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Dear Ani:
Things have been changing for me. My emotions have been solidifying. Parts of me that were always fractured have begun to feel whole and in place. I am having daily remembering attacks. I don’t know what else to call them, but every day I just remember something about myself. It happens at the oddest moments.
In the shower for instance, yesterday. I had been napping and I wanted to shower before I went to teach, and it ended up being one of those showers that just scratches an itch. My muscles were a little sore, my skin was a little cold, and the hot water felt like warm hands of melted butter massaging my whole body. The sensation was overwhelming. So much so that I was pulled into an intense body awareness. All the punches and kicks, all the strokes and licks, all the sights and sounds and memories and piss, all of what my body had been became my presence in that shower. I felt every inch of my living. I felt my body’s memory, a visceral flashback, a flesh-woven, patch-work history. It covered me. It was my muscles and bones, but it wasn’t really me. The real me was a face in the center. It was made of light and it was smiling. It was wide eyed. It was curious. It was peaceful and happy. It was me. The me that existed before I was named, and he knew his own perfection. He knew that, someday, I would remember him. He knew I would remember that I was born perfect, just like everyone else, just like you. He knew I would tell everyone.
Love,
Tommy
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Dear Ani:
Here is the birthday poem you requested.
Love Always,
Tommy
MUSE-POET
by Tom Hardie
Artfully, Ani,
your ocean-tide eyes
are eyes of tender razors,
and artfully, Ani,
your diamond sheen eyes
reflect my countless faces,
so artfully, Ani, with delicate
glances, your eyes
become my model –
of weary harmonized
hunger
in disillusioned joy –
and if artfully, Ani, your rapt-struck
eyes, wept in my direction, then artfully,
Ani, with my tattered mind,
I will write your poems forever.
–July 3, 2009
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…and then Lara kissed Ani. They are romancing without me. It’s silly to feel rejected, I know. But I still feel it — left out and disgusting and stupid and old. My depression has hooks and it latches on strong. My depression is always wrong.
So I’ll keep my distance. I’ll keep my silence. I love Lara. I can be friends with Ani.
But Lara got to kiss her. Lara wants more.
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Ani plus Lara minus me. They were kissing in the mall. I was home, waiting, alone. I’m so stupid.
They still talk on the phone, often. They text message, often. I’m excluded. I’m in the other room, crying. I’m the lonely minus. I hear Lara’s giggles through the walls.
I’ve lost. I’m lonely. I’m wide awake and sobbing. There’s nothing to do. Lost. Lost. Ive Lost. I’m lost. Even Lara can’t find me. It’s all so over.
My home is burning; the walls are falling; I’m stapled to the floor. I’m carpet. I’m the lonely minus.
Lara plus Ani without me. It’s hysterical in its perfection. I’m hideous. I’m diseased vomit splattered on their walls. I should be leaving. I’ll seep through a crack in their floor.
I deserve this. It’s what I’m worth. I’m worthless. They’ll leave me. I know it. That’s already happened. I can feel it. I’m sure.
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bitches