Talk to me when you have had a period of weariness, and sadness, and apathy, and frustration (not only within yourself, but for the outside), and anger and resentment and seething; the slow boil that comes from not only everything you've ever felt — but everything you haven't — and want to.
And talk to me when you have felt poor and abandoned and needy — where the neediness has become not only about what isn't given to you, but about what has never been imagined or thought of: as an offering. And talk to me when you no longer feel attractive as a person and have no interest in becoming what is considered attractive.
Talk to me when you see no difference between not and is, and understand the feeling and position of both being and not being; and are indifferent to changing that.
Talk to me when the smallest steps you make aren't seen as measurable -— but feel, as they are everything to you — and took everything to do. Talk to me when you have left the throne you have sat on. The one that has seen me as beneath you. The one that has looked back on me as one you used to be, or one you used to understand, but now see as only a measure of where you were then (and how fast you wanted to leave that marker; how far you wanted to scatter that dust; and so you did).
Talk to me when you feel blind and lost, and do not feel the hope that comes with thought or vision.
Talk to me when every imagining seems like work and every hour feels weighted and needless and repetitive. Talk to me when you feel like a shell that will always feel like a shell. Talk to me, when even these words seem needless and without expression; talk to me: and say nothing.
Talk to me when you have been told that happiness is within and accused of complete incompetence because, if you cannot find happiness within, you are not obtaining true happiness or purity. Talk to me when you realize that sometimes a rope leads upward from the ceiling, to lead you upward, and sometimes, the rope hangs there, to end you.
Talk to me when you can look at me without judgment for if you see me as the old you, I am never to be truly accepted as okay now, and see nothing but the moment I am in now.
Talk to me when you can try to understand, without changing, without regulating, without imposing your structures or conditions. Talk to me, when you know quietness — without reason — when you know question — without answer or expectation.
Talk to me, because I miss you, but I cannot offer myself up for more judgment. I will not expose merely to give you the opportunity of breaking me down further; because, you know, I am just here, alone and lost and struggling, and to attack me is to shoot fish in a barrel. Talk to me when you can step back and yet understand: I am still lovable. Talk to me when you don't want to change me, even as I am, this way, appearing as though if anything should be changed. It is I.
No, I do not want your restrictions; I want you. And miserable as I feel right now, as numb, as afraid, as repetitive, it is with honest intention I admit myself; and as I am looking directly into the soul I am now, I am asking the same intention back. You are as human as I am. Talk to me when you realize that.
