I Wish

I wish I could sing in front of a crowd the way I do when I’m home alone. Not that my singing is ever any good anywhere, but when I’m alone I let go, I let the music take me and for however long the song is I’m free. I can’t do that with witnesses. My whole life is about maintaining control, an even keel, don’t rock the boat, don’t cause offense, be careful, be quiet, fly under the radar. No one is allowed the whole picture, not ever.
I got absolutely wrecked last night and I feel terrible. Not from the hangover, but because I lost control and that to me is an unforgivable transgression. I’ve been tearing myself apart all god damn day. There’s no excuse and I have no mercy for myself. It doesn’t even matter that I may not have done anything that bad, I just won’t allow myself to be forgiven for letting go.
I get sick of it, the care, the caution, the very intricate thought I put into every word, every gesture, everything a facade, what I think will work best in any given situation. Even then, I will pick apart every single conversation, go back over the play by play in my brain, finding the flaws, reprimanding, rethinking. It never stops, not ever. I think somewhere along the way I’ve completely forgotten who I actually am, that I lost myself trying to be the best version of what everyone else wants. Maybe that’s why I hate being alone so much lately, when I’m by myself I stop existing, there’s no one for me to be.
Except when I’m singing, when the music starts and it tells me who to be, my body moving without thought, screaming the words until it feels like I’m spitting blood. I wish so very often that I could have that freedom every once in a while with others without the blur of alcohol. But I can’t, I’m too afraid and the fear is constant. I’ve lived with it for far too long and it’s become far too comfortable. So I hide and I cling desperately to my control and my masks and I pray no one ever finds out about the hollow and the empty underneath.


4 Responses to “I Wish”

  1. knowing emptiness requires a sense of it being filled by anything
    let the radar help decide what to allow in
    bit by bit emptiness won’t be as much of an energy waster for you


    you make poetry and its volume hints at bits being whittled away from something
    ever stop to wonder what that something looks like?
    you may also be a word rummaging sculptor and not know it

    • p.s.

      almost eight hundred does not equal empty
      these folks deserve to be well treated
      they walk the halls of the mossy place, right?

      sing and record
      the exercise is worthy of your attention

  2. crickets blue sky and geese on high Says:

    part of you is the whittlins
    as is what remains

  3. sometimes, perhaps, the “plus…” requires a metaphorical kick in the ass, eh chum?

    just as the short circuit sparks up toward disaster, remember:

    take one breath
    silently count – one, two, three, etc.
    let the wires untangle
    allow the little voice to chip in

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