Dear Universe/ Feminist Gods
I am heavy.
I am sad.
My heart cries tears that are too alkaline and are, as a result,
burning me.
I feel lost. I feel like the problem. I feel like I don’t know
how to hold onto a good thing even when you show me all the signs that this is
what I need, that this is what is meant for me.
The problem is I think I am a butterfly. A pretty weightless
thing that skips from pretty flower to pretty flower collecting pollen. Minding
its own business and spreading beauty in a quiet, often unfelt and unseen way,
disturbing no one.
The problem is I am as heavy as an elephant with the
appearance of a fluffy puppy. I creep my way inside sometimes warm, sometimes
hostile hearts and make a home there, because I am cute and cuddly and I have
an ocean full of love at my disposal. But my movements are not light and unseen
or unfelt. They are not always delicate. They are now always warm. No matter
how hard I pretend my 300 ton stature is actually butterfly wings.
The elephant is today, and for a couple of weeks now,
sitting on my chest. And I can’t breathe because every so often I wrap my hands
around my own neck and squeeze. Can self-harm extend beyond the physical ways
we hurt ourselves? Am I adding extra salt to my tears and then burning myself
on purpose? What would be the point? Why would I be doing that?
I turn to you to you for the answers because the questions
keep going round and round in my head and grow questions legs and have question
babies and I don’t have enough room in my being to house any of them
anymore.
