Intimacies

Standard

“I wish I was born into the body of a boy.”

After the months of warm greetings,
comfortingly hot Starbucks cups
of coffee and tea,

“He screamed he hated me
over and over until I finally snapped,
slapped him,
and his lip began to bleed.”

tall, cold glasses of beer and wine,
enough smiles and jokes and pleasant stories exchanged,

“I’m not sure I know what it means
to completely love someone.
I stay out of a sense of duty.”

a shaky, whispered confession emerges.

“I was molested by my grandfather.”

The words pushing tentatively
and painfully forth,

“There once was the start of a child,
and then it was gone.”

a sharing of the carefully guarded part of
your mostly radiant soul,

“I  was unfaithful.”

a tale of sadness, loss,
remorse, confusion, anger, shame, or grief;

“The full bottle of pills was in my hand
and I started to take one, and then another,
and another, until they were all gone.”

It is the moment
of an unfolding of the heart,

“I picked up the knife and told him to leave her alone.”

a need to be fully seen and known,

“Sleeping with all those guys made me feel like
someone wanted me and cared about me, maybe even loved me, at least for one night.”

yet be loved all the same,

“The tattoos cover the scars
from when I would cut myself.”

not out of duty, or familial obligation,
but because you are wholly human.

“I think I might hate my wife and my son.”

So flawed.

“All the months I held my daughter on the daybed in the living room as she laid dying were so precious and beautiful, but I thought it might completely destroy me.”

So good.

“Sometimes I just want to walk away from everything and everybody and start my life all over.”

So needing to give love and be loved.

“But I never will.”

 

 

© Julie Ayers
September 2011

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2 responses »

  1. lol, Jim. I’m great. It’s a poem, darlin’. Just a poem about the evolution of relationships from casual to intimate over time and people’s compulsion to share the deep dark of their souls with the other, and hope that they still are lovable, worthy of love, will continue to be loved. The human condition. So I failed in my attempt at convening that with the poem, huh? This wasn’t even one of the deep thoughts that hurt my head and neck the other day. 🙂 No worries.

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