u/Dense_Bluebird7732

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
            intertwined
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

You can always find me. 

Breathe in, then find me in the pause before the breath out.
Take another one.
I’m in the tranquility reaching out to you in that space between breaths.
Like the tranquility in our late night talks. It’s still there for you.

Find me in the spaces between the tumbling,
incessant thoughts that fill your mind without reprieve.
Reach for the space between the thoughts and hear me tell you,
“you’re doing great” and “you are enough”.

Tie your shoelaces (such a day ruiner) and find me in the irritation and urgency,
and accept the discomfort in the slowing down it makes you do.
In that slowed down space, breathe again.
Direct your breath toward the resistance in your chest
that’s trying to stop you from slowing down.
Im here.

Find me in how it feels when you let go and move to the beat,
let your body live in the vibration.
[when is the last time you danced? Do it, pick a song].
Breathe here too, I’m with you, I got you.
You don’t have to be strong in every moment. 

When you feel afraid that you are not in control,
feel me sending you extra support.
It’s ok to let go, give some slack,
fall a little to bounce back.
You’ll always be able to bounce back.

If you feel lonely and not understood,
please feel me in the space around you.
In the breeze or the heat or coolness on your skin,
or just in the vastness of space.
I love you, my soul to yours, exactly as you are.
Read that one again and accept it.
You are loved as you.
Maybe even read it one last time.
Feel it.

That’s always in the universe for you to feel when you want it.
I leave it in the spaces between for you to take when you need.

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

You come with softness when I’m not expecting it. You catch me off guard by holding space for me to be weak and listless, permission for me to open the exhibit to the parts of me that aren’t dressed up for outside.

The exhibit is hard for me to witness. I see too much self-pity and excuses for not being where I wish I am. I see a nearly vacant space once occupied by excitement, passion, and dreams. I’ve been struggling just to dust away the cobwebs, let alone start to redecorate or add new furniture. Looking around the space, I’m embarrassed by the stains that couldn’t be washed away. I’m sad that some shelves are riddled with dust because I haven’t visited in too long to remember. You asked me what I want to play - there are games in here that I’m afraid to open, because the cardboard box might fall apart. That’s my sad story, that you witnessed without judgment, but softness.

Your soft and steady presence does not go unappreciated, and I know that ours is not a simple friendship to maintain. I’m needy, and I need validation, but I need it disguised as something else. You give me what you can offer, while holding your boundaries and maintaining your own growth. You remind me what kinds of things being a human can mean, even when you’re tired. 

You rarely ask for anything, yet I long to give you so much. If I had my wish, I would give you so much passion, support, patience, compassion and gratitude. I’d never tell you, but I know that I’m partially stuck in this vacant space because I wish it so strongly. As long as I don’t start filling it up, decorating, making things comfortable for new guests, I can hold on to the tiny sliver of the illusion of us. The version where I get to look into your eyes often, gazing into the depth of you. Where I can trace my fingers over your body as we talk about the past present and future of humans. Where I could kiss you when you make me frustrated, or when I just want to. Where I could tell you I love you openly, rather than hold it in like a side ache. 

You have so much fullness and ambition. You have so much perseverance for feeling alive and in motion, and it’s the most admirable thing to witness. I’m frozen in memorial to our almost, but I’m also inspired by your commitment to continue to human. So, forward movement is slow, but I think that when I get to where I’m going, I’ll be in a much better place because of you. Because you saw every single side of me, and witnessed them all softly, with patience. That means something, even if I’m only one person. You’re just such a special human, and I’m so glad that it seems you’re currently in a place where you’re aware of it, and living life on purpose. If you happen to forget again sometime, I’ll remind you a million times over. 

I hope you know how much I care, and how much it means to me that you keep our friendship alive. 

From this life and probably another one too,

Over n out

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

comment 1

comment 2

I am four years old
looking to adults to teach me
what happiness feels like
& they are all telling me I’m great
because I’m reading at a 10 year old level
& this makes me feel loved
& great becomes an oversized coat
I’ll seek desperately to grow into.

