(y'all, i was gonna write a funny thing about decorations, and then i opened my doc and... didn't. oops)
it came in a box.
like those model kits that
your favorite relative buys
you for your birthday,
the one who actually
understands your interests.
there were no instructions,
though,
and you couldn’t quite figure
out which parts went where,
so you were reduced to
holding pieces together
and seeing what you could
make line up.
it’s a little… unstable.
leans slightly to one side,
doesn’t bend properly
where you’re pretty sure
it was supposed to be
articulated.
you’ve told this story so
many times that I wonder
if you’ve started to believe it:
distanced yourself so far
from your own bones that
you can’t just say
they were broken,
but they are mine.
I can't decide which sentiment I'm more impressed by: the one who actually
understands your interests. or distanced yourself so far
from your own bones that
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic
There's something here connecting to all of us this year apologizing for our artistic burn out and health/mental health challenges, but I'm too tired to figure out how to express it properly...
This is magnificent.
I was intrigued by it from the beginning, but when I read the last stanza, I was stunned; it is such a powerful missive to so many human beings, to anyone who struggles to hold together the pieces of their lives that just won’t work together in the way one wishes and yet also acknowledge that “yes, these pieces are mine,” an acceptance of one’s own self even when it isn’t working the way one wants, an acceptance that honors the self, even forgives the self (feelings which, I believe, might even open the door to some of the changes one might hope for).
I hope you can publish this somewhere where a world of people will…