I woke up this morning feeling sexy…
sexy and beautiful and inspired and alive. I fell in love four times last night; first with the young anarchist, trannie boy, rant poet, then with the beautiful, black, sexy and sensitive singer songwriter, then with the furious and funny, abandoning and emotive, slam poet, and finally with myself. You say you cannot love me because I do not love myself but you are wrong. I walked out determined, steeped in clarity, I knew what I needed for me, strident, ignoring the mean streets I found my destination, shuffled the crowd and made my presence known. I sat pretty in my big girl boots, I sat like a boy, I laughed out loud and applauded with uncaring abandon. I was clearly a woman in love. I realized that I adored every square inch of myself, the way my clothing rubbed up against me and all around me, the sound of my own voice, the beauty of my parting lips and all the wild and exotic animals that wander my body. I love my rushing thoughts, I love the tears that stream my face, I love the bullets that shoot out from my heart, I love my sadness and my wanting and my angst. I love my whimsy, my style, my sense of self. I love my love. To me emotions are like colors in a rainbow and life is most beautiful when they all show up and shine. I fall in love with women who remind me of me. Besides who could not love a girl with Aristotle in her eyes and an old man in her mouth and teeth like white birds flying through warm southern nights. And who could not fall for those strong braids and soft skin dreaming of morning coffee and a kitchen she loved and brown earth for planting. And who could not resort to dreaming of the laughing girl, with breast that bounce and thighs that dance and hands that shoot love arrows at the audience, who signs for God and packages revolution into a drugstore ditty. These women gave me back to me as I will someday give others back to themselves. I am hard on myself its true and occasionally fall into the ditch of self-loathing or perhaps it is self-pity, but I don’t stay long because there is too much loving to get done. Truth is, I don’t sleep too much and I don’t work too hard and I don’t move too slow because there is too much loving to get done. Truth is, I lost something to you and I do not want it back. I wanted to give you something last night but all I had was my joy and my enthusiasm and my love of life, my crying had been done and I realized yours had just begun. Still I came to you last night, I lifted up the sheets and poured myself in. I pulled your backbone into my breasts, we wrapped out legs like Wisteria waiting to bloom. I matched my breath to yours, said a prayer to the back of your neck and fell to dreaming. I wonder, did you feel me there? Enveloping you in my warmth and comfort? Did you want me there or were you angry I came? Even if I could go back, spoken like a true rocket scientist; one step before I fell in love and take a left, even if I could I would not. I will not temper my heart for you, for anyone. I’ve taken the reigns off and like all newly released animals it will take some time to find its pace but I will not enforce one upon it. And I know now that you are right, that we are not right, at least not right now. Still- STILL - I hear the words of Judith Granh – we never stay long enough to get the real loving done-. I know I am so not done with you yet. I have been afraid, afraid that if I felt you again, felt you on my skin and in my mouth and against my heart that I would not be able let you go. I am no longer afraid. You’ve done all you can do to me and I’m ok. I’d do it again if I had the chance and I could still walk away. I am not done arching your back and tripping over your lips. The truth is I wanted you to make love to me that final night by the firelight. I wanted you to make love to my body, I wanted your mouth on me, in me. I wanted you to take me. Not like the first time when you held all of history inside of me. You pushed your way in farther and deeper then I ever knew possible and kept yourself there holding all of history in your hand; all of history in your fist, all of history inside of me, seeping out of you into me and you looked at me with the universe in your eyes and told me not to be afraid. The universe in your eyes and all of history in your hand, you held yourself there and told me not to be afraid. And all my fear went away and I let you in farther and deeper then I ever knew possible and somehow, by some slight of the magicians hand, you reach right through me, right up through me you reached and found my heart and took hold. And with your hands on my heart and the universe in your eyes and all of history inside me and the fear bleeding from my eyes you told me it was ok and I believed you and it was and it still is. But this was not how I wanted you that last night. I wanted your fingers inside me and your mouth upon me and your tongue all over me. I wanted to turn into rushing water, an unexpected storm, a sunflower. I wanted the chemist in you to convert me, devise and test that mathematical equation that would convert my body into pure energy, into fuel, into fireworks. I wanted us to fuck like good eighteen-year-old boys, I wanted to wrestle, I wanted to draw a checkerboard on your belly, I wanted us to feed each other raisons, and grapes and other small fruits. I cannot go back, I will not go back but I can love you without boundaries, without a future, without expectations or limitation, I can simply love you. I know this now. Falling does not mean fall off or falling over it means falling into and a little part of me is in you and a little part of you is in me. And if I had the chance I would rejoin those little loving parts of ourselves; rejoin our passions, rejoin our bodies and souls and hearts, I would give myself to you and could still walk away feeling I have lost nothing. I can tear my heart out I can break it up into pieces and leave them at your feet, beautiful breadcrumbs, should you choose to follow, because I am that starfish and I grow back what I give away.