i honestly
don’t understand
me
i honestly
don’t understand
me
once
a very very very long time ago
my parents
[who are, in their own right, a couple of kooky characters]
offhandedly mentioned to me
that i was such a weird being,
once i found someone who liked me
for me
i’d better hold onto them
and though i took it as a point of pride then
[and still kind of do now]
i’d be lying if i said it didn’t impact
my own personal perception of self
and value
et cetera
et cetera
et cetera
but i think
that’s why i’m drawn
and secured
here in aerial circus
this feels like the hobby
that saw me in all my wild and strange glory
and said “that one, we like them
we’d better hold onto them”
and so i clutch back on
even tighter
to circus
if i write of the sunlight
the sounds outside
the playlist and the air outright
is that disingenuous to myself?
fall is full of figs
and spooky season seasonings
and i’m beginning to like the autumn
because the heat of summer here sure is oppressive
and everything feels like it’s
waiting
but here comes the doing
the happening
the season that gets busier and busier
and i feel like
maybe
i can find myself
before it gets too cold
accidentally realizing
[through morning page poetry]
that i’ve tried to package my life
my feelings
my emotions
my experience
my existence
into a narrative structure
with themes and things
all tied up in a nice bow of a simple story
for other people’s consumption
just to yell at myself
that my life is mine to experience, no one else’s;
whether or not i’m enjoying my life, no one else
should get to consume it until i’m
actually gone.
i don’t need to make myself digestible
especially when i’m not even in a
‘public eye’ of any kind right now
why
did i/do i
do this to myself?
[i just want to experience something
without worrying what others will
think, looking back, as if i’m some
kind of historical figure — is that
too much to ask of my own psyche???]
pretend
you’re a regular human
with normal wants and desires
fears and loves
and then think about your situation
but that’s just acting, isn’t it?
i’ve spent so much time in my head
with the what-ifs
and the ‘how would i play that
if i were in that
situation?’
and the
trying to observe my own responses —
but what if my responses are so out of the ordinary
that i’ve been trying to act
with my own feelings
in a way that is
disingenuous
to the human condition?
[i know, i know,
i’m human,
but damn, does it not feel that way
a whole damn lot of the time]
birds
distract
from writing
from trying
to get to know
the inside of my own head
maybe
they’re saying
‘get to know the earth
and the universe
first,
for “you” are just one part
of all’
where did these sads come from?
why do they appear
in the midst of what should be
a happy time?
how are they somehow
related
to that happy time?
like i can’t let myself
get swept up in the moment —
i need to remind myself
in every moment
of joy
that despair
and tragedy
exists.
like if i let go
of the depression
that runs everything,
the glue that holds my whole being
together
will loosen
and split
and i’ll fall
apart;
and i just want
to be
myself
[someday]
[someday]
maybe
the reason i feel
my emotions take over my whole self
or
my brain can convince me of untruths
or
my body doesn’t understand how to body
is not because
they are all fighting for control
but because
they are fighting
for connection
i am in the center
my self is the combination
of heart
and mind
and physical being
and if the three can be
together
as one
maybe i won’t feel so lost
and separated
and not
myself
i don’t think
who you are when you’re stressed
is your “real true self”
nor do i believe
that it is somehow
not you at all—
i simply believe
that stressed-out-you
is another form of you,
and each individual person
has so many selves/
contains multitudes/
switches codes/personalities/dependent on the people
and situation
and personal pressures
(external and internal)
and to think that we should be
one consistent type of personality
through every sort of situational anomaly
is not giving humanity
any sort of grace
or depth