XXXI

“In Austin, someone has scrawled on the bathroom wall of a cafe on Congress Street, ‘I don’t know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.’”

— Linh Dinh, Poetry Sightings

XXX

“I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.”

— Charlotte Green, You Say You Don’t Want A Boyfriend, But You Know That’s Not True

I Am Not The Sea by Lora Mathis

I’m meeting boys who like Charles Bukowski and they all want to do brutal things to my body. They tell me they buy a bottle of whiskey whenever they get one of his books and don’t stop reading till they’ve gone through a pack of cigarettes. They blow smoke in my face and say, “He was the outcast king of L.A. Did you know that, huh?” “Yeah, yeah, I know.” I say,“He’s great.” 

A new boy gives me a worn copy of On the Road and thinks he’s being original. “We should explore the road together. Would you like that, baby?” I take a sip of my water and look away. Yes, I’d like that, I think. But he’s drunk and imagining himself sixty years earlier, in the back of a bar, sweating to the sound of live bop. Still, I prefer him to the hungry boy that devoured my shirt and said, “You have a tattoo? What’s it say?” ‘mad to live?’ What, are you angry about living? Aw, I’m just kidding, come here, let me take off that bra.”

The next boy I kiss doesn’t read. I ask him to come to a bookstore with me and he stays outside, sighing. He has no interest in words. He has no interest in me. I am thankful for him. For a few weeks, I am able to shed my habit of thinking obsessively and become a duller, rougher version of myself. I dump him when my fingers start turning imaginary pages in my sleep. 

I go on a date with a boy who knows I like to write. He calls himself a fan of mine and swears he’s read every word I’ve put down. “You’ve got this voice that’s very modern, but also so classic.” I choke on my water as he says, “I read you to fall asleep.” At night, I listen to him pant metaphors and compare my mouth to the sea. One day, he stumbles across my journal and finds nothing about himself in it. “You don’t really love me, do you?” I shake my head. There is no use pretending anymore. He has read my poems about the boys I want to drown in me. His goodbye leaves my hands covers in ink. He wanted me so badly to be the sea, when all I am is a girl who writes poetry. 

I try my best to become poetry. I take a bath and stain the water with black ink. I cut my hair in a motel sink. I cry for people I have never met. I start smoking cigarettes. I use words like “presumptuously” and talk about “post-modernist new wave.” I walk the streets at 4 a.m. and smile at people coming home from a rave. I wear sunglasses indoors. I carry a 500 page volume of poems wherever I go. I drink coffee instead of water. I talk about the “advantages of using film and listening to records.” But no matter how hard I try, I am not the sea. I am a sunken ship that has drowned in everyone who touched me. 

---

60 pages into Lena Dunham's autobiography, and it's been a journey. I would never think it would be so difficult to read. We approached men and relationships very differently, but themes she touches on hit close to home. Particularly, self-abandoning time and time again for a connection with another, no matter how brief.

It's hard to live in a thriving era for hookup culture when you're a sensitive young woman with a lot of love to offer.  Growing up, I abandoned myself when trying to find where I stood with men: ignored my boundaries, chose a path I knew lead nowhere.  I was always trying to prove I was worth it.  If they thought I was worth it, then maybe I could feel worth it.  Of course, I never got the praise or acceptance I wanted. 

No relationship, no man has supplied the love I needed to feel like I am enough.  My self-worth has come to me from me through my perseverance, my strength, my mindset.  I consciously practice self-love.  I am easier on how I look, on actions I take, on choices I make.  I allow myself to be human.  I am understanding with myself like I am understanding with those I love.

I still disappoint.  I still repeat my past.  But I work hard every day to better become my own best friend.

XXVIII

“Things to say when in love
i. I want to make you a planet.
ii. I will put the galaxy in your hair.
iii. Your kisses are a mouthful of firewater.
iv. I have never seen a more beautiful horizon than when you close your eyes.
and
v. I have never seen a more beautiful dawn than when you open your eyes.”

— Tapiwa Mugabe, Zimbabwe

I found a safe place

Every inch of me is lovely

Every movement I make is captivating

Every sentence responded to with patience

Every impulse reacted to with rationality

I arrived abruptly

Threw down my jumbled and illogical baggage

Masked insecurities with indifference

Too delivering my light and laughter,

I was allowed to stay

feasting on lust

For a dependable future, all must

focus on self-interest, prevent vulnerability

Is something truly dynamic and deep

if tenderness, attachment, intimacy

are not paired with anxiety, aggravation, aggression, 

?

Never meeting the distress, the complexities I expected

perhaps even yearned for

The place mustn't be real

Every experience easy, effortless

It must be shallow, simple-minded

yet

I felt changes across my atmosphere

Realities I knew of disappearing, lessons ingrained in me altering

Lightly, slowly, without expectation or demand

I was stripped Naked

of my childish pride, my backward beliefs

Awakened by

in Love

Warm arms reaching out to me for the thousandth time

no resentment, hesitation, or question

always tolerance, confidence, understanding

I was adored, but not worshiped

and with that

I was freed

Thanks to strong hands, unrivaled

I am my authentic Self 

while living in unity

Weightless

Unabridged

at Peace

I live New

'Olives and Juice,' written Dec 2015.

XXVI

“‘i love myself.’

the
quietest.
simplest.
most
powerful.
revolution.
ever.”

— Nayyirah Waheed

My time is the most valuable thing I’ll ever have
And more importantly, have control over
I will work to not continue to repeatedly, exhaustively
put value into humans who don’t have the basic maturity
to recognize their own value, importance, and place in the world until
I am myself burnt out
Don’t teach past your limits, Kate
Don’t parent past your boundaries
You can’t fix the world, Kate
Fix yourself

XXIV

“I am better than I was.
I will be better than I am.”

— (140/365) by (DS)

I have been told I am an old soul since I was able to communicate to the world with words

Wise beyond my years, a 50-year-old in a 15-year-old’s body

Why sentences I string together make my soul seem larger than the body it is trapped inside, I am unsure

At 23, I am today called an old soul

I am wise in my own thoughts

I am strong in my stride, my body, my reality

But others’ actions and realities confuse me, make me question my own

I often feel misunderstood in my attitude, my image, my disposition

At 23, I continue struggling to love my Self without brutal internal questioning and doubt

Despite my efforts to communicate who I am, I have been burned and bruised by those close and far from my heart

Some misunderstanding, some completely rejecting the Self I was, I am

The wounds always feel the same

Yet each battle leaves less of a scar

I emerge stronger, more confident in my own skin, more in love with my own mind

I am not resentful, I am resilient

I am closer to those who stay in my corner

Old souls are wise, but not all-knowing

In a world of new souls, we have many lessons to learn