I am 13 & my best friend and I
are hiding cheese-itz around her house
& trying on her mother’s business suits
& laughing so hard that our sides ache
& the kids at school are calling each other a word
that means 
whatever else you do, don't be this
& I learn that a part of me is bad
& I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

Then I am fifteen
& winning first place
which is great
except for my asthma
which for days afterward
seizes my lungs
& my cough
carries out with it
the pride I earned being great
& I learn that great is something that can make you sick.

And I am 19
& my friends and I are on a bus
& a man shouts to us
Y’all the most beautiful women in this nation’s county
& we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

And I am 21
& I look great
& men confirm this
with entitled eyes and hands
& I like it
& I am great
at making men feel great
& then a beautiful woman
is making me feel great
in a way that men never have.

Then I am 28
dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume,
my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers,
& I escape into the smoggy air outside
& share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused
& he walks me his route, his rounds,
his good evening, you eat today?,
here is a blanket or a free meal ticket
& he is met with gratitude

He has gathered stories
& he wants them to live
somewhere other than his small legal pad
so he gives me an email address
but when I wander back to the hotel
everyone is angry
& how dare I put myself at risk
with this stranger
& in my shame I don’t email.

I recall later
how safe I felt
with the kind man in Las Vegas
when a friend holds me down
and leaves bruises when I say
I don’t want him to touch me that way.

At 30 years old,
I am a “doctor”
in a room of people saying great, great, 
& someone pops a bottle of champagne
& I have the sense that I’m supposed to feel proud
but I feel only relief
& I am looking around wondering
what does happiness feel like again?
& I am asking my therapist how to be happy
& she is asking me
why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then I am 32
& at my wedding reception
my father says
you have great friends, never lose them
& I hold it tenderly,
the rare occurrence of kind words from my father
& my friend Ben is telling me
my joy is contagious
& my energy brings calm
& this makes me glow.

I am an aunt
watching small people copy
the sounds and movements I make
& my nephew announces
his house is bigger than mine
& I want to say
please, don't go looking for it in square footage
but I say, instead wow, It sure is.

Then I am 34,
& leaving my career
& I am a student again
learning to sit across from strangers
& help them find happiness, peace, healing
& my stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money
but I have traded in the coat of greatness
& my cohort says I carry an energy
that makes others feel held
& I am glowing again.

Now I am 35
& on the couch with Jack
who is three,
who will next week put on a fashion show
& whose mom is getting a divorce
& finding happiness again, 
& he is learning about emotions
from small wooden figurines
he can hold in his hands
& he picks one up from the cushion between us
& asks me
What does happy feel like?
& I am laughing
because it's a simple question
that I feel wildly unqualified to answer
& I want to protect him
from the oversized parka of greatness
& I I want to say that happiness is in love,
& kindness,
in community,
& receiving all the universe gives
& I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose
& you never stop looking in new places
& I want to say the best way to keep it
is the way you are doing it right now,
holding it out to others
& asking what it feels like for them too.

But Jack is three
so I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a friend
for the first time in a while
& he says like you coming over today
& then I laugh harder
because it's so simply true
& he laughs because I laugh
& nothing else matters at this moment.

comment 1

comment 2

I am on the couch with Jack, who is three, who is learning about emotions from small wooden figurines he can hold in his hands. He picks one up from the cushion between us, and asks me, What does happy feel like? 

And I laugh, because it's a simple question, yet I feel wildly unqualified to give an answer.

Because first I must be four again, looking to adults to answer my questions. They are all telling me I’m great - I’m reading at a 10 year old level. I was unaware that a word could be an oversized coat that I’d spend a lifetime growing into. 

At ten years old I am reading like I am 15. That’s great. At fifteen the kids in the hallway are calling each other a word that means whatever else you do, don't be this, and I learn that a part of me is bad. I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

But also at fifteen: my best friend and I are hiding cheese-itz around her house, and trying on her mother’s business suits, and laughing so hard that our sides ache. 

I am faster than the seniors. Great. Then I am a senior, first place, every meet, which is great
except for my asthma, which for days afterward seizes my lungs, and the phlegm I hack up carries out with it the pride I earned being great. I learn that great is a thing that can make you sick.

I am in love. My family says he is nice. Nice is what you call a thing that isn't great. Find a doctor. You argue well. Be a lawyer. Make a great deal of money.

