Upon My Return

Hey, denizens of the ballroom,
How's it going?
I haven't talked to you in a minute
More than a minute
It's sloppy language, I know
And that's one of the cardinal sins, sloppy language
Maybe not as cardinal as wasting words
Which is what I'm doing now...
I'm stalling...

I asked for this microphone, and someone lent it to me
Along with three minutes
Three minutes to speak my heart
My sandpaper knees knocking about so that I can turn
To you, unlace my stitches and say
"Here is where I have been hurt"
or "Here is my dream for how things could be"

And it's possible. You beautiful body of strangers
You listen, take in, snap or give scores
Hiss only in the case of true jackassery
But mostly you uphold

And so I got to thinking I was good at opening up
Because I have told you secrets
About the important things in my life
Like question of God, my fear of fat,
my unquenchable baby fever,
and my lust for musicians...
The important things...about how I am trying to be better at being a human.

I thought if I showed you my weak spots
It meant I could claim confidence, like
I AM AMAZING AT VULNERABILITY.
Eat it, Brene Brown!

But I'm seeing this girl,
Have been for a minute, ok more than a minute
And she's really talented at being a human
And one night we're having a conversation about biting
--you see, I'm a biter
And I don't just mean for sexy times
I mean, I bite often, as a way to say hello or I missed you
It's actually pretty normal, I read online how
there is evolutionary cause for our urge to bite things that are cute--
Anyway, I'm stalling. We're talking
And she says, "I trust you."

Like it's easy
Like falling.

And I want to say, "Is that a good idea?
Do you know how many times a day I get lost driving places I've been before?"
Getting lost is like falling. It's easy.

But trust...to open up to a person who is inches away
Without blinding stage lights or the expectation of snaps
To tell someone whose breath heats my cheeks
That I'm afraid of infertility or that when I hear Catholic hymns I ache like
There's a dull thud in my teeth and a heavy door closing
The kind made of old wood and carved with images of saints
How I believe she is a miracle
And that she loves me is a miracle
And how strange it is to be a person who doesn't really believe in God
but does believe in miracles

To say those things is like falling in a different way
Like falling in.

And I think I'm here tonight because, comparatively, it's easy
To give away pieces of myself to strangers
To pretend we know each other, only to go home in separate cars
is easy.

So I'll consider it practice.
I will say things to you until it's less scary
to say them to her.
I am a work in progress. I am often afraid.
But I'm here. I trust you.
It's like falling in.