There is a part of me that wants to stay untethered. That relishes in anonymity and basks in the challenge of frequent change. There is freedom in comings and goings- in the constant pouring and rinsing of the self and indulging myself in all my caprices.
And then, there is the other part of me- the part that just wants to be seen.
Because who sees me at 2 am in the morning, when I hover over at my desk writing away, finessing, and toiling at every detail?
Who sees me when I’m up ten pounds or down ten from set point? Who notices when I’m polished and sleek-when I work at the lipstick for twenty minutes just to scrub it off twenty minutes later?
And who sees me when I eat in bed and when I’m too tired to brush my teeth. Who sees me when I drink too much, and make a fool out of myself?
Who knows where the mask goes? Who sees me when I stutter, and my face flushes, when I can’t seem to ask a question or make a simple phone call? And who sees me when I hang my shoulders back, strut into a room, and make everyone fall in love with me by the end of the night?
Who sees me, all of me, in my imperfection and splendor, and with so much constancy?
And tell me, who would I follow or stay for? Whose burdens would I carry and wounds would I tend to? Who might I join in union and even consider bearing a child for?
Whose tears would I wipe? For who would I dull my sharp tongue? And who would I set a table for, make a meal, and try to surprise? Tell me, which man could I soften for?
And tell me, am I real? Am I real- if it’s only just to me?
Tell me, how do I quiet the me that yearns to be known?
La Absurda 