In college I get all As. I look great. Men confirm it with entitled eyes and hands and I like it, I do, and I get very good at making men feel great. I don’t learn what feels great for me until a beautiful woman shows me what men never could.

My friends and I are on a bus and a man shouts to us, “Yall the most beautiful women in this nation’s county”, and we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

---Jack, hold on, wait, that one might actually be an answer.

Then graduation, and nobody tells me where they keep the greatness after this, so I go looking for it in graduate school. My advisor says I'm great. Then he is investigated for sexual harassment, and I don’t want to be here anymore, but nobody has ever given me a word for leaving that sounded like praise.

Then I am 28, dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume, my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers. I escape into the smoggy air outside and share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused. He walks me his route, his rounds,  his good evening, you eat today?, here is a blanket or a free meal ticket, and he is met with gratitude. He tells me he has been collecting stories. He gives me an email address. He wants the stories to live somewhere outside of his small legal pad. But when I wander back to the hotel everyone is angry. My phone had died, and how dare I put myself at risk like that, spending my time with this stranger. He could have hurt me. In my shame I don’t email.

I recall later how safe I felt with the kind man in Las Vegas, when a friend holds me down and leaves bruises when I say I don’t want him to touch me that way.

Then a dissertation defense, and I am a “doctor”, and there is a toast, champagne popped, in a room full of people saying great, great, and me looking around that room and wondering what does happiness feel like again? And I am asking my therapist how to be happy, and she is asking me, why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then a wedding, and after the reception my father says, you have great friends. Never lose them, and I hold it so tenderly, this rare gift of my father’s kind words. And my friend Ben is telling me that my joy is always contagious, and my energy brings happiness to others, and this makes me glow.

Then I am an aunt, watching small people copy the sounds and movements I make. My nephew announces that his house is bigger than mine, and I want to say*, please, don't go looking for it in square footage.* Instead I say, wow. It sure is.

Then I am quitting. Then I am a student again, at this age, learning to sit across from strangers and help them find happiness, peace, healing. My stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money, but I have traded in the coat of greatness. My cohort says I bring a sincere, inclusive energy that makes others feel held. And I am glowing again.

And now I look at Jack holding out this smiling wooden figurine. Jack, who will ask me next month to have a fashion show. I want to protect him from the oversized greatness parka. Jack, whose mom is getting a divorce, and finding herself again, happier. I want to say that happiness is in love, and in kindness, in community, and receiving with vulnerability and authenticity all that the universe shares with you. I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose, and you never stop looking for it in new places, and I want to say the best way to keep it is the way you are doing it right now; holding it out to others and asking them what it feels like for them too. 

But Jack is three. So I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a good friend for the first time in a while. He says like you coming over today, and then I laugh harder because it's so simply true.
And he laughs because I laugh, and nothing else matters in this moment.

I am four years old
looking to adults to teach me
what happiness feels like
& they are all telling me I’m great
because I’m reading at a 10 year old level
& this makes me feel loved
& great becomes an oversized coat
I’ll seek desperately to grow into.

I am 13 & my best friend and I
are hiding cheese-itz around her house
& trying on her mother’s business suits
& laughing so hard that our sides ache
& the kids in the hallway are calling each other a word
that means 
whatever else you do, don't be this
& I learn that a part of me is bad
& I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

Then I am fifteen
& winning first place
which is great
except for my asthma
which for days afterward
seizes my lungs
& the phlegm I hack up
carries out with it
the pride I earned being great
& I learn that great is something that can make you sick.

And I am 19
& my friends and I are on a bus
& a man shouts to us
Y’all the most beautiful women in this nation’s county
& we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

And I am 21
& I look great
& men confirm this
with entitled eyes and hands
& I like it
& I am great
at making men feel great
& then a beautiful woman
is making me feel great
in a way that men never have.

Then I am 28
dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume,
my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers,
& I escape into the smoggy air outside
& share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused
& he walks me his route, his rounds,
his good evening, you eat today?,
here is a blanket or a free meal ticket
& he is met with gratitude

He has gathered stories
& he wants them to live
somewhere other than his small legal pad
so he gives me an email address
but when I wander back to the hotel
everyone is angry
& how dare I put myself at risk
with this stranger
& in my shame I don’t email.

