These Days, It’s Not Flattering To Be Me. {poetry}
I’ve fixed my pomegranate-stained lips
into a smile
for you to focus on
while my eyes
dart back and forth,
tracing the contours of your face,
I’m memorizing
as much of you
in the flesh
as I can
before we leave
this space
on a park bench
where the starlights dance above,
and almond petals drift like snow,
collecting at the edges of the sidewalk
and we laugh, together,
when an old man yells at a kid
for skateboarding,
the rebelling of the invisible rules
posted out of sight,
and I keep pouring out the words,
the questions
of playful banter for you,
watching the way your eyes sparkle,
and the how of you stretching your arms wide across the back of the bench,
as you tell me
about you,
and tonight,
I am nervous
in being here —
so much I sidestep the intimacy of a dinner together
even as much as I love Thai food —
because I’ve got this mask on,
and I don’t think that I can wear it
any longer,
especially since I think you
can see around it,
but I keep trying to leave on the mask
while my darting eyes
and laughing words
share the evening with you,
as the green metal of the bench
cools my fiery fingers,
and, tonight, I’m sick of this glitter mask —
you know the one —
that shows
everything is fine,
because I won’t let you
see me at my worst,
and these days,
it’s not flattering
to be
me,
so I treasure these moments with you
in my world of chaos
created by me,
but I am shifting
the tectonic plates of who I am, and
I am sorry,
it’s been a slow process
for change is longer to the caterpillar
than we imagine,
but one day, soon, I’ll emerge,
with my silky wings ready for flight,
for now,
my pomegranate-stained lips smile,
as I play along in this dance
of words across the fine lines of invisible rules
because I’ve no choice
but to be
me
lonely in my longing,
lost in my loving,
and there’s no place
even under the light of stars
that appears as hot as fire,
but I know there’s always more heat from where the light began,
and yet, here, in this cool air of a spring night
there’s no space
for desire
to fall from my lips
for you to catch,
as we sit
under the stars,
and the almond petals that look like
snow, but the scent is sweet,
and fleeting,
so we part with a goodbye,
I carefully
stumble
back to my car,
sit in the stillness,
listening to my heartbeat:
unsteady
and pounding, pounding, pounding alive
for the first time
in years,
telling me to stop,
to just
stop this lying,
this faking a pleasant performance,
because I deserve more
after all the half-hearted
hesitations
of loving someone who never saw me,
and now I must
stop hiding
the way I’d like to
to curl into a cuddling pose
with you,
and not leave for days
or nights,
but, regrettably, it wasn’t the starry-night story
I wrote for myself
all those years ago,
even as
my pounding heart
tells me
to rip off the damn mask
of friendliness,
and give into my desires
that I’ve collected like daisy chains,
and gathered into a safe little space in the corner of my heart
that I’ve hidden from you
in my reciting
of the acceptable words,
staying within the invisible lines
of what’s expected,
and this pounding
tells me to stop the playful banter
after the other night
of stars and almond petals like snow
when I should’ve gone for the Thai dinner
with you,
but I didn’t,
because I haven’t learned
to be
me,
so tonight
I’ll slip
into my cocoon,
disappear for as long as it takes
to become the me
who doesn’t have
to wear
the mask
in front
of
you.
***
Jessie Wright is an artist who grew up as a wild girl rambling through the Sierra Nevada mountains. She’s available as a Creative-Guide-Soul-Seeker-Facilitator for those searching to deepen their writing experiences. Jessie’s art, poetry, and writing may be found at Be You Media Group and Elephant Journal. You could connect with her via Instagram, and find her most recent poetry book here.
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