I’m Pretty Vanilla When It Comes To Sanity

Churning words, your milestones in rear view, side view, front view, because you’re driving in reverse. You keep those people right there. You keep your own set of books for your head, and another one for public consumption. No one knows you’re cooking with gas and you’re ready to blow, like a whale coming up for air. Right out of your hole that you hope causes a commotion, deep as any ocean. A salad of dances, undressing underestimating me.

What will annoy you about me most and please you about me most is that I remember everything, and I pay attention. I know you love the morning glory and the purple rose and the stargazer lily. I know you love the beach and the mountains and big cities. But I notice that you can’t stop talking about your flaws, as if you’re challenging me with them, daring me to disagree with you, daring me to dislike you.

But I pay attention, especially to what you say about yourself, and if you tell me you’re terrible, who is a better expert than you? You lied to me repeatedly, and gaslit me, but I’m the horrible monster? No. I remember everything. I remember what I did too. I own it. It’s mine and I still let it go, because nothing defines me, not even the dictionary. You create a cage and then bang on it, screaming at me to let you out.

You can’t slam the door in my face, and then knock for closure.