2005-03-27 - 12:30 p.m.
i have died many deaths to please the ones i loved and none of them really appreciated the sacrifice.
it seems like there is something good in me that you see and are attracted to. you like it. you want it. seek to have it for yourself. and i, foolishly, seek to give it. sealed tightly in a mason jar, lain in a woven basket covered in a gingham cloth. you eagerly take my gift, my goodness and place it on the shelf.
it is not until later that i realize that if i give you my lips to keep me silent and nonabrasive, what is there left for me to kiss with? where shall i generate my smiles and hearty laughter? nibble gently on earlobes... and necks... and everywhere else soft skin begs for nibbling?
if i give you my eyes so that i may not see fault in you, how too, can i marvel at your beauty?
and i wonder once you have my goodness tucked away, your personal treasure, separated from the rest of me, do you ever remember what i was like when i was whole? miss the me i was before i dismantled myself for your enjoyment?
do you wish me now, as i was then, or value more the novelty of my goodness on your parlor shelf? do you ever notice how cold my fingers have become, now that my heart is locked behind the glass display on your mantle? no longer warm when i touch your cheek, stroke your arms and hold you close. does the echo of your own voice not stir you when you whisper in my ear? my brain long given away to discourage criticism. do you ever wonder how i manage to survive with all my vitals individually wrapped for convenient delivery to your doorstep?
do you?
i gave willingly, knowingly. well aware of the possibilities that face me. and still i gave. not to be a martyr, but honestly and earnestly hoping that if i gave you what you needed, you would give me what i needed. i recognize later that you had never gone to collect yourself from the shelves and pantries of your past, leaving you with little left to give. that since you had given your eyes to someone else, you could only see me as they described me.
how, then, can you ever know me or the gift i gave? how, then, can you know how desperatly i need protection from the unfeeling gazes and limp handshakes that rattle my fragile, empty body with their passive-aggressive force? will it matter, the strong declaration of the sacrifices i have made, when your ears have long been borrowed to spare you from the monotony of such useless chatter and free your mind for more urgent matters?
will knowing that i went out and slayed dragons tonight, so that i can make this love safe for you, make any difference? i confronted demons, leaving them bloody and headless, but all you know is that you're mad at me because i showed up late and got a stain on your jacket i borrowed without asking.
i have cried in the darkness of rooms with closed doors to protect you from my pain, sheild you from my disappointment. my cheeks are dry and tight with salty residue. my glasses are foggy and dripping with tears my lowered, defeated head has dropped upon them.
you see me, but instead of noticing my puffy eyes, my nose red and rubbed raw, you mention how dirty my lenses are and suggest i clean them immediately.
