You
Above all else and above any other and all other things.
You
I can see you looking back at me.
I can tell.
I can
I know your secrets.
I know why you struggle to look at yourself when seeing the mirrors you pass.
I know why it hurts you to see old pictures from when you were out of sort.
And, I know what comes over you when you recognize yourself in photos.
You can see this too.
You can tell how you felt something was off and out of place.
Or, maybe it was you who was off and out of place.
Am I right?
I can see the thoughts on your mind in photographs.
This means that I can tell.
Yes. Of course, I can tell.
Maybe no one else sees.
Maybe no one catches on or sees the truth in your eyes.
But I do.
Of course, I do.
Of course, I can see this because I can see everything when it comes to you
I know the looks.
I know the pause you take when posing for pictures and yes, absolutely, I can see this.
I see this as clear as your fear, which hopes that no one else sees or knows.
And if nothing else; I know about your inner prayers which plead and hope that no one else can tell.
Ah, to be seen.
To be heard
To be felt
To be understood without explanation.
To be chosen without regret
To be truly accepted and not urged to change
I remember the first time the understanding came over me.
I felt this like a flood of truth.
I remember this and at the same time, I always knew.
We always knew about this too
We just kept this in.
We never mentioned the discomfort and we never told anyon.
So, we acted and we pretended.
We moved and negotiated the obstacle course of life; and we did this with hopes that no one found out.
No one has ever accepted you as you are.
I know this too.
So, we hid and we decorated ourselves.
We tried to hide the truths which seemed far too apparent
(at least to us)
Or in the easiest way, we pushed along with flow of denial and let the tides take us away to any port in a storm.
I recall the instance of a friend showing you simple picture from school.
You were small.
You were the smallest of all.
7th grade . . . first week.
This was you —
Little.
Afraid
Weak
And so
You wore your secrets beneath your skin.
You hid your tiny frame from the social and local bullies.
And you played along. Or, at least you tried.
You tried to fit. But something always came up.
You hid your little frame. You hid your skin and bones\.
You tried so hard to hide your fears and insecurities
You tucked them in your pockets of fears and rejections.
I know. . .
I know where you hid your secrets and I know the different corners of your old bedroom.
This is where you hid different things.
You hid different tools and the different forms of mass and personal self-destruction.
I know where the blade was hidden and I know about the skeletons in the closet.
I know where you hid the so-called bodies.
Figuratively speaking. of course.
I know why you hate the mirrors.
Even now.
Even decades after the fact and even after the blood washed off.
I know about the sins and the secrets and the crimes between you and humanity.
I know about the felonies, the misdemeanors, and the brushes with the lawless laws and more; I know the hopeless and vacant emptiness in your reasoning.
I know that your justifications are weak and how they do not add up enough to justify anything;
Wrong is wrong and the seven deadly’s are still the seven deadly sins.
I know why you fear the light.
I know why you told your tales.
I know why you looked to change your appearance.
I know why you went to adjust and fix or embellish your truths.
I know why you feared the teachers.
I know why you looked to find revenge and I know why you drew the pain on someone else.
(even if one of tis was their fault)
I know why you feared the love and the vulnerabilities that tried a thousand times to catch you.
I know why you ran from the one who tried to love you back.
And yes, more than anything, —I know how they chased you and why you ran away.
Was any of that real?
Who knows
And at this point, who cares (besides us) and what difference does it make now?
I know why you lied about your skills and yes.
Absolutely.
I know.
Of course, I know.
I know about the reasons why you cannot see pictures of your Father and how you fail to look a him.
And yes.
I know what shame does.
We both know that I know all about this.
And you. . .
You above all.
You more than anyone else
You and me
Or you and I.
We. Us.
Whatever . . .
We have to learn to avoid the worries and the catastrophes.
We have to rid the need to learn how to navigate away from the discomforts that revolve around the words “they” or “them,”
They are them and so, they and them are not part of us
So, you and I need to begin with us.
