20 December 2012

On Declaring "Single" Status


Or

"Stating for the Record
that I Went Through an Elaborate
Dorothy Parker Thought Process
Before It Actually, Like, Happened"



Oscillating between asexual and lovelorn, I finally declared my status as "available" on Facebook.

I wish one were able to elaborate instead of simply checking the box next to which was technically correct--

Is it sort of like declaring one is single on a tax form? In that case, I've always been "single," despite being called a "spouse" amongst friends.

He called me his spouse, said he had already felt married.

So, I was tempted to check "divorced" on Facebook, to confuse and bewilder others, but it's something that makes better sense to me.

It's something that feels more correct--

"I was officially loved deeply by someone else for a long time, and he decided he was done, so now I'm not loved by him anymore."

Cue The Smiths and The Cure, cue the low chime of church bells, signaling a death knell instead of a wedding.

Oscillating between guilt and defiance, I finally declared my status as "unattached" on Facebook.

While he did it right away, I waited until almost Christmas, just in case someone wanted to declare his or her love and send me flowers.

(I've only received flowers from a lover once; it was on our first date.)

Cue The Smiths and The Cure, cue the groans and eye rolls from the reader.

Am I free now to pour secrets? Am I free to be knowable?

I'm not blameless; I'm an asshole. I left, scared, after my poor word choice and hysterics, ripping tiny clumps of my hair out and resorting to cross-complaining out of frustration, out of dropping all of my cards on the floor, out of jumping from my skin and placing my worn thoughts in the ether, simply wanting to see a movie on my day off.

It feels childish, this wanting to close my heart, caulk the doorway and be done.

After all, I miss holding someone and telling him I loved him everyday, several times a day.

I'm not exaggerating.

I held him--in my arms, and softly in my gaze, everyday, several times a day.

I may be poor--I may have only a few cents in my bank account--but my heart is warm and pure. I am wealthy in kindness. I am wealthy in patience.

Oscillating between vulnerability and sanity, I finally declared my status as "single" on Facebook.

When he held my heart in front of my face and called me "honey" one last time, before saying he was done, I wanted my heart back.

I told him that I wanted him, but I changed my mind: I wanted my heart back.

He was the first one to have it, the first one to warm it in his palms and place it gently, using forefinger and thumb, within the glow of his enchantment.

I snatched it back, just in time for the holidays, and that's when I finally declared my status as "available" on Facebook.



14 December 2012

Praying Together

Consider the small curls of light,
then consider trial, the chemicals,
the particles or waves.
Then consider the plastic contours
of your mind, your mouth,
and bite your fucking tongue.
Origami flowers decorate the windowsill,
tinfoil colored with permanent marker.
Little hands folded those corners.
Please don't give us
the "God needed another angel" line,
because it doesn't help.
Just hold your children,
hold those little hands.
Hold the light close to you,
let it dance outside
the frame of your grief,
then let it curl inside,
warm and shining, like tinfoil
heating gradually, its star shape
creating prisms, echos,
repeating light.


12 December 2012

We Give Our Love Away, Keep None For Ourselves

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
folks always say, but sometimes,
something else happens,
a sort of "out of sight,
out of mind" thing.
And there's nothing poetic about it.
There aren't shards
or pieces of shrapnel
to pluck away, all obviously dangerous.
The glass glitters on the road,
but "glitters" isn't the word
just anyone would use,
just a special little asshole
who likes to waste your time
with detail, with fragments
of reality so perfect, you throw up
a little bit just thinking about them.
So, you wait. You wait for someone
to look you in the eyes
and really see what dances behind them,
but you wait
for a long damn time.


10 December 2012

So Many Illustrations

Why do you come here
When you know it makes things hard for me?
When you know, oh
Why do you come?

- Morrissey


You found someone new, which is fine.
But that means that you shouldn't come over here drunk.
And you shouldn't kiss your ex on the forehead.
And you shouldn't drive past her house.
And you shouldn't call her and make her cry.
And you shouldn't take
all of her friends away, and lie about
how things ended.
Because you just shouldn't.

You found someone new, which is fine.
But that means that you shouldn't
love two people at once.
And you shouldn't call one of them your soul mate,
the one you're no longer sleeping next to.
And you shouldn't cry in someone else's arms
the tears you share with your "soul mate."
And you shouldn't say, "I'm sorry for how you feel"
when you really aren't sorry, not sorry at all.


07 December 2012

Listen Up

Dear Fellow Mean Humans, Particularly in Positions of Power:

Most of the time, I try to be as kind and patient as possible, but lately, I've had really awful thoughts about you, all of you, and how you've screwed us little people over. I'm tired. I'm tired of the fact that you seem to be rewarded for your bullying, your manipulation, your insincerity, your greed. I'm tired of feeling like I'm somehow defending your sorry butts when I say, "humans are basically good." You are small in number, but you do so much damage, and I'm tired of it. So, I'm begging you, for the love of all that is precious in this world, stop. If you don't stop, know this: you will always face opposition. There will always be other people -- other good, hardworking, positive, honest people -- who will try to defeat you and all you represent. That's right, I'm coming after you. I'm coming after you with my education. I'm coming after you with my womanhood. I'm coming after you -- not submitting to your fear, your pressures, your boot heels on my throat. So, watch yourselves, because we are armed with more than just kindness and patience. We are armed with courage and love, justice and knowledge. And you -- all of you, who multiply and multiply -- will go down in flames, if it takes us thousands of years.

Sincerely,
Shannon Ranee McKeehen
One of "The Little People," and there are a lot of us.



01 December 2012

December 1

All these little suicides
they hardly make a mark.
I can take these fun-house rides --
I'm a natural in the dark.

- The Golden Palominos


Forgot to wear my chains and name tag
today and accept my role as monster.
Forgot to leave your light on,
shut mine off, and accept my role as fuck-up.
If I suddenly did everything right,
found a way to feed myself before I
paid every dollar, comforted every person,
it would do nothing. There would still be me
and the yellow wallpaper,
the delusions of womanhood, of youth,
of danger. There would still be pieces of me
that would anger you
that wouldn't fit together
quite right. Because it's my insanity,
my vanilla whitewash
that makes me invisible, intolerable.
But when I talk about it,
I'm doing something wrong.
But when I keep it to myself,
I'm doing something wrong.
But when I do the best I can,
I'm doing something wrong.
My tenderness, all vulnerable,
is found by the side of the road,
a deer who should've known better
but didn't.