“Head back eyes closed”

Is what my mother taught me as a child in the bath

So the mix of water and shampoo wouldn’t sting my eyes.

Now much older,

Not even remembering the last bath I was in,

I’m under your waterfall.

There’s no point in pushing back against the sharp, white daggers

Of velocity crazed water droplets.

I drop my head back

And close my eyes,

Hoping that the weight of the water won’t break my back.

I'm scared of myself.
Sometimes.
Thoughts will softly bubble up to the ceiling of my conscience,
brushing past rational thinking
and emotional knowledge,
and burst.
The sound startles me.
How could I've let that happen?
How did the bubble even form?
I'm not one to carelessly release the airtight seal
that keeps out unwanted visitors.
I fear more bubbles, but assure myself it's just a fluke.
This doesn't happen to people like me.
Surely.
Sometimes.
But more scared that I'm the only one.

I am not made of lethargy or inability.
Just a severe case of perfectionist.
I wanted it to be great.
So,
I just did nothing at all.

Be sure to grab an umbrella before you enter.
You may need a raincoat, too.
It's pouring
sideways rain and whipping wind.
The clouds stay bright, though.
The sun still ricocheting off of the sidewalks.
It's blinding
and confusing,
I know.

You will see me running,
screaming,
skin and bones.
I'm okay.
Don't worry, I haven't lost it
Yet.
Just let me dance
as I do.

i let all things pass
i am impervious to conflict
it rolls off my back and into a bucket of
disregarded worries
it's effective
for now
i feel one day this old wooden bucket
shaking under the weight
will give in
my worries will break the great dam
what has been keeping me together
that water will tear through my seams
that water will run down my fingers
that water will flow in my hair
that water will not be in my eyes
for this bucket: the worry bucket
has taught me
that everything can pass
there is no need to yell at the clouds
for raining on your freshly washed car
i've learned
head back, eyes closed
(that's what my mother told me
when she was bathing me as a kid)
so that rain will never reach my eyes

think of me often
my hands, bones, body: shaking
I am not dust yet

the beginning was calm
you were alone
departed some time ago
you shook the puzzle a bit
and the pieces felt out of place
but you didn't complain about
picking them up

you said you were wired differently
that you can't fall out of love
even when the war came
and we sat outside chinatown
you told me you didn't care about
the water of the womb

you wanted to pack up
and go
somewhere
where the pansies danced
and the girls are tough

where this big ol' house
at the end of the road
is your home
you say you knew

your life was planned since day one
but for some reason
you are not there

but still
with me, sitting

outside chinatown

pale porch light
illuminates the small
old wicker chair
on the verge of breaking
it already leaves paint chips everywhere
but you can't bring yourself to throw it out
you sit with a smoke in your mouth
and your glass jar
and the moon shines
strong enough to light up the whole town
and you don't mind
because this is what you are used to
the old wicker chair
the bright cigarette
that your girlfriend gets mad at you for
but still kisses you with a cough
the foggy mason jar
that is filled with practically indigestible alcohol
but that's your life
it's simple on the outside
a sweet contrast
it stops your ever spinning head
for just 5 seconds
and you look down
your unlucky skin in the pale porch light

he watches as his life set ablaze
with morphine and fireworks
29 candles and a red tent
that was an accident

he spoke with bated breath but now
with vigor and bravery
freedom and fear
and it's not your fault

he walked as his legs protested
with medicine and cigarettes
a camcorder and a cane
they maybe one of the lucky ones

he swam with a set intention
saltwater burning
putting up a fight
he's never felt so alive
for once he'll finish something
it was a happy one

and there's no tragedy in that

i was a floater by definition
a name plastered on my chest since grade 2
i would just float around.

our names were classified by how we lived
i had nothing to hold me down
my body would move from place to place
bumping into things
not staying for too long

i was happy i guess
i wasn't lost
i knew the exact pinpoint in the ocean
the singular sand particle on the beach

but there was a big wooden ship behind me
with the Captain singing a sweet sea song
and the Sailors' voices lilted
carrying bottles of blue sea glass
pretending they were telescopes

so, I took my little body,
wrinkled from the Sea,
and my waterlogged fingers gripped the boat tight
the Captain's song found its way into my lungs
and I could see the encroaching shore,
but I wan't worried
because I am still riding that ship.

sometimes, Sailors go their separate ways
find new land, find new ships
sometimes, pruney, little hands grab a hold of the hull
and We pull them on.

one day, I will leave this ship,
but it won't be forever
because I am anchored.

one day, I will cease to shake
and in my grave, I will rumble.

one day, I will be a widow
and far past my age, a man name of Jones.

one day, I will haunt you
and your wheels, inside your head.

one day, I will be important
and will stop slamming, I will breathe.

one day, I will cease to rumble
and you'll say,
"my God, I've had a good life."

one day, I will cease to be a widow
"my God, where have you been."

one day, I will cease to haunt you
"my God, I cannot sleep."

one day, I will cease to be important
"my God, I remember you."

smiling often so people think they are happy
acting wild so people think they are confident
laughing loud so people think they are having a good time
loving wildly so people will support her
loving shallowly so it doesn't hurt as bad when she falls

please open your eyes for me

tie me to the mast
don't let me hear the sirens
do not let me drift
tie an anchor to my feet
guide my waterlogged heart home

o, captain, captain.
guide us to the gleaming shore.
point my feet back home.

does my being provoke you?
does the way I say my name make your blood churn?
does the way I stand on my feet make you uncomfortable?

I hope so.
because is the other option
is that you would think you have the right to
the way I stand,
the way I talk,
the way I am.
you think you hold the title deed to my body

o, you are not entitled to anything.
the way I move is not for you
the way I sing is not for you

so I hope my being provokes you.
I hope I made your skin crawl.

He seldom cries,
but when he does,
it floods the world
with it's sweet, mellifluous song.

Dance your heavy heart out,
move your golden thighs.

Swing your lead arms around,
release your swollen feet.

Let your messy hair down,
release your stiffened neck.

Open your small ribs up,
let your heart breathe.

do not judge him too harshly
he has brittle bones, as I do

do not laugh at him too loudly
he has a quiet mind, as I do

do not love him too fully
he has large fear, as I do

daydream in bed with him
learn his breathing patterns
study how his hands shake
watch as he fixes his hair this morning
care that he needs to kiss you perfectly
love that he is scared of messing it up

because at least he cares
because at least he notices

do not love him too widely
he has brittle bones, as I do.