I can see when you dread yourself.
You dread your fears and your pains and your past aggressions.
You hope upwards to the God and the God Above and the God of all The Almighty; and so you pray that the courts will be kind with their judgement.
you pray that they won’t pull your card because more than anything; all this running and trying to hide is your hoax.
This is your way of trying to avoid the face to face idea that this was all you to begin with.
I see this more clear than the moon in the sky, which hung around this morning and waited to see the sunrise.
Maybe this is a good thing.
Maybe the moon represents the Heavens and all the Angels and all the hope you have in your heart.
Maybe you saw the moon in the sky because the moon knows what she means to you.
Maybe the Angels above still love you despite your flaws
Maybe this is the Heaven’s way of loving you back.
We need to let this happen
Let it go.
It’s okay.
And maybe you are right.
Maybe no one knows.
Maybe no one cares enough to help or hope with you.
Maybe no one will ever get through those walls you built.
And maybe the prognosis or the diagnosis is not good.
Maybe the dying version of lonesomeness is justice being served and so, all the finalities and the fatality of the darkest hours are around the corner.
maybe . . .
Let it go
Let the weight drop.
Breathe
I see this.
And you know that I have always seen this.
Maybe no one else did
But you know that I have seen this all too often, up-close, and personal.
You know this.
You know that I knew when all was lost.
You know I was there when the end was too near.
I was there and somehow, you woke up after an aftermath that was both tragic and unthinkable.
You still survived
there has to be a reason
I have seen this for as long as you and I have been around.
You know I can see this because I am you and you are me and so?
Now what?
What now?
How much more do you have to lose before you open up and let go?
How many more times do you have to see yourself as this unfair, poorly decorated, fearful, lonesome misfit?
How much more do we have to take before we start to treat the heart attack BEFORE it happens and not after.
It has been more than 54 years
54 years of this
In all of these years, how many pictures have you seen of yourself and you knew that you were happy.
I know about one of them.
I know about the beach . . .
I also know if the internal scrutiny continues, your life and the “more of the same,” problems will kill you long before you die.
Breathe . . .
What’s lost is lost.
What’s gone is gone.
I’m here though.
And don’t worry.
I know you are scared of the dark and I know why>
I know the scars that no one sees
I know you wish that you could come out and play more.
I know you wish you were seen and noticed and loved and heard.
But no one listens.
No one stays.
No one has what we have and so, no one feels the pain from our invisible sins
No one knows what it was like to teach ourselves how to live.
No one gets it and those who appeared to understand and those who appeared to accept us, well?
Where are they now?
Gone. . .
Long gone.
And I get it
they lied too
So?
What now?
Now what?
“I just wish I could show her. You know?”
Maybe you and I don’t have to try anymore.
Maybe all we need to do is find out how to be happy.
Maybe we can put the mask down and stop the act.
No one is it to judge us
No one here is fit to accept tickets to our salvation.
I know you don’t like yourself in pictures
I know you hate your reflection in the mirror.
I know all about it.
But for water this means and for whatever this is worth—
No one gets up I the morning like you do.
No one faces their fears and endures the pain and still cares who smiles or who feels good.
“I’m not a good person.”
Says who?
“Says me. That’s who.”
Okay, well . . .
You and I both know that bad people don’t care about being a good person . . .
“Maybe.”
Crazy people don’t think they are crazy.
Stupid people don’t think they are stupid.
They think they’re smart.
The inner critic is too critical, and so we have to stop crucifying ourselves for each and every sin.
Tell you what . . .
let’s you and I get through today
We can lose our shit tomorrow
(if you still want to)
Okay?
Good morning Mr. Mirror
I hear you and the Universe have a few things to show me.
Also, I think you and I have some inaccuracies to talk about
And to you, my love
Wherever you are now
I love you
Always.
just one dance
that’s all I ask for
