I meet you shedding all the parts of myself.
You know, the parts that don’t stick,
the parts that I put on top of other parts
to cover up imperfections
and flaws of character
like:
the “I will have your report done by Monday, sir” part
and the “this doesn't upset me” part
and the “whatever works for you” part
and the part of me that smiles as you tell me,
“isn’t it great that you are on the streets again?”
and my bravado part says,
“Do I look like the kind of person that's worried?”
***
The world is coming out of my mouth,
and this sludge,
is not really me
and you don’t meet me halfway.
Still, I walk to you
as the skin on my face falls off
like melted acai
and you can see a ten-year-old driving
the cyborg exoskeleton of an adult,
the adult you think of as me.
The child part of me is scared.
***
The ten year old is not thinking of filing that report by Monday
or paying rent,
the ten year old is thinking of
separating his laundry from his friends,
and then air drying it by the jazmín del cabo,
the ten year old is thinking
I love my friend.
***
I thought you would be the reward
for my hard work,
for getting to know the parts of me that are vulnerable.
I thought if I showed you where I hurt
that you would know how to care.
Little did I know, you were a trickster
tempting me to go back
to drinking and drowning in sludge.
***
You said, I love you,
and you did
just the opposite.
My body doesn’t know
what it is like
to not fight for love.
Therefore, I must cross you
off as another person,
who failed at caring for me.
***
Even though you hurt me,
I don’t think it’s your fault.
You are not a ten year old driving in
a twenty-seven-year-old suit,
you are not a kid,
wanting to change a frozen emotion
into a different outcome,
seeking power through
disempowerment.
***
More sludge comes out of my eyes.
I keep putting my finger down my throat,
barfing sludge, hoping, that when
I am out of tar,
my psyche won’t be so anachronic.
***
I woke up feeling optimistic.
Ten year old doesn’t think we
can survive future hurts.
But I do, and I can teach him.
We can go through pain
and still feel deserving.
I have spent too many years
buried underneath the sludge
and I’m ready to get out
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