Six Years Old at the Movie Theater
I feel at once like I know and have forgotten
Everything I have ever learned by walking down the street—
Staring at everyone who passes me.
When I am handed a coffee cup with my name misspelled on the side
I wonder— is it too much to ask to be heard?
Or maybe it is too much to ask them to listen.
When words get caught in my throat,
Or when I stay silent out of fear of what I will say.
Contradiction follows me.
Like the memory of that crush I had in first grade,
When my mom took us to see Indiana Jones
And we shared a box of candy.
The type of candy forgotten—
The story still told to this day to anyone who will listen,
The last intimate moment I had with someone who knew my truest self.
Like maybe telling this story makes me desirable,
Because once a boy touched my hand in the dark with no expectation,
Our innocence as palpable as the disappointment to follow.
I chase the feeling of unbridled fondness—
Talk too much, too loudly, with too many opinions
about things that do not matter.
Fighting the urge to seem small and palatable,
As though my constriction could make someone else feel good
Even for a minute.
All at once I want to be known,
But can’t find the right words when I am close to being pried open.
I can tell you my favorite book—
Though I haven’t even finished The Catcher in The Rye—
Will you like me more if you think I have?
I can’t tell you why I never cry
Unless I am watching a movie and the main character dies
Or if I sit and watch two people exchange vows
Even though marriage is a pipe dream.
Because doesn’t everyone know what the statistics say?
Or maybe I just can’t imagine what it’s like to be close enough
To someone who wants to share their ugliness with you.
I expect others to understand what I mean
When I can’t even comprehend my own thoughts
Without feeling like I’m losing every sense of my sane self.
That dream I have where someone is chasing me
As I run up an endless spiral staircase
I wonder if they will ever catch me—
I wonder if I will ever let them.