Sometimes you just need to tell
people who you are in order to remind yourself.
I, Megan Gates, being of sound mind and body, do declare myself to be me in the face of you.
Let me be messy and moody and seamlessly emotional. Let me be restless in my own skin and wake up searching. Find me laying late at night under the stars and let it not be a question what I'm doing there. Understand me without explanation or justification. Let me take up painting and singing and dreaming, even when I'm not good at them. Watch me believe in ghosts and not so much in religion. Let me have the foulest curse words and don't wonder why I can't take your calls during West Wing. See me through the fleeting crushes and the constant turmoil and eclectic happiness of one love. Let me not feel foolish for refusing to see boundaries. Sit with me while I reveal profound moments in days and relationships and sit longer still while I appreciate them. Appreciate them with me. Love my lack of self-control and my financial instability. Don't look at me funny when I cry in theaters and during presidential debates. Find my bad driving record endearing. Forgive me for falling in love with everyone I meet. Understand it when I say it’s one of my best qualities. Don't discount my quiet insecurities and my loud stubbornness. Let me withhold and disclose at arbitrary moments. Learn to love the fact that I always have one drink too many. Don’t tell me it’s silly to always want my bare feet in the grass. Practice with me the language of candor and of passion and of sincerity and depth that I've learned over the years. Embrace my inability to give up without a fight. Laugh with me at the same dirty jokes. Accept my interest in things unjust and causes controversial. Look past my penchant for daydreaming and my proclivity for obsessing over the little details. Stand with me, staring in awe at the vastness of the universe and feel with me the energy of all things connected. Then grab my hand when it gets dizzy and overwhelming. Let me have my hereditary insomnia and love of cuddling on couches two small for the two of us. Give me my poetry, cookbooks with dog-eared pages and scribbled in art history books. Question with me when I wonder about the hows, whens and whys. And then know why I must live a life so inquisitive. Remember that introverted and aloof are not terminal states of me. Forget weeks when it feels like they are. Let you not ruin my love for sappy, romantic gestures and the notion I carry that love can still be breathtaking.
And above all...let me be. Me.
Wednesday, August 06, 2014
Sometimes you just need to tell
people who you are in order to remind yourself.
Posted by Hellafied at 3:56 PM
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Music emanates from you like heat from a sidewalk in July. It's curious and brilliant to watch, wanting so much to understand the process, but wanting more to uphold its mystery. If you were a walk you would be a swagger, aloof and seductive. I scamper quickly behind, sheepishly dodging in and out of alleys, hopelessly catching up from a distance. I am the hurried two-step beside you, the small feet of a child keeping up with a father's giant strides. I know nothing of myself anymore, though I know that what I am is incomplete. Your gaze is abstract, preoccupied. Oftentimes I wonder if you have every really seen me, even though I know you're the only one who possibly could.
Posted by Hellafied at 12:02 PM
Monday, April 15, 2013
Your words make no sense to me anymore. Those intrepid strokes on a silly and impressionable heart are now laughable. They are nothing but ethereal dust marks on an old highway of my memory.
You scrambled my insides and casually walked away while I gasped and stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to recognize myself, trying to catch my breath. I’ve checked the mirror for weeks now and continue to gaze back as a stranger. It’s unkind to leave me this way; nothing of myself but bits of a moment I was part of for a while.
So consider this my first confession. I've found you.
