Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

My Body Is A Party

My body is a party,
but nobody is invited,
because I am a terrible host,
toasting my terrible timorousness,
taking in the empty room and taking a shallow breath as the sound of silence sends me into tears.

How do you fall in love when you are in love with self loathing?
I heard once that I could meet somebody who really loves me,
but I didn’t love the idea of sticky clubs and selling my heart to the highest bidder under flashing lights,
so I stayed home,
surrounded by the sonnets and songs of my youth,
wondering why life was,
as I had also once heard,
sick and cruel.

Do you think that happiness is the kind of thing that happens for everyone?
I’m starting to think that it doesn’t,
drawn into long debates with myself about fate,
the waiting game and my place on this planet,
and I just think
“Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Life owes you nothing but surely I am owed something?
I’ve been here this whole time,
rolling with the vibes and the punches that follow,
furious and flowing so quickly that soon,
they are all that is left.

Don’t mind me, I’m just going through something.
It’s a challenge to keep it cool when I am made or ice,
melting, only to learn hard lessons that help me to freeze again.
I don’t mean to complain,
but I’ve gained nothing from never ending smiles and positive affirmations,
so there’s no path left but the painful whines of a wild child,
lost in the wilderness,
waiting for her lover to lock eyes with her across a room,
and whisper,
“You’re what I’ve been looking for.”

I could find the wrong one in one minute,
it really just takes a second for him to slither in, but, the right one?
She is elusive,
exclusive and evasive.
I have torn myself apart,
trying to be ready for her to find me,
trying to fix all of the issues and pack away the tissues I have cried into,
fixing my make up and pretending I have my shit together,
so that she knows I am ready to be loved,
but it’s all a lost cause,
because the truth is,
my greatest fear is,
I will never be ready.

I will never be ready,
so my body remains a party that I don’t want to be at,
and I stare through the sea at a locked door,
unconvinced but reassured that it’s safer if it stays that way.

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