I recall later
how safe I felt
with the kind man in Las Vegas
when a friend holds me down
and leaves bruises when I say
I don’t want him to touch me that way.

At 30 years old,
I am a “doctor”
in a room of people saying great, great, 
& someone pops a bottle of champagne
& I have the sense that I’m supposed to feel proud
but I feel only relief
& I am looking around wondering
what does happiness feel like again?
& I am asking my therapist how to be happy
& she is asking me
why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then I am 32
& at my wedding reception
my father says
you have great friends, never lose them
& I hold it tenderly,
the rare occurrence of kind words from my father
& my friend Ben is telling me
my joy is contagious
& my energy brings calm
& this makes me glow.

I am an aunt
watching small people copy
the sounds and movements I make
& my nephew announces
his house is bigger than mine
& I want to say
please, don't go looking for it in square footage
but I say, instead wow, It sure is.

Then I am 34,
& leaving my career
& I am a student again
learning to sit across from strangers
& help them find happiness, peace, healing
& my stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money
but I have traded in the coat of greatness
& my cohort says I carry an energy
that makes others feel held
& I am glowing again.

Now I am 35
& on the couch with Jack
who is three,
who will next week put on a fashion show
& whose mom is getting a divorce
& finding happiness again, 
& he is learning about emotions
from small wooden figurines
he can hold in his hands
& he picks one up from the cushion between us
& asks me
What does happy feel like?
& I am laughing
because it's a simple question
that I feel wildly unqualified to answer
& I want to protect him
from the oversized parka of greatness
& I I want to say that happiness is in love,
& kindness,
in community,
& receiving all the universe gives
& I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose
& you never stop looking in new places
& I want to say the best way to keep it
is the way you are doing it right now,
holding it out to others
& asking what it feels like for them too.

But Jack is three
so I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a friend
for the first time in a while
& he says like you coming over today
& then I laugh harder
because it's so simply true
& he laughs because I laugh
& nothing else matters at this moment.

I am four years old
looking to adults to teach me
what happiness feels like
& they are all telling me I’m great
because I’m reading at a 10 year old level
& this makes me feel loved
& great becomes an oversized coat
I’ll seek desperately to grow into.

I am 13 & my best friend and I
are hiding cheese-itz around her house
& trying on her mother’s business suits
& laughing so hard that our sides ache
& the kids in the hallway are calling each other a word
that means 
whatever else you do, don't be this
& I learn that a part of me is bad
& I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

Then I am fifteen
& winning first place
which is great
except for my asthma
which for days afterward
seizes my lungs
& the phlegm I hack up
carries out with it
the pride I earned being great
& I learn that great is something that can make you sick.

And I am 19
& my friends and I are on a bus
& a man shouts to us
Y’all the most beautiful women in this nation’s county
& we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

And I am 21
& I look great
& men confirm this
with entitled eyes and hands
& I like it
& I am great
at making men feel great
& then a beautiful woman
is making me feel great
in a way that men never have.

Then I am 28
dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume,
my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers,
& I escape into the smoggy air outside
& share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused
& he walks me his route, his rounds,
his good evening, you eat today?,
here is a blanket or a free meal ticket
& he is met with gratitude

He has gathered stories
& he wants them to live
somewhere other than his small legal pad
so he gives me an email address
but when I wander back to the hotel
everyone is angry
& how dare I put myself at risk
with this stranger
& in my shame I don’t email.

I recall later
how safe I felt
with the kind man in Las Vegas
when a friend holds me down
and leaves bruises when I say
I don’t want him to touch me that way.

At 30 years old,
I am a “doctor”
in a room of people saying great, great, 
& someone pops a bottle of champagne
& I have the sense that I’m supposed to feel proud
but I feel only relief
& I am looking around wondering
what does happiness feel like again?
& I am asking my therapist how to be happy
& she is asking me
why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then I am 32
& at my wedding reception
my father says
you have great friends, never lose them
& I hold it tenderly,
the rare occurrence of kind words from my father
& my friend Ben is telling me
my joy is contagious
& my energy brings calm
& this makes me glow.

