After we move I’m gonna…
(The list keeps growing)
Get my nails did
Make some asleepin’ playlists
Apply the edits to the book and work on the separated Siamese twin.
Get my hair cut
Take my fucking life back.
I once wrote to dear Brother Matt and also Habibi that ‘the moment we think we are cursed, we are.’ But we will get to that in a minute.
The secret is all inside your head she said to me, the answer is easy if you take it logically.
I had to go digging through all of my things, I had no choice, we’re moving.
So much useless junk I have been holding onto, in white file boxes named “novella” and “mementos”. The scraps of paper, scraps of a paper girl I used to be. I remember thinking it was soooooo important to remember, it ain’t. I saw my stupidity and error laid out on the living room carpet in black and white and other colors. I got 3 boxes down to a small accordion folder and set a few things on fire. Releasing that energy back into the world where it can be recycled into whatever I choose.
I know what hurts, I don’t need paper cut reminders.
I kept a few things, from public school, high school, there is a section for the 90’s. The tag from the first horse I rescued at auction, the memoriam cards and leaflets from the dead. Faded construction paper finger paintings from my son and other people’s children. Those I will keep.
I had things the poet sent me tucked away somewhere, bound in red thread and silk. I didn’t want them and I was going to give them away. But I couldn’t find them anywhere, not in time for the deadline to send them away anyways.
I have been time traveling backwards. I spoke to 10 year old me and rescued her from the basement with the brown speckled carpet. I made peace with the girl who stayed at the farm 6 years past what she should have. But there are no ‘shoulds’ here. We did what we did and it’s alright now.
Except that one thing.
When I looked back along my timeline, to this version of me right now. I am mostly large and in charge. I am better off financially than I have ever been, I wrote a book for fuck sakes, yay me. My home is beautiful, my friendships unparalleled, my dog adorable, my son a mystic…farm girl me would be so pleased, and I am.
But there is that one thing…
The poet came into my life at the beginning of my transformation. Dripping honey from his tongue over the phone whilst I was holed up in the chalet in the woods. Figuring out what it meant to be alone with myself, to hold my lovers and myself to higher standards. When I was finding my voice and understanding what it meant to be me.
He came and went, and then came and went again. Other lovers that seemed like they might stay just up and left in the night without warrant or warning. Just ouf and poof.
And this whole time, I blamed myself, I am the common denominator am I not?
In a conversation with the Giant the other day he was forthcoming about his first impressions of me whilst we were brainstorming about why men run from me.
The stripper thing came up and I said
“I know that makes me disposable.”
“No. It makes you intimidating because you can walk into a room and do/get whatever you please. Naked and unafraid no less. It’s terrifying.”
“Then we get to know you and you’re so much more. It’s even more terrifying.”
I’m glad he stuck around and we muddled through.
I don’t see myself as anything but a squishy dorky ball of love.
I need eyes to borrow sometimes.
I thought that was it, the stripper thing and I’ve made plans and provisions to cut that out of my life. I am truly over it.
4 years ago Poet said to me that I was everything he ever wanted and everything he’d ever run from.
And in that moment I was cursed.
I liked that idea.
It made me something.
But it no longer serves me.
Just like the scraps of paper, I am setting that idea on fire and letting it go.
I am nothing to run from, and everything to run towards.
I have no desire to be everything to one person.
I am my own.
I am not dangerous, I am simply kind.
Let the curse be broken.