Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
However clear, it is
always unclear to hit the
mark of unquestioning
compatibility that will
some day make history
in the circle of
unemployed emotions
while keeping the door
unlocked, with vague
promises, unfinished
sentences, and laced with
a lingering scent of
the past
This is my muted voice. This is a language of my own choosing. The kind that pulls me away from people and erects walls in the vacuum of the Jungian deep.
Turning in on itself,
turning out reflecting images of men,
transforming into disgust.
The raw emotions continue to be painful. I’m still spazzing. I’m still distraught. I’m still frantic and furious. I’m working hard to shed this baggage and the image that has been branded upon me. Meanwhile, I am damaged. Mentally and physically, I am unable to cope on my own. I need support. I need help. I need an advocate.
I finally understand what it means to be a survivor. I must find my footing, pave my way, and mow over the resistance. Even if I’m all alone, I fully intend to fight for my self-worth for as long as it takes.
I touched upon my entire anatomy of silver ribbons and glittering intentions and deep black tar of unidentifiable insecurity without first learning how each part of me functioned.
The most beautiful moment I had in college (aside from the day I bought myself a vibrator or learned to make poached eggs) was when I went to the lake, picked up a flat stone the size of a driver’s license and threw it. It skipped four times, just like that. I didn’t need CJ to show me how to do it, reveal any special secret to me. In the end, I didn’t need him, didn’t want him, at all.
Still, I believed I needed to look good to be happy. I worked out like crazy and tried to hide my bad teeth, which had been further damaged in a bicycle accident. Even after I found a great boyfriend who convinced me to get help for my eating disorder—probably saving my life in the process—I hated looking in mirrors.
I’ll never know if my mother thought that she might have had a cross dressing pre-teen son, or maybe she just thought that I was just a theatrical kid. After a quick costume change out of my denim bugle boys and into her brazier and favorite silver and turquoise jewelry, I was the most fearless little girl on the North Side of the Bronx, and that helped keep me alive.