I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)
Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.
We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.
I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.
And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.
Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.
I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.
Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.
What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.
Second verse same as the first.
Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.
Pins and needles.
Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.
Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.
So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.
This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.
But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…
Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.
It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.
Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.
The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.
He thinks I am beautiful.
I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.
I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.
They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.
He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.
I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.