Whether I'm able to see the gifts they left behind or not, they're still in my life. Most of them helped me become more discerning. Okay, judgemental is really the word. But some of them opened my heart. I'll tell you one thing I got from looking at that string of men I don't deal with anymore: I confuse love for pity. Yeah. When they're really pathetic, when they don't have their shit together, somehow I feel better about myself, and this feeling good about myself approximates love somehow. Like a flashlight approximates a sunrise. |
I’m at the place now where all I have to do is meditate on the feeling of my eyes,
My wrung dry eyes, Stinging, starving… no, thirsting, Small and dense and red in their sockets, Zinging me from the retina back into the optic nerve, Crunchy dry, dry like a sponge scraping along the edge of a knife, All I have to do is meditate on the feeling of my eyes, Not even the story of how they got like this, Not even the old story of how many years I’ve cried because of you, Not even the old sad story of how much it hurt, hurts still, I don’t even have to replay a single word of any of that, Because all I have to do is just tune in to that feeling in my eyes, Which just won’t stop leaking today Because I can’t stop feeling that red raw feeling in my eyes today, And I’m sorry, by the way, I’m sorry about all that, But I don’t want to talk to you about it, Because I don’t want to talk about it, Because I don’t want to talk to you, Because I don’t want to listen to you, Because you never listen to me anyway, But I’m still sorry about all of that, And I’m still crying, But not about that, Not about anything, I’m crying the cry of after having gone over all of it in my mind, And still not being able to find my way out of this maze, I’m crying the cry you cry AFTER you’re cried out, That cry of, my God it just hurts here, It just hurts still, And I do want to feel my eyes, because they’re my eyes, guys, But I don’t want to feel them at all at the same time, And I push them away like I pushed you away, Over and over and over again, But what happens when I push my eyes away is they’re just still here, And they just still hurt, And I’m still in this maze, with this sponge and this knife, And I’ll just sit here and meditate on my eyes, And let this cry wet them again, from the inside out, And maybe this cry will be the one that will finally let me see.
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About SarahSarah Elovich is a writer and performer based in Oakland, CA. Archives
February 2018
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