked.

That was my stone, and I showed it to you.

Always second place I am To some figure of power, or even in some cases, Not, maybe just a weak woman with strong fingers that latch on And extract whatever it is in me, or rather, Whatever could have been, that could have made me a Nobel laureate Or a Harvard student. Was it my knees on the hard tile, hands raised above my head for hours My mother’s unrelenting and unforgiving blows against my back Or was it her torturing of my fingernails, too, That, just like my mother’s whips, Eventually drove over the hill and coasted down at a comfortable cruise?

I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. 

First of all, that one second isn't a second at all. It stretches on forever, like an ocean of time. For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars. And yellow leaves from the maple trees that lined our street. Or my grandmother's hands and the way her skin seemed like paper. And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand-new Firebird. And Janie. And Janie. And Carolyn. 

I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. 

Well, Happy New Years’ Eve, everybody Is anybody out there? I thought, you know, on account of me being So hard-working this year and all That we could have a little get-together to celebrate?

If not, I understand It’s just been so hard behind these bars Truly, I’ve learned my lesson and spent some good time reflecting Really, I mean it I’ve been behaving good, too, haven’t I? Well, except that one time with that one girl but I said I was sorry and she accepted, so isn’t it okay now?

Perhaps the wings of Icarus Were just an improper prototype, you see I’ve taken all the engineering and physics classes And passed the highest level of calculus there is With flying colors. I’m nationally ranked The next Heisenberg, Einstein, Hund Beethoven with my calculations, improvisation, intelligence You can’t spy on my skull Even if you snuck inside through the window You’d never understand the jewelry locked up In mommy’s old wooden lock-box.

Icarus was a fool for listening to daddy Daedalus Who’d sooner throw his son thousands of feet out of a tower Than see his cajones untested Poor, poor Daedalus To see Icarus plummet to his death! We ought to weep for this tragedy, truly But I am smarter than that.

I am faster, lighter, brighter No Daedalus to push me off the ledge But my own arteries and veins, rushing to keep up the rhythm Of my resolve, never fading, as I close my notebook And put down my pencil Strap on my wings, whirring, clicking, just as I had planned them to And leap.

I like my words to be prolific Prose, I owe it to you And praise your winged embrace But none can truly leap off of the  Eiffel Tower as Poetry can.

I can’t commit to prose. It’s too long and makes too much sense.