I’ve been listening to a lot more country music lately, and that has nothing to do with learning French. It does, however, speak volumes in a language I haven’t heard in a while, about the direction my life has been headed over the past few months. For those who are afflicted with my presence on a daily basis, you understand what has been going on – a breakthrough that looks, sounds, and feels to the outsider very much like a breakdown. I say this not as the broken one, but as the one watching the crash and screaming as every emotion holds me back from being able to rush in and save him from the inferno.
I’m working on this:
*please note – I realize there is absolutely nothing about learning the French language in this entire poem. Don’t worry about that.
I WILL LEARN FRENCH
I know the words are in there somewhere,
But the sounds have all scattered
Hiding between the syllables and shards of those
Thousands of thoughts screaming past.
I hear the static, I feel the jolt
The epileptic shudder of our confusion
Our trains, colliding – an inferno!
Shall we burn out, or fade away
Like we let ourselves before?
So much lost in translation
When we finally said
Only what we wanted ourselves
If I sought only my own words,
The absence of yours would not sting
The way my heart has, the way it has cried,
The child whose sugarplum fairies did not deliver.
I’ve never let go of losing you.
I don’t know how to end it because I haven’t figured out the ending to the story. Of course not, I’m not dead, I’m still here, I’m not content anymore and that peace I thought I had, well… I seem to have misplaced it somewhere between Christmas and the new year. My secret disgusting hope is that my absence has been marked, that it has been noticed by at least a few readers. Life has been a madhouse lately with school starting, existential crises taking place (thank you Mr. Robert Fanning for that wonderful phrase) in more than one person at a time, with goals and plans coming to fruition and burning to the ground simultaneously – – –
My train has fallen off the track. It sped up too quickly and lost control. Chasing something I thought I’d never need to chase again – and at the same time, running from it. The paradox is killing this girl, the girl who waited, and this heart, so much bigger on the inside, it’s been breaking, and all the pieces of our history and our future are falling to the floor and mixing together and he’s okay with it and I’m not okay with it because I haven’t felt the sting of those broken pieces since he put them back together and now, now it’s just okay that they’re broken?
I don’t know how to say that any clearer than I just did, but there has to be a way because everything has been lost in the static lately. There has been no translator, only the metaphors we’ve created to play a cruel game of Pictionary with each other in each conversation. I want so much to speak in a language he can understand, but he cannot bring himself to speak the common language anymore.
I’ve never felt so… common. Not the good kind that makes you feel cozy. The kind that makes you feel left out in the cold.
I had scabs and they were ugly. There are lots of things about me that are ugly. I’m a big girl – I wear 16s and I’m 5′ 3/4″. My hair doesn’t do a damn thing but lie there, I have zero fashion sense unless the proper attire is pajamas, and I’ve been through things that would fold a man of steel so yeah, I know I have some ugly parts. But I had become okay with them. I knew all along those things would scar. The pain wasn’t in having the scar. The pain was in the waiting for the pain to stop.
Now they’re open again. So here’s to making the best of it: I hope I get something published out of this. Wish me – no, wish us – luck.
– xoxo 🙂