Definitions
“No.” / aka “Definitions”
[Trigger warning]
Benjamin Disraeli is credited with saying, "Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for truth." I'd like to share this piece called "Definitions." ------------
“You are intriguing,” he says. “Someday I’d love to make you french toast and give you a key to my apartment.”
He wants to be my Mr. Right.
The right swipe leads to dinner,
to him saying all the right things,
which leads right to his place, which leads to…
a right hook.
My face.
A flash.
Shock.
Blood.
Eyes wide in disbelief.
This can’t be happening.
This is happening.
No.
No is a complete sentence, completely ignored.
More blows. I don’t know how to fight. He’s stronger. He’s on top. Everything a blur and slow motion all at once. Think. Calculate the odds. Run the scenarios. How to get out with the least damage.
Play possum.
Wait it out.
Close your eyes.
Survive.
Gather your things.
Drive yourself home.
Cry.
Later they’ll ask him - “Why did you rape her?”
“I didn’t. She let me.”
“Sure, because you hit her, that’s why she let you.”
And it dwindled away into definitions.
Get it together, girl. That was yesterday. Today is a new day.
You have to feel your feelings - unless they are terribly unpleasant, in which case you should numb them as quickly and thoroughly as possible, by whatever means necessary: busyiness, booze, shopping, scrolling, music, gaming, food, weed, sex - Try looking for happiness in all the places you lost it.
You have to feel your feelings - but only for an appropriately short moment, then dust it off. Get some concealer, slather on the arnica, stop crying in meetings for God’s sake.
Will taking the day off from work really make it any better? Sure, those bruises are gnarly but you can still dial a phone, you can still type emails.
Feel your feelings - but girl, what are you doing on the bathroom floor? That wailing, the gasping, that gutteral sound coming out of your chest, it’s god-awful. It’s too much. Get a grip.
Who even are you?
I don’t recognize you.
You don’t recognize you.
An empty shell of yourself, a dirty towel tossed in the corner, writhing. Broken.
Beware and be-aware, the stories we tell ourselves to try and make sense of it:
“Everything happens for a reason."
"All things work together for good.”
"Talk less. Smile more."
These are the platitudes that can’t reach the bathroom floor.
I am homesick for a version of myself that no longer exists. Where from here? Unclear.
But with all my being I do know:
Not.
This.
Not this.
What more is there to say?
No is a complete sentence.
©Lin Woodson 2021
#Poetry