I stand outside the tent of dancing womyn; watching the crowd; searching for the one discernible face... the one body I could distinguish from the rest. Part of me knows it's you, because when I see you out of the corner of my eye-- so obviously you in every way-- I feel sick.
I know it's entirely possible that you and her and everyone else that makes indiscernible mush of womyn probably feels exactly the way I do: completely alone, fucked up, a mess, stupid, ugly, broken and irreparable....
It's entirely possible I tell myself because it's entirely possibly true... It's entirely possible, though, that I tell myself that also so I do not feel so completely alone-- perpetually and chronically single.
And I watch you pass-- not noticing me, or noticing me, but choosing to ignore me-- something I know I could never do to you, and as I watch you go home with someone, I am reminded that my focus is completely off... I am asking the wrong question... my focus should be on someone who could be; on someone who could spot me in a indiscernible mass of womyn; on someone who could not ignore me; on someone who is drawn to me like a magnet fused with static electricity...
Because when did I start to feel this pathetic? when did I decide this is all I was worth? When did I start to feel like my mother circa 1990-- ok with the crumbs someone gave me because they fell from their feast? And I thought-- sometimes I wish you were like this in real life... And I know all that was said was just the afterglow of the woo, and not real life...
"Dragon," I said, which is strange because it's a line from my favorite book... and it's a funny line in the book, about a painful event- a physically painful event and a monotonous series of events as a result... "Dragon" I said, about an emotionally painful event and a series of physically monotonous events as a result. And no one gets that-- including you, despite what you want to believe.
You don't get it and you don't know and you have no idea who I am, because you can't see past the mirror sitting on the tip of your nose.... I want to say, think, believe... But I am not sure that's true.
...and I am too tired to keep trying...
That's why I keep doing this. It's too hard to stop, and I know that's what you count on-- fatigue caused by fighting dragons, so I will accept the crumbs and not ask for more.... like some public acknowledgment, or even a private one.
So, when I see beauty, experience beauty, feel beauty touch me, I often think "Are you the dragon slayer I seek? Are you someone here to join me to slay all the dragons; not just sit idly by as I fight the dragons because it is too tiring to fight the dragons and love you all at once?" That's why I shutter and shy away when I feel that beauty. I know it's likely from the "variable schedule of reinforcement" as she used to call it.... But sometimes I think it's because it's love...
So instead, I stand outside the tent of womyn dancing.... and watch... not recognized, but still wishing I were. Still wishing I were not the object to be, or you were not the subject to just walk right by....
I know it's entirely possible that you and her and everyone else that makes indiscernible mush of womyn probably feels exactly the way I do: completely alone, fucked up, a mess, stupid, ugly, broken and irreparable....
It's entirely possible I tell myself because it's entirely possibly true... It's entirely possible, though, that I tell myself that also so I do not feel so completely alone-- perpetually and chronically single.
And I watch you pass-- not noticing me, or noticing me, but choosing to ignore me-- something I know I could never do to you, and as I watch you go home with someone, I am reminded that my focus is completely off... I am asking the wrong question... my focus should be on someone who could be; on someone who could spot me in a indiscernible mass of womyn; on someone who could not ignore me; on someone who is drawn to me like a magnet fused with static electricity...
Because when did I start to feel this pathetic? when did I decide this is all I was worth? When did I start to feel like my mother circa 1990-- ok with the crumbs someone gave me because they fell from their feast? And I thought-- sometimes I wish you were like this in real life... And I know all that was said was just the afterglow of the woo, and not real life...
"Dragon," I said, which is strange because it's a line from my favorite book... and it's a funny line in the book, about a painful event- a physically painful event and a monotonous series of events as a result... "Dragon" I said, about an emotionally painful event and a series of physically monotonous events as a result. And no one gets that-- including you, despite what you want to believe.
You don't get it and you don't know and you have no idea who I am, because you can't see past the mirror sitting on the tip of your nose.... I want to say, think, believe... But I am not sure that's true.
...and I am too tired to keep trying...
That's why I keep doing this. It's too hard to stop, and I know that's what you count on-- fatigue caused by fighting dragons, so I will accept the crumbs and not ask for more.... like some public acknowledgment, or even a private one.
So, when I see beauty, experience beauty, feel beauty touch me, I often think "Are you the dragon slayer I seek? Are you someone here to join me to slay all the dragons; not just sit idly by as I fight the dragons because it is too tiring to fight the dragons and love you all at once?" That's why I shutter and shy away when I feel that beauty. I know it's likely from the "variable schedule of reinforcement" as she used to call it.... But sometimes I think it's because it's love...
So instead, I stand outside the tent of womyn dancing.... and watch... not recognized, but still wishing I were. Still wishing I were not the object to be, or you were not the subject to just walk right by....
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