I think I miss you.
And this is not a good thing.
And this is not an honest thing.
This is not a thing that leaves me lying peacefully in my bed, while she sleeps beside me, our joined hands clasped tight, and our joined breath condensing on the ceiling to fall in droplets on our faces when the air cools.
This is not a thing that lets me kiss her with open lips.
This is a thing that fills me with bitter taste.
And makes me hope, that this is just the result of premenstrual syndrome.
A particularly bad bout.
And makes me hope,
that this is not a true thing.
This is a thing that ruins my grammar, ruins my peace less mind.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
We walked around the gravel lots, hand in hand, peering through the windows of dispossessed houses.
It was dusk. We passed signs that said HAZARD CONSTRUCTION AUTHORIZED PERSONAL and you helped me up into the doorway. The floor was split in two, we stepped carefully.
Skeleton walls and gutted out rooms, I was a little bit frightened.
Even though it was just a house. Less filled with ghosts than piles of plywood and abandoned paint tins.
It was dusk. We passed signs that said HAZARD CONSTRUCTION AUTHORIZED PERSONAL and you helped me up into the doorway. The floor was split in two, we stepped carefully.
Skeleton walls and gutted out rooms, I was a little bit frightened.
Even though it was just a house. Less filled with ghosts than piles of plywood and abandoned paint tins.
They like to say that we are post feminist.
That men and women are equal, that we have nothing to fear anymore.
Nothing to really be angry about.
And I can never find the words to disagree.
People like that, who like to make clever sounding, dismissive statements, always want the right words.
As if a lapse of grammar, or an inability to cite sources can render an opinion null and void.
How can I say to people like these, people who care more for glib epigrams than real emotion, that now, when I hear about a rape-
I used to feel sick and horrified and angry and hot and cold all over-
But now, I feel sick and angry, and grateful.
That it has never happened to me.
And then I feel guilty.
And then I feel apprehensive, because maybe it just hasn't happened yet
So you can tell me I'm wrong, that I don't order my arguments coherently.
You can tell me that "null and void" is cliched, and ask me if I even comprehend what it means.
But you can't tell me that I'm safe, to walk alone at night.
That men and women are equal, that we have nothing to fear anymore.
Nothing to really be angry about.
And I can never find the words to disagree.
People like that, who like to make clever sounding, dismissive statements, always want the right words.
As if a lapse of grammar, or an inability to cite sources can render an opinion null and void.
How can I say to people like these, people who care more for glib epigrams than real emotion, that now, when I hear about a rape-
I used to feel sick and horrified and angry and hot and cold all over-
But now, I feel sick and angry, and grateful.
That it has never happened to me.
And then I feel guilty.
And then I feel apprehensive, because maybe it just hasn't happened yet
So you can tell me I'm wrong, that I don't order my arguments coherently.
You can tell me that "null and void" is cliched, and ask me if I even comprehend what it means.
But you can't tell me that I'm safe, to walk alone at night.
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