A Rock In Each Hand
People can be judgy as shiit -- but so can I.
I did the thing, I submitted some art to an open call. Now, we wait and we see.
I’ve always gotten shit for not being visibly excited in advance of big things. It’s been a thing, apparently. I’m slowly letting that guard down, but there are still times I’d prefer not to let excitement creep in, because disappointment feels less harsh when you are pre-deterministic.
I grew up in Wisconsin. Sarcasm is our native tongue.
When I left the state, I wore that fact as if it were something to be proud of.
The places I went where sarcasm wasn’t nearly as prevalent -- “these people are soft,” I’d think in a derogatory way.
With enough years away from my home state, I too began to soften.
I used the words I meant as the same words I’d say.
And when I went home to visit, I felt a genuine pain in the same words I’d grown up hearing and using. It no longer felt like just a joke. It felt like, “let me insult you and call it love.”
But the softer places I’ve lived, people say “I love you,” too quickly for it to be true.
So which is better or worse? To feel a sting because they could see beneath your tough exterior well enough to land harsh words wrapped in love, or to be coddled and cozy with words that disappear as quickly as they were sung?
I’m celibate. I understand better now why the women in their 40’s and 50’s were telling me as a kid to just be abstinent. They weren’t willing to say the why, only the what, of their opinion, so it was easy to dismiss it as religious fanaticism.
I’m drinking white pine needle tea. It’s supposedly high in vitamin c. I was curious about it last year but wasn’t brave enough to pull the gun.
Two steps forward and three steps side-to-side. I made it successfully through the Mercury retrograde in one piece this time. Only friendly ghosts showing back up from once-upon a time.
Reminding me what a crazy life I’ve lived in just 16 years’ time. Shiit.
I’d spell it all out, in a big long list, but people are people and judgy as 💩.
I am too, though. I can see a person doing the same things I used to and have all kinds of opinions on it. I’m really trying not to. The hardest part is by the time you can see it, you also understand there’s nothing you can do to stop another person from having to go through it. If it’s on their timeline, it’s gonna come whether it’s nice or unkind.
Be Where Your Feet Are
stand in the rain the same way you stand in the sun.
don’t rush. be still. patient. and listen
for whispers of thunder before the sky opens.
relish in how the ground softens under the touch
of a spring storm.
curl your toes into damp earth and learn how it gives
freely,
unpolluted by ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’.
be where your feet are: a reminder that you
are as important here
as rain drops and robin eggs
blades of grass and birch trees
be where your feet are
because the clouds will still move
the rain will still fall
& life will still happen all around you
whether you worry about it or not.MrB Poetry
I put a rock in each of the pockets of my oversized pants. They’re a size 16, with a drawstring band. Cotton, linen, something something nature-made. They’re cozy and that’s all that really matters to me now.
There was a version of me that once wore really uncomfortable things. On my feet, on my legs, around my waist, around my chest, on my head. Miserable for hours or days at a time, just to show up as some kind of charicature who didn’t even fit in!
Just leave me with the rocks. One in each hand.