But I've been unkind. Careless. I've stood under eaves of unfamiliar houses listening to the low music inside, desperately wanting to go in. I have woken up with strangers, but none stranger than myself. I have spoken in tongues and crawled in the mud. I've wrestled with my own conscience and purposefully let it win. I refuse to see things in black and white. I've dared, kissed, pushed the limits, crushed a cigarette into the ground and left with him. I've been begged, pleaded and sold. I've given up on you, lost you, found you, lost you and then watched you walk into the room and disappear into the light of atoms. I've seen through you so many times its embarrassing. I've smashed berries on my lips and pretended I was a May Queen. You've been my lover in my dreams, meeting me under purpled rain clouds and in dark corners of blues clubs. I have satiated lusts with one hushed word whispered with heat on my neck. I've returned gazes and rejected my closeted fears. I've pick pocketed emotions and stolen tears from you in giant sacks. I have a criminal record two days long. I've suffered your politics with a cracked, feigned smile and have seen you sway back and forth, like a tire swing crossing a line in the sand. I haven't always been honest. I've held back tomes of sentences meant for you, pushed them from my lips down into my toes until they twitched and yearned and forced me to run. I painted the walls of my heart in a glossy black after you left for the first time. Added a new coat each time you left after that. And though the paint is starting to chip again, I am too tired to touch it up.
Forgive me father for I have sinned. It's been sixteen months, nine days, and twelve hours since my last confession.
I confess. I’ve lost you.
I've shrunken your memory down to a dime-sized dollop--an agreeable spoonful so it's easier to swallow. Lately I've been wandering around my apartment thinking "these spaces used to be cozier", only it's not that the spaces have grown bigger, it's just that there is one less ghost haunting its halls. I have so many regrets that I've started collecting the inked up scraps of paper that litter my bedroom, bathroom, purse, car, and have laid them to rest in a shiny pink jar atop my writing desk. Yesterday, my regrets pulled me out of the shower to scribble another thought. Dripping wet I scurried from my bathroom to my bedroom to file it away. By the time I returned, I'd thought of another. There will always be dusky plumes of old desire. At quiet moments in my day I whisper kind words into the air to make others more forgiving of you. Of me. Of the fall of us. I've stolen memories from you, rationing them like scraps of food that will never satiate. I stash them in my closet along with bent photos and ticket stubs from a dusty, criminal past. I've spent the last three weeks with my headphones on, shouting out foreign phrases and sounds, trying to teach myself the language of courage. Only, it comes out in broken words and no one can understand me. Your memory flashes in my mind simultaneously with the beat of my heart. I've spent hours at my kitchen table doing breathing exercises to slow its pace. Now I only think of you sixty-five times per minute. I find myself staring down at my palms, splotched with that familiar, fresh black paint I’ve spent all afternoon trying to rub off. I am considering sending you my language tapes. Perhaps they'll do you some good where I have failed.
And although I confess all of this to you now, I know for sure you won't hear it.
Posted by Hellafied at 3:30 PM
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Posted by Hellafied at 10:30 AM
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Posted by Hellafied at 7:00 AM
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I know I am a leaky vessel, but do I want to know it every day? This
morning I stumble out of bed in my rumpled yellow t-shirt, the hands of
sleep still covering my eyes, begging me to guess who. The floor is cold
and my feet are bare. My spaghetti arms hang loosely at my sides, not
yet ready to function and as I pad to the bathroom I stub my big toe on
the door frame. My humanity reveals itself today in the form of pain. I
frown and rub my toe furiously and I know what kind of day today will
Today will take its time, each frame flickering forward slowly, like a movie set in slow motion. Sometimes a giant imaginary finger will push pause at specific moments that serve to remind me of myself. The smile of a passing stranger in a red coat. The minute before I finish the last page of the book I’ve been reading for weeks. A laughing voice on the other end of the phone. A package from the mailman. The stubbed big toe.
And these things make me leak. They are the tiny eyelet holes that expose what’s inside me. I cannot hide my happiness or helplessness or fear or remorse or joy. They pierce through the holes of these things like sunlight through lace.
No one knows that I am thirty-two years old and am still scared of the dark. When I get home at night I sprint up the stairs and when I swing the heavy door open I am breathless and safe. I am human because I am afraid. This too, I cannot hide.
Sometimes when I am lying in bed and those minutes hit me when I am just on the verge of sleep, I recall those moments, those pauses in my day when I am revealed. Sighing, I wonder how this ship will ever sail with so many holes in it?
Posted by Hellafied at 1:14 PM
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Posted by Hellafied at 11:00 AM