To process the feelings I had since losing the best job I ever had, I put my thoughts into a poem that ended with this.
the heartbreaking
and long term lesson
you taught me
was not that the grass
is greener on the other sideit’s that grass
isn’t green
Despite this lesson, I’m ever searching for green grass.
In my latest attempt, I attended an event for Mayday. Both of my friends were there. They introduced me to many politicians, organizers, and activists. These flickering faces come and go in my life. Perhaps I might recognize someone from a past event, but we shake hands and walk away from one another as usual. I return to my life of no consequence.
As I weave through roundabouts, I recognize that there’s something beautiful about traffic. Is there a word for something that is both beautiful and wrong?
I’m rebuilding my personhood while I’m flying the plane, or something to that effect. My two friends cannot introduce me by my correct pronouns. I cower. I apologize for caring. I tell them it’s no big deal. Can I be more than how the world defines me?
I parked next to the headquarters of the place I used to work. I could feel its presence. It haunted me for the day. I want to cast it out, but it’s persistent. It tells me I am uniquely unqualified for life. The truth, however, is that the thing haunting me was always there. Am I haunting myself?
Perhaps the word is “haunting”. Something beautiful but wrong. Something beautiful but obscure. Something beautiful, alluring, that needs to be overcome.
It is a thing that cannot be cast out. It is a part of me I must endure. It is a part of me that thinks it’s doing the right thing. It may have kept me safe once. Now I must embrace it, nurture it. I must tell it we’re safe now. We’re safe and capable.
My friend, you can dedicate your resources to a new focus. Your assertiveness is needed elsewhere. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Together, we will overcome.
It seems an artistic statement, like a cat in a box, only exists once the statement is discovered. Does it come from the author or from the ether?