I am an aunt
watching small people copy
the sounds and movements I make
& my nephew announces
his house is bigger than mine
& I want to say
please, don't go looking for it in square footage
but I say, instead wow, It sure is.

Then I am 34,
& leaving my career
& I am a student again
learning to sit across from strangers
& help them find happiness, peace, healing
& my stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money
but I have traded in the coat of greatness
& my cohort says I carry an energy
that makes others feel held
& I am glowing again.

Now I am 35
& on the couch with Jack
who is three,
who will next week put on a fashion show
& whose mom is getting a divorce
& finding happiness again, 
& he is learning about emotions
from small wooden figurines
he can hold in his hands
& he picks one up from the cushion between us
& asks me
What does happy feel like?
& I am laughing
because it's a simple question
that I feel wildly unqualified to answer
& I want to protect him
from the oversized parka of greatness
& I I want to say that happiness is in love,
& kindness,
in community,
& receiving all the universe gives
& I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose
& you never stop looking in new places
& I want to say the best way to keep it
is the way you are doing it right now,
holding it out to others
& asking what it feels like for them too.

But Jack is three
so I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a friend
for the first time in a while
& he says like you coming over today
& then I laugh harder
because it's so simply true
& he laughs because I laugh
& nothing else matters at this moment.

I am four years old
looking to adults to teach me
what happiness feels like
& they are all telling me I’m great
because I’m reading at a 10 year old level
& this makes me feel loved
& great becomes an oversized coat
I’ll seek desperately to grow into.

I am 13 & my best friend and I
are hiding cheese-itz around her house
& trying on her mother’s business suits
& laughing so hard that our sides ache
& the kids in the hallway are calling each other a word
that means 
whatever else you do, don't be this
& I learn that a part of me is bad
& I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

Then I am fifteen
& winning first place
which is great
except for my asthma
which for days afterward
seizes my lungs
& the phlegm I hack up
carries out with it
the pride I earned being great
& I learn that great is something that can make you sick.

And I am 19
& my friends and I are on a bus
& a man shouts to us
Y’all the most beautiful women in this nation’s county
& we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

And I am 21
& I look great
& men confirm this
with entitled eyes and hands
& I like it
& I am great
at making men feel great
& then a beautiful woman
is making me feel great
in a way that men never have.

Then I am 28
dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume,
my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers,
& I escape into the smoggy air outside
& share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused
& he walks me his route, his rounds,
his good evening, you eat today?,
here is a blanket or a free meal ticket
& he is met with gratitude

He has gathered stories
& he wants them to live
somewhere other than his small legal pad
so he gives me an email address
but when I wander back to the hotel
everyone is angry
& how dare I put myself at risk
with this stranger
& in my shame I don’t email.

I recall later
how safe I felt
with the kind man in Las Vegas
when a friend holds me down
and leaves bruises when I say
I don’t want him to touch me that way.

At 30 years old,
I am a “doctor”
in a room of people saying great, great, 
& someone pops a bottle of champagne
& I have the sense that I’m supposed to feel proud
but I feel only relief
& I am looking around wondering
what does happiness feel like again?
& I am asking my therapist how to be happy
& she is asking me
why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then I am 32
& at my wedding reception
my father says
you have great friends, never lose them
& I hold it tenderly,
the rare occurrence of kind words from my father
& my friend Ben is telling me
my joy is contagious
& my energy brings calm
& this makes me glow.

I am an aunt
watching small people copy
the sounds and movements I make
& my nephew announces
his house is bigger than mine
& I want to say
please, don't go looking for it in square footage
but I say, instead wow, It sure is.

Then I am 34,
& leaving my career
& I am a student again
learning to sit across from strangers
& help them find happiness, peace, healing
& my stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money
but I have traded in the coat of greatness
& my cohort says I carry an energy
that makes others feel held
& I am glowing again.

Now I am 35
& on the couch with Jack
who is three,
who will next week put on a fashion show
& whose mom is getting a divorce
& finding happiness again, 
& he is learning about emotions
from small wooden figurines
he can hold in his hands
& he picks one up from the cushion between us
& asks me
What does happy feel like?
& I am laughing
because it's a simple question
that I feel wildly unqualified to answer
& I want to protect him
from the oversized parka of greatness
& I I want to say that happiness is in love,
& kindness,
in community,
& receiving all the universe gives
& I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose
& you never stop looking in new places
& I want to say the best way to keep it
is the way you are doing it right now,
holding it out to others
& asking what it feels like for them too.

