Friday, October 21, 2011

Selling Me

(Pre-Script: This poem should be read as the song, "Round Here, #36 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

"Don't try to sell me on you"

you said,


I have no need

to sell you something that

I already own.

That's why I am free to give you things-
rocks and books and pictures I drew, something
that reminds me of you or your shadow,
something that reminds me of me in the ways I
like to be remembered.
And you would look me funny
with your face slightly turned and your
body language temporarily frozen in mid
gesture of guffaw
when I tell you that,
your eyes would say "you are lying,"
then soften slightly, rise to actually meet mine finally,
and ask, "are you REALLY sure about that?"
by which point I have already moved on in the conversation
to saying the thing that is me being who naturally comes out of my mouth
which is me and not some
version who wants
to be proven by the thing I already know inside, even if
you don't yet know it.

It took me until this afternoon

to realize that what I do doesn't matter

half as much as why I do it,

and that my freedom in knowing

means that you are free to not have to.


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