against not through

A dear friend of mine has noticed how stressed I sound online, and it’s true that I have taken some time off from some of the mucks I frequent, and I probably should take even more time off, or disappear from more places, but disappearing takes energy too.

I suppose it all boils down to being tired, so tired, for feeling like I always apologize for who I am, or worse, that I don’t even show who I am in order to keep people around me, because isn’t it worse to be alone than it is to be false?

(That was rhetorical, and I know my correct answer.)

I have been pushing against this membrane for years, it seems, and never pushing through, merely pushing against and waiting for it to pop on its own. It won’t. I have to pop it. I know that now. It’s less like being hatched – a tired metaphor, like me – and instead, more like being explained into being. Once you say that last word, it’s all for real, and no one can take it back.

My lips ever poised on that last word remember what it was like to live painfully, when this description was unnecessary, when I was just like all the others and nothing about me would have shocked or offended anyone.

That was over half my life ago, and I am still hesitating. I’m waiting for new words to be created, so I won’t upset anyone with the old ones. I’m waiting for an impossibility, pushing against not through.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.