What there is to learn
comes in between the sobs,
the dark glasses,
the furious emails trying to explain and explain.
It comes after the sleepless nights
and endless hours of stomach flips.
It comes in dreams,
anxiety ridden dreams of fathers
wearing wigs and suits,
they have never worn before,
hiding in closets,
molesting their daughters.
It comes in foreign languages,
where words have two meanings
and you can’t understand either.
It comes in backrooms of libraries,
books on the floor,
phones silenced like electric heartbeats.
It comes by saying, “no” when you want to say, “yes”,
and ,“yes” when you want to say, “no.”
It comes in chasing when you want to walk away.
It comes when abandonment takes the steering wheel
and drives like a lunatic across town
to feed an ex-boyfriend’s dog a burger.
It comes when you finally get quiet enough to listen,
to hear that part of your self that knows why it aches
so badly,
and why it can’t get present inside its own body,
no matter how hard it tries.
It comes with the knowledge that learning never comes
easily or without painful stimuli,
unless you’re fucking blessed.
It comes when you realize that
“they” aren’t the ones,
“their” actions,
“their” words,
don’t matter.
What matters is the wounds.
Only the wounds.
It comes when you finally understand
that the reason you are acting so crazy today
started years ago.
