So, I tell him I have artificial teeth and wait for his reply –
Hoping he’ll reveal the truth of a peg leg beneath the fabric of his trousers –
Or tell me he has an eye of glass due to a childhood BB gun accident -
… it very much seems like I want him to be a pirate
I need him to be something very different than perfection -
Or he’ll never accept me
He’ll never accept my flaws
The parts of me that are broken –
For their impossible repair I weep crashing chandeliers –
Impactful insecurities – the light, artificial –
it explodes as it violently smashes down upon the cold concrete floor below
The unreachable ability to feel joy, naturally, and to take an extra deep breath from time to time …
I am bleeding, though there are no cuts on my skin
Self-doubt and uncertainty lead to hesitation -
Defeated … drowning …
my dousing rod for meaningful social interaction is searching for water and finding none
I want him to be so flawed – that I can love him for it –
My insecurities are Legion – they speak to me in loud voices with harsh words –
All of my efforts – they are bruised fruit fallen from the tree,
immediately rotten and bitter to the taste
I so very much want the mirror in front of me to display my shortcomings and imperfections and for me be kind of okay with them
Being me is exhausting
But – here I am at this exquisite wooden table
In the fancy restaurant he recommended –
Here I am sitting with my knees together like a nervous dog,
slightly hunched over, while begging for better posture
… and I so very much want him to tell me he is a pirate …
A wooden leg
A glass eye
A fucking parrot sitting upon his permanently dislocated shoulder …
An annoying tendency to say “aye, aye, matey” or some other ridiculousness …
To drink rum like the animatronics do on that ride at Disneyland –
I can except ALL of these things -
… I just need to hear it - I just need to see it …
I just need to know that he is something far different than perfection
“I have artificial teeth”, I tell him as I look downwards at the wooden table that I know can’t save me from this moment
“I just thought you should know”
I, then, become the puddle of a frightened snowman in early March
As I wait for his reply
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.
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