Funny how the only thing separating
Belonging
From longing
Is simply “Be”
Well, not simply be. It’s not simple to be.
Despite its two letters and
One syllable it has
Zero instructions, and under bright lights
There are infinite ways I can be seen.
Maybe that’s why it feels like an earthquake sometimes,
as my legs shake in my jeans.
I knew who I was once, but it slips under fault lines others drew for me.
I was told who I was once, and I let them place me on a Richter scale that dictated
Exactly how much I would break if I opened my mouth too wide
So instead of speaking, I stared
For to be is to long
To stretch
To bend and reshape my vocal chords as I avoid playing the
Repertoire of characters I learned as a child like the alphabet
And I wonder why I keep losing my voice.
My breath shakes under a spotlight like it’s being
Pressure-cooked
Bubbling to the surface and pushing on the lid
Once I was told I sang too loudly, so now
When I sing
It’s only the whistling steam escaping from the kettle on my lips.
Once I doubted every single time my soul
Stirred in my body for a whole day,
And the world almost stopped shaking.
Once I got so used to longing
That I thought that’s how I chose to be
Once I sang so loudly
The soundwaves shook the room
And I knew the next time the world shakes
I’d make sure people knew it was me.
