blickin hurt
And if he doesn’t get his drinks at precise time each day he may as well be dead
It blickin hurt
Water was coming out of my leg where the thing had me
am i a real human?
am i a real human?
i'm struck often by the daily inquisition, it's normal/ expected, but this one hurt, it made me angry, I questionned the motive, I questionned my ability to answer appropriately.
It reminded me of a time when I was in a beauty contest for charity when i was a little girl. a little girl who had never really been in a beauty contest or wore makeup, or did hair, or anything. and i pranced and I got a participation trophy. we walked back out to the car and i saw across the parking lot another little girl like me in her pretty dress, holding a participation trophy, walking w her mom like me, but she was crying, almost balling her eyes out. I see her now in my head and I was so confused why she was crying... she doesn't need to win to affirm anything... doesn't she know how awesome it is that she tried? of course it could have been more complex, I would like her to feel like a real human that she is.
and then he asked me, am i a real human, Laura?
am i a real human?
i didn’t want to answer but it was directed right to me. I felt responsible to answer to snuff out the uncomfortable. I’m not a psychologist, if I didn’t answer in a way that was the normal, most acceptable way to answer that it could have been a long afternoon, maybe it could have caused a meltdown…. but why didn’t I give him an opportunity to express that? why didn’t I just let him answer it himself? i denied him a chance of that… who am I to have the answer of what is human and what is not? I feel quite alien sometimes why would I be the one to answer this kind of question…. “ of course you’re human.”
it may have been better if he answered, it may have not been better, again what I am to say which is above something else. what’s the alternative? there is no alternative, every moment is folding into itself,
i’ve thrown a lot of things away, some things i found quite precious at one point, and i do feel lighter because of it. it’s liberating actually. starting over. i wonder if that’s how the other side feels, that’s why we* (* those of us who think / give it a name) call it glee day, free from the body we carry around. spiritual baggage I’m guessing that’s a thing, burdens and bags we carry in our mind, that could make us quite heavy… i know in the sludge of depression it does physically make my body feel like gravity pushes my shoulders down, my thighs struggling to move through the atmosphere. it’s universal. and it’s something to be re-remembered.
bag lady, badu, bus, they kno it too
when u speak it’s like a meeting with god, and i wish it was more normal, elders are so important, young ones are so important, we need everyone, the tapestry doesn’t look right without your colour. it feels like something is missing. no matter what u were always there to be re-remembered and that’s what we will always do
