it might not be all you want, but it's all you get
we're not talking.
it's been days. it because we have nothing to say to each other and because the only voice i have is anger and because she broke my heart. it's because we broke each other's hearts. i don't know why it is and i mostly hate it. it would be embarrassing if somebody cared. and when it hurts the worst, i realize that six weeks later my parents may never ask me about it again. if they caught me crying about that, my mom would say, that's because you don't talk to us; you didn't talk to us, how were we supposed to know? and i wouldn't have an answer except you are my parents.
that's what made me cry. it was sunday afternoon. my grandmas have both moved to mesa, like i thought when it was a year and half ago before anybody actually moved. my dad's mom settled in this weekend while my cousin jay and his wife stayed with us. they were sweet and wonderful and when they were at the mall and my dad took his mom shopping and my mom was someplace, too, i stayed at home and i cried. i cried because professor cute wrote, among other things, this: "It was fun meeting your folks. They totally seem like the kind of people you'd want to hang out with all day and just talk about whatever comes to mind.
You are really lucky!" and i was trying to write back. and i wrote: "I don't know what to say about my parents. They're definitely family. There was awhile where I thought I might be forced to give them up to be gay--to be myself. But even though I didn't do it magnificently, I fought for them, and they're mine. I wish they could talk to me about my personal life. It's been five weeks since Kelly and I broke up, and my mom has almost mentioned it once. They're so proud of me in school. I guess we can talk about almost anything." i never finished writing, and i haven't sent the letter. but it sat, already written. and while i was writing, i cried.
i cried because i was lucky, and because we haven't talked. i cried because we're not talking. i cried because nobody cares but i care but since we're not talking i can't tell you that. and i think that's part of why i'm writing. i had a snap with my parents tonight because my dad was tired so he shouted impatient questions at me from the other room and it hurt and my mom wants me to laugh it off. we went out to dinner last night and his favorite comedian was on the radio and she turned it off when he asked her to turn it up. i would have been offended but he just let it go. when he gets hurt he cracks wise and mom argues and they both laugh. i never laughed. i just can't. i stood in the bathroom wearing new clothes and looking in the mirror and i waited to cry until i had gone downstairs to have yogurt with bailey and think about the thing my counselor asked me to think about. i wrote it on an index card and brought it up stairs and i didn't think "you". because you and i aren't talking. and i'm still sitting up crying. i'll be late for work tomorrow. because it will still hurt.
i wanted to be home from seattle by your birthday. there isn't any good reason for that and i'm thinking about changing my mind. i have to decide soon so that we can schedule the plane tickets. i don't know what that day will be like. i guess i'm thinking of going. at least it will be someplace to be. there's no way of knowing if i'll find another voice by then. or if anyone can hear it.
it's me.
it's been days. it because we have nothing to say to each other and because the only voice i have is anger and because she broke my heart. it's because we broke each other's hearts. i don't know why it is and i mostly hate it. it would be embarrassing if somebody cared. and when it hurts the worst, i realize that six weeks later my parents may never ask me about it again. if they caught me crying about that, my mom would say, that's because you don't talk to us; you didn't talk to us, how were we supposed to know? and i wouldn't have an answer except you are my parents.
that's what made me cry. it was sunday afternoon. my grandmas have both moved to mesa, like i thought when it was a year and half ago before anybody actually moved. my dad's mom settled in this weekend while my cousin jay and his wife stayed with us. they were sweet and wonderful and when they were at the mall and my dad took his mom shopping and my mom was someplace, too, i stayed at home and i cried. i cried because professor cute wrote, among other things, this: "It was fun meeting your folks. They totally seem like the kind of people you'd want to hang out with all day and just talk about whatever comes to mind.
You are really lucky!" and i was trying to write back. and i wrote: "I don't know what to say about my parents. They're definitely family. There was awhile where I thought I might be forced to give them up to be gay--to be myself. But even though I didn't do it magnificently, I fought for them, and they're mine. I wish they could talk to me about my personal life. It's been five weeks since Kelly and I broke up, and my mom has almost mentioned it once. They're so proud of me in school. I guess we can talk about almost anything." i never finished writing, and i haven't sent the letter. but it sat, already written. and while i was writing, i cried.
i cried because i was lucky, and because we haven't talked. i cried because we're not talking. i cried because nobody cares but i care but since we're not talking i can't tell you that. and i think that's part of why i'm writing. i had a snap with my parents tonight because my dad was tired so he shouted impatient questions at me from the other room and it hurt and my mom wants me to laugh it off. we went out to dinner last night and his favorite comedian was on the radio and she turned it off when he asked her to turn it up. i would have been offended but he just let it go. when he gets hurt he cracks wise and mom argues and they both laugh. i never laughed. i just can't. i stood in the bathroom wearing new clothes and looking in the mirror and i waited to cry until i had gone downstairs to have yogurt with bailey and think about the thing my counselor asked me to think about. i wrote it on an index card and brought it up stairs and i didn't think "you". because you and i aren't talking. and i'm still sitting up crying. i'll be late for work tomorrow. because it will still hurt.
i wanted to be home from seattle by your birthday. there isn't any good reason for that and i'm thinking about changing my mind. i have to decide soon so that we can schedule the plane tickets. i don't know what that day will be like. i guess i'm thinking of going. at least it will be someplace to be. there's no way of knowing if i'll find another voice by then. or if anyone can hear it.
it's me.