Public Notes App

There's a statue of a dog - its nose and fur turned gold from the love of strangers.

I think about how humans affect the world - the way our skin releases the right combination of chemicals to change a dull metal into a striking spot of fluorescence.

I like to imagine its like that when we love someone. That we have the right chemicals in us to show their brilliance.

Only I think my chemicals are unbalanced.

Too corrosive.

Too intense.

I tarnish what I touch.

Irreparable.

But when I first spoke with you, I felt no worry. My shoulders came down from where they were hunched, my leg slowed its anxious, rhythmic bounce, my words didn’t catch in my throat.

My heart had been beating too fast up til that moment and when it was finally next to yours it became as it should.

Steady.

Confident.

Such sympathy for their flaws.

But for me, no soft looks or favor.

Nor the favored son

Nor a son

Nor a daughter

I am deemed the enemy by my blood

And I am deemed salvageable by God’s word

I want to cry to wind but it’s 50 degrees in Arizona

You are heat, and blood, and violence.

You are every bold action

And every blazing color.

You smell metallic and salty like sweat.

You are the actions that Fall regrets,

And you are the dreams Spring keeps.

You are energy that Winter stores.

How brash and brazen you feel.

How killer are your instincts.

How murderous your intent.

You would brandish your dagger, clean and sharp.

You would slice from my chest to my naval.

Reach inside the wound so uncaringly and rip the intestines from their home.

You would lay out the gore for all to see. The blood pooling and staining the soil.

And I would let you.

My arms would be open so your attack may cleanly hit.

I would hold myself still as you sliced deeply into me.

And I would guide your hand as you pulled out my innards.

I wouldn’t dare attempt to close the wound as my blood fertilized the ground beneath us.

I would simply stare at you, at the mess you made, and fall deeper in love.

I trust your actions have a just intent.

I trust your ugly, brutish tearing of my insides were with the purpose of pulling out some invisible sickness that was rooted in me.

I trust you will stitch me back together.

You will nurse me.

You will tend to me.

You will love me.

And with that soil, fertilized by my blood brought by your hand, we will grow a garden.

That we tend to together.

Maybe it’s fallen out of our vocabulary as we search for ourselves.

Maybe kindness was a luxury.

Maybe generosity only comes with the good times.

Truly I don’t have bandwidth to be kind.

(Maybe that’s a lie.)

It might just be I’m in my own head too much to notice others. To stop and reach out a hand.

I love you.

I love you.

It’s not a statement-

I wish I could put my wanton desires aside.

I wish I could pull myself from this horrid life I lead.

I wish I could make my actions with reason.

I wish I could change the memories that put me here.

I wish I could rip away the atoms in my skin.

I wish for a lot of things I guess.

I wish I could be better.

I wish I could be better for you.

But I am not.

Never enough for it to be a problem.

I can hold my head high.

I can puff my chest and take strong strides.

But it’s all false without you by my side.

I miss your hand when it isn’t in mine.

I don’t *need* you

I can’t stay.

Not like this.

Did he find it comforting as it rested on his shoulders?

Did it calm his fears as it crushed his chest?

Did the steady movement, like breathing, make him think it was worth the weight?

Did the strong beating of his heart let him ignore the pain?

Did his love of the world make it bearable?