Learning to Love: A Mess of Words

“That’s a movie for girls.”
An impressionable young girl.
Sneering at “chick-flicks”.
Calling them chick flicks.
A warrior’s heart.
A warrior’s fear.
That’s for girls.
A switch from dresses to pants.
Loosing the crown for the sword.
4
5
6.
17.
18.
19
And
Suddenly.
Oh.
All this time
I was the coward.
And he was gloriously brave.
Close my eyes.
Dig deep.
Remember.
Remember the taunts.
Remember the words.
Know
Undeniably
The fear
Of
Failure.
Of being
Weak.
And love.
Love was silly.
It was girly.
It was a waste of a movie.
It was gross.
It was
The epitome
Of weak.
Run.
Run from
Coward’s play.
Run from
Anything
Labeled
Feminine.
Romance.
Dreams.
Family.
Five years old.
What is a strong female?
Not a female.
But I can’t help that.
What is strong?
Not love.
If being a female is a weakness.
Shake my head.
Splutter.
I was a fool.
And females like romance.
Romance is feminine.
Guys don’t like it.
Then romance is weak.
To love
Is to be
Weak.
To love
To love
To –
I love.
I am weak.
Walls built up.
Fears of being
A princess
With her prince.
Princesses are
Not
Strong female characters.
Strong.
S
T
R
O
N
G.
My fear.
My prison.
“I love you”.
Panic.
I will not be weak.

Until
one day.
I strip away
The words
Built up on
Love.
And I realize.
Everything I had been told.
Was wrong.

Love is neither masculine
Nor feminine.
Love just
Is.

And Love
Certainly
Undoubtedly
Is
Not
Weak.

Too bad I was 19
And not
5.

Dance

You will dance.

You will bellow

and rail

and blow the way the storms do

over the Atlantic,

the Pacific

the vast plains of water

where the spirits dance

and your eyes become fire.

You will sing.

You will float

you will flutter

you will dart in and out

of the sun’s beams

your laughter

mingling with creeks’.

You will be breathless

and stunning

and the sunset

that stops wandering feet

and promises,

one day,

a home.

Snapshots

You sit and stare and wait for the words to come, for them to converge into shapes and phrases, sentences to build a tapestry, but all you have are portraits, pictures, the details that make up the whole.

 

Picture 1: His face.

No, not his face.

His chin, stubborn and proud.

His jawline, soft and strong, where your fingers

long to dance and

your lips

to rest

just

    for

          a

               second.

The plane running

from jaw to

cheekbone,

faint lines,

the ghosts of

yesterdays spent in love and laughter,

    when you had to look away

     because of how brightly he shone.

 

Picture 2: A close up.

Those ghosts,

etched into his skin

from memory

and time.

The corner

of

his

    mouth.

Where lust

met

love

and the two intertwined.

The melody and

harmony

until you were

immersed

in a song

that never left

your head.

 

Picture 3:

Black

and white.

Stark

contrasting,

like

the space

between

    hands

         between

               bodies

                   between

                        hearts

that once

were

    joined

         together.

Rough grains

of wood

in focus.

Palms

pressed

against

the surface,

separate,

blurred.

The moment

you knew

you had

to

let

go

 

Picture 4:

Colors and textures

you long

to write,

to smear

across

paper.

To paint

the universe

blooming

under your

skin

in words.
But it’s all inside. Sitting alongside a million other pictures. Ones of joy and sorrow. Of peace. Friendship and family. Love and loss. Of being human. Moments in time held captive in you, taped up to the inside of your skull, on display for you to mull over, to visit, to touch and breathe in whenever you happen to glance that way, but closed off, hidden away from the world. You sit and stare at the blank page before you, a thousand stories dancing before your eyes.

One Day

When you’re staring as the words
One Day
Roll through your mind
And tumble in your chest
And you’re hoping
And wishing
And aching
And knowing
All too well
That such things
Are useless

That you can stack your hopes
A mile high
And heaven will still be somewhere out there
Out of reach
Out of sight
Just a thought
To graze your heart
And raise mountains of longing
In your soul

When you had a taste of
The only thing you want
Concretely
Definitely
In such a way that no doubt exists
When doubt holds your hand
And walks you through life
With quiet kisses
And soft murmurings
But here she is gone
This she has not
Cannot
touch

But you know
Oh gods do you know
That one day
One day
One
day
Even these drops of water
Falling on
A parched tongue
Will be gone

Late Night Scribblings: Judgment

There are two kinds of judgment.

I will judge what is right and what
Is wrong
I will judge what is harmful
And put away such things
I will use the scales of my soul
To sift and measure
Until I know where things stand,
Until I have found what is true
And what is good
And can rejoice in it

But I refuse to judge
The entirety of a puzzle
Based upon
One mangled, bent
Piece.

