thirty

so we start back at one, after another revolution round the sun. it doesn’t feel like a beginning, feels like an epilogue being stretched on for far too long. get to the point already, goddamn it! droning on & on, again & again, about the same sack of guilt, of shame, of broken limbs & decaying organs. do you ever shut up? ever take a breath to let someone else get a word in edgewise? you were never edgy or wise, just self-obsessed & way too loud. turn the volume down, listen to the cars pass under your window. but there’s no more crowded streets, instead you’re in a cul-de-sac in the suburbs & it’s mostly silence & lawn mowers, even in the winter for some unknown reason. soon the christmas trees will be dying at the curb, a reminder of more wasted time. at least you can’t waste love, just aim it in the wrong direction. at least aim at rubber so it’ll come back to you. no more sucking on electrical wires, on the ends of chimneys & mufflers. fire can only burn you up, it cannot keep you warm. fever dreams every night making you jump awake sweating, gasping, too afraid to call out for your mama in the dark. she can’t get to you in time to make the monsters go away anyway, you have to fight them on your own. you think too much about yourself & you wear it like a wall so you can never be deserving of sleepovers or hand holding or friendsgiving celebrations. you don’t eat rice with chopsticks, but you never remember to pack a spoon, & the soup’s so hot it’ll melt the plastic cutlery you left in the drawer in the kitchen. you should do more pull ups & push ups & eat more salads. begin again pretending you are someone you aren’t, someone who deserves the tenderness of maple syrup & grilled cheese. pause between your breaths & chew your food more slowly. let digestion be a process. some years you chew up & swallow & everything goes down the right pipe. other years devour you. & there’s nothing flirty or thriving about it, just a message from the universe to purge it all out then get your shit together. there is more & there is better awaiting. or at least, there is different. there is other. there is new. it doesn’t have to be a carousel. you can pray to acrobat skies every night & cry so hard you soak through your t-shirt. but it doesn’t make a difference if you’re not taking the trash out & brushing your teeth & oiling your split ends. there’s shedding & shredding & regretting what you threw out, but the regret isn’t a sign. the missing isn’t a symbol. they’re challenges, tests, & you only fail by chasing, by doing backflips, by walking backwards on the treadmill to prove some sort of point to someone who never was paying attention in the first place. the jumping jacks won’t make you lose the love handles & they won’t help you handle love any worse or better than you already do. there’s no amount of contouring that will give you the face you had at twenty-four. prozac & spironolactone can only do so much. starting over & over & over is the name of the game. it is the process. staying flaccid & static & sterile is the trap, the trick. but god it’s cozy & feels like falling asleep in front of the flue. coat your hands in jelly & slap them to the walls & stay stuck in place til erosion brings you something new. we can’t keep waiting for erosion & evolution to do the work. have to peel off our own filth & survive as the fittest version of ourselves we can possibly muster. three decades down & it’s curious how time keeps flipping away even when standing motionless & gripping the fabric in my clammy fists & begging the constellations to be kind & gentle. the learning has been slow, painstaking, & even humorous in some moments. the irony of being caught while being hidden while wanting to be seen. the loss of losing each love on repeat, romantic & platonic & missing & missing & missing all of them all the time everywhere all at once. been building new pirate ships just to rob myself of any form of affection or truth or patience. running back to the depravity, the selfishness, the ice tombs. it has to die, you have to let it die, set it down & let it die out like the candle that’s been burning for six hours straight, or is it thirty years. let the candle die out & find a new one to light that doesn’t smell like raccoon carcass & ketchup that’s been left smeared on the dish in the sink. it can’t all be pumpkin pie & vanilla custard, but it doesn’t have to be rancid & nauseating. there is a between that you’ve avoided all along that could cradle you in ways you refuse to admit or swallow. just keep shoving down the free bread rolls & the whipped butter, never averting your eyes from the menu, never placing an actual order. you’ve been far too fast & far too slow, choosing on any random day to hit the brakes or mash the gas pedal. learn to ride a bike in traffic & how to weave between the cars. until then, treat yourself like the award you’re trying to win & make sure to floss before bed. drink a milkshake & tell your parents how grateful you are for everything they’ve given & continue to give. keep going, keep trying, keep aging. & please, baby, don’t forget to live.