But Jack is three
so I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a friend
for the first time in a while
& he says like you coming over today
& then I laugh harder
because it's so simply true
& he laughs because I laugh
& nothing else matters at this moment.

I am four years old
looking to adults to teach me
what happiness feels like
& they are all telling me I’m great
because I’m reading at a 10 year old level
& this makes me feel loved
& great becomes an oversized coat
I’ll seek desperately to grow into.

I am 13 & my best friend and I
are hiding cheese-itz around her house
& trying on her mother’s business suits
& laughing so hard that our sides ache
& the kids in the hallway are calling each other a word
that means 
whatever else you do, don't be this
& I learn that a part of me is bad
& I bury it deep so that people are proud of me.

Then I am fifteen
& winning first place
which is great
except for my asthma
which for days afterward
seizes my lungs
& the phlegm I hack up
carries out with it
the pride I earned being great
& I learn that great is something that can make you sick.

And I am 19
& my friends and I are on a bus
& a man shouts to us
Y’all the most beautiful women in this nation’s county
& we laugh so hard that one of us pees.

And I am 21
& I look great
& men confirm this
with entitled eyes and hands
& I like it
& I am great
at making men feel great
& then a beautiful woman
is making me feel great
in a way that men never have.

Then I am 28
dizzy on stale smoke and synthetic perfume,
my loved ones hungrily pulling slot machine levers,
& I escape into the smoggy air outside
& share a cigarette with a man
who calls himself the caretaker of the unhoused
& he walks me his route, his rounds,
his good evening, you eat today?,
here is a blanket or a free meal ticket
& he is met with gratitude

He has gathered stories
& he wants them to live
somewhere other than his small legal pad
so he gives me an email address
but when I wander back to the hotel
everyone is angry
& how dare I put myself at risk
with this stranger
& in my shame I don’t email.

I recall later
how safe I felt
with the kind man in Las Vegas
when a friend holds me down
and leaves bruises when I say
I don’t want him to touch me that way.

At 30 years old,
I am a “doctor”
in a room of people saying great, great, 
& someone pops a bottle of champagne
& I have the sense that I’m supposed to feel proud
but I feel only relief
& I am looking around wondering
what does happiness feel like again?
& I am asking my therapist how to be happy
& she is asking me
why is it important to you to be a good person?

Then I am 32
& at my wedding reception
my father says
you have great friends, never lose them
& I hold it tenderly,
the rare occurrence of kind words from my father
& my friend Ben is telling me
my joy is contagious
& my energy brings calm
& this makes me glow.

I am an aunt
watching small people copy
the sounds and movements I make
& my nephew announces
his house is bigger than mine
& I want to say
please, don't go looking for it in square footage
but I say, instead wow, It sure is.

Then I am 34,
& leaving my career
& I am a student again
learning to sit across from strangers
& help them find happiness, peace, healing
& my stepfather says a psychiatrist makes more money
but I have traded in the coat of greatness
& my cohort says I carry an energy
that makes others feel held
& I am glowing again.

Now I am 35
& on the couch with Jack
who is three,
who will next week put on a fashion show
& whose mom is getting a divorce
& finding happiness again, 
& he is learning about emotions
from small wooden figurines
he can hold in his hands
& he picks one up from the cushion between us
& asks me
What does happy feel like?
& I am laughing
because it's a simple question
that I feel wildly unqualified to answer
& I want to protect him
from the oversized parka of greatness
& I I want to say that happiness is in love,
& kindness,
in community,
& receiving all the universe gives
& I want to say it’s something you go looking for on purpose
& you never stop looking in new places
& I want to say the best way to keep it
is the way you are doing it right now,
holding it out to others
& asking what it feels like for them too.

But Jack is three
so I tell him that happiness feels like seeing a friend
for the first time in a while
& he says like you coming over today
& then I laugh harder
because it's so simply true
& he laughs because I laugh
& nothing else matters at this moment.