If I judge, it will be the story
The whole, the entire,
And I will judge
With love
With understanding
With compassion
With the knowledge of who and what I am

Always at the forefront

5.23.15

Locked out
Easy enough to say “my fault”
In her eyes
It is
But locking that door
Inciting laughter
And joyous shouts
As I walked away
The part of me that wanted to believe
In family
Broken
All of me alone
Shut the door
On apologies
Waiting patiently
To walk across that threshold
And curl up in that space between us
But apologies
Cannot cross canyons
And they cannot mend
Rips I did not tear

Words are Messy

I think it’s interesting that when people talk about a thing, they can mean two different things. Or five different things.

Like the word attraction.

I can think of at least 10 different ways I can be attracted to someone. Do they have a pleasing energy or personality or a smile? Are they physically attractive to me personally or are they physically attractive in general but I myself am not attracted to them? Are they spiritually attractive, intellectually attractive? Do they have that sort of energy that is both physical and something else where they are just perfect for some cuddling? Are they chemically attractive (as in for some reasons our chemicals are going insane and two people who otherwise would feel no attraction are, when within a certain radius of each other, intensely attracted to each other)? Romantically attractive? And then as a fling or as a steady partner?

For some people, all they think about is if they find someone aesthetically pleasing and/or find that they are aroused to some degree by their aesthetics.

Or sexuality. Most of the people I have talked to in person speak of it/define it as desire. Whether it be solely physically (cause bodies can be very persistent) or emotionally (the emotional connections and benefits – when sex is done in a healthy, positive way – ) or a mixture.

Then there is the internet where it is attraction. But, with so many definitions of attraction that have to deal with physical/sexual attraction even that part is messy. A lot of people would define personal physical attraction as sexual attraction. But there are other people who wouldn’t.

It’s all perspective and personal experience.

Like when I say Asian. Or Hispanic or Indian or South American. Most people think I am speaking about a race (meaning a group of people with aesthetics specific to them) when I, usually, mean a culture. There is a slight difference there.

Then there is the fact that describing words have taken on a derogatory sense. I am thinking specifically of fat and black. Fat used to just be a word, one that actually had pleasant connotations, such as wealth and a good food supply. Now, people flinch at the word fat, even in the noun form. Then what is fat, the adjective, anyway? Some people have said that I am fat; some have gone even so far as to say I am obese, when, as far as I am concerned, I am neither. I have fat but I am not fat and I don’t have that much fat, but it’s still there enough to not be skinny. Then there is the medical definition of fat and overweight and the general definition. My sister is insanely fit. She has maybe one pound of fat on her body. Yet when she went to the doctor’s, they told her she needed to lose twenty pounds. Twenty pounds that would have meant either 1. she lost all muscle or 2. she became anorexic to the scary about to die degree. But all this is from the same word – fat, in case you haven’t been paying attention – and that’s just crazy. And black is a term many people find offensive because of the history around it and the prejudices there, but at the same time as a descriptive word, it is useful.

Christian is a weird word that somehow has come to mean everything. I have been told by some people that Islam and Judaism both fall under the Christian category because they all deal with the same god. But do they? And if they did, wouldn’t they all fall under Judaism because Christianity came after Judaism and Elohim YHWH, not Yeshua, would be the binding force? Even with Islam not falling under the Christian category (it really shouldn’t, by the way. I’m not sure when people started grouping them together or why but it makes no sense), anyone who has studied religion should be able to agree that Christianity would fall under Judaism (kinda. It was supposed to then it got all messed up). To some people, anyone who believes in God – one supreme being who created the world even if it doesn’t go much beyond that – is a Christian. So even saying that something is Christian or asking if someone is a Christian might mean something entirely different than you might think.

Some people say religion and mean something hollow, without soul while others see religion as something filled with soul and heart.

Love is a word with so many different meanings that by saying we love someone, we can unwittingly deceive them. Because while one person means love in a forever way someone else may mean it in an I love cheese way. And those are two very different ways. Well, unless someone practically worships cheese. There is conditional love and unconditional love. There is love that doesn’t promise forever because it might not be, it probably won’t be, while there is love that will never fade. And when people throw around the word love all the time, someone is going to mean it in a greater way or a lesser way and people are going to get hurt.

I could go on and on about words that have multiple meanings and there is no way to know except to sit the person down and say “explain your definition of this word, what experiences lie behind it so that I don’t get confused.” Unfortunately, we can’t do that most of the time. And we can’t realize how other people are interpreting our words and chase after them saying “Wait! These were my intentions! This is what I meant!” Even if we could, there might still be biases there and prejudices like attitude and situation that taint what you are saying.

Words are messy. They are dangerous. At least English words, where nothing is definite in its meaning and rarely is there an exactness to anything. Every time that we open our mouths, we risk unintentionally misleading someone, often resulting in hurt. Sometimes I think it is better to keep my mouth shut, to not say anything. Then I can’t be misinterpreted. Then I won’t hurt people by my words meaning something else to them. But I can’t really live like that. So in a language without exactness, with everything open to personal perspective and people rarely asking about the original intentions/perspective/meaning, the only thing to do is to be aware of what we are saying and try our best to make our intention and definition as clear as possible; to understand that we will be misunderstood, that people will take something away from our words that we do not mean.

~Kiartha Qwon’um