If you asked me who I am, I’d probably forget to tell you
Instead I’d tell you that my eyes are brown, and my hair is
brown, and inside I'm brown like dirt.
That I'm shorter than my mother, but
taller than some people in the world; and that I do indeed get mistaken for an
8th grader sometimes.
I'd tell you that I like walking better than
driving because feeling the ground under my feet is an affirmation that I am
alive and that I am connecting to something bigger than me.
you that I think the sky looks too big at night and not big enough in the
I'd probably explain that it has something to do with the fact
that I wake up with every intention of flying and go to sleep knowing my
elbows haven't sprouted wings yet.
But don't worry, I’d say, because
I’ll wake up hopeful again tomorrow.
And if you were to wait around a
little more, I might be persuaded to tell you I’d lost my mind seven years ago
and would you be kind enough to help me look for it?
I'd probably tell you
about the girls with teardrop-eyes who chewed up my heart because they
thought it'd be aspirin and was indignant when it burned a hole
through their livers.
I'd probably shrug and tell you my lips must be
acidic because I never can kiss the same mouth twice.
This is probably about the time I’d laugh and tell you that I’m silly because I run
away when I see what I most want.
I'd tell you that I’d rather
spend my days messing up the puzzle pieces than enjoying the way they fit
together. I'd say that most people think they're crazy but I know I
actually am because I can't take a good thing and keep it that way.
I have a talent for pushing people away and lighting fires under bare feet.
But I’d shrug and smile because I really can't blame the
people that run, and I blame myself instead for chasing them down the sun stroked streets.
And this is probably when you'd pat my shoulder and
tell me I’m not so bad.
Here, I’d probably say I know, because to be
honest, I think I love myself too.
But I wouldn't be honest because
everything I said has been a lie.
You wouldn't know that.
Because who I
am, is everything I don't want to tell you.
So sometimes, no every
time I have to look in the mirror and remind myself that I screwed up
again, I think to myself:
Days like this make me wish I was a smoker.
Because this tar I feel trapped inside, I'd rather be ingesting.
But then I remind myself about the cancer
and black lungs and yellow teeth and I’d laugh because I wasn't serious.
But if I was serious, I’d probably tell you that I feel bad for the people
who ever have the bad luck to fall in love with me.
I'd purse my lips and
think and tell you that they're going to have to have a taste for
uncontrollable frustration because I could promise them that.
And it's a shame, I’d say, because every morning they're going to have to pick up
the same pieces off the ground that they glued back together the night before.
But its okay, I’d say, because for now, I really am worth it.
And don't worry. I'd notice the way you're checking your watch and
I’d stretch and say the weather's beautiful and isn't it a shame that I have to leave?
I'd give you a hug and say what a pleasure it'd been to meet
you and remind you to watch your tongue because you'll trip more often with that than your feet.
I'd pick up my purse and walk off thinking I’d look better
if I was wearing a Grace
Kelly inspired hat.
And I’d have forgotten you by the
time I turned the corner.
That's about the time you'd
remember I forgot to tell you my name.
But you didn't really need
it to know who I am, did you?