Shape of Me

A thought lights up; another sparks; the story branches wide. I lose the sentence halfway through with all the words inside. I miss the gap, then speak too soon, then cannot find my place. “Annoying” lands beneath my ribs; the smile stays on my face. I need a plan; I crave escape; a change can shake the day. Each scrape of chair, each clink of glass can pull the words away. I need the meaning spoken plain; I hear each word, each sound. By night I find the missing joke & turn it round & round. “Annoying” knocks the breath from me & brings the old rooms back. My body braces for the blow; the room around me fades. Enough to help, enough to give, too much to simply be. How small must I become before there’s room for all of me? At home, at school, “act right” meant pain; the rules were never clear. The scissors took my hair & skin; I learned to disappear. A stranger’s slur, a crowded room, a hand against my throat. The room had people everywhere; I fought for breath alone. I make allowances for strain, for words that come out wrong. My own receive no such reprieve; the judgment lasts so long. I search for harm in what I said, rehearse the whole exchange. Was there a wrong that could be named, or just a voice deemed strange? I start to speak, then check my tone; the sentence comes apart. I spend the evening passing tests that nobody admits they mark. Enough to help, enough to give, too much to simply be. How small must I become before there’s room for all of me? I know the work of being there: remember, call, make room. I notice when a voice grows thin, when laughter ends too soon. Then kindness feels like rent I pay to keep a place in reach. I bring the help, I bring the laugh, then watch how much I speak. A little toy brought from the shelf, amusing for a while. I wonder if a place is mine when I can’t raise a smile. I get lost in the rage of rejection— still making room for everyone, still begging for protection. I’m furious at being hurt, then furious I care. I leave the room, rehearse the fight, & find I’m still back there. I search for what I did wrong, but nothing comes to name. I gave the care, I stayed, I tried; I carried all the weight. I turn each moment over still, look for the hidden need. I know I did the best I could; what else was left to me? The questions fill my phone; I write, erase, explain. This time I name what I can bear instead of pleading plain. I’ve made a lifetime’s room for pain that wasn’t even mine. I want a friendship I can trust without rehearsing every line. I want the care I freely give to find its way to me. A welcome that can hold my joy, my grief, my company.