Head On A Plate

I see the way it really is, all of us reaching out for the same old thing, a chance for happiness, love, to connect to something sacred or magical. I walk the streets late at night and watch the people come and go. There are some like me, wandering, alone with no place to go. They have no schedule, no agenda. I wonder what their thoughts must be, their hearts and needs. Most are in groups of twos and threes, all the younger ones. They laugh, heedless, careless of the world around them, the sham and drudgery, all the things that make the world full of pain, lies, and deceit. I remember when I was like that. Was I ever like that? The same thing, I think, all of us, some touch of human skin to tell us we're in need. "It's okay to be what you are, right here, close to me. I accept you. No, truly. I do." So, you reveal a little bit more of yourself because you believe in connection, too, but this connection is different. You want more than touch. "You are safe today. You are not crazy or freaking out. You are a beautiful thing still, everywhere you've ever been. Everything you've seen. I see all the things about you you are ashamed of, and you have no reason to feel that way. It makes me want to know you more, in fact. Put your head here, just rest and take it easy. You've been through so much. You don't have anything to worry about. Just let it out. Just let it out."

Millions upon millions, I think, billions upon billions really. Don't we all have the same kind of pain inside? No one knows why. I cry to my mother, condemn my father, wonder what I did wrong with my sisters and brothers to be walking these streets so late at night. All alone. All the time. I wonder why that can't be me over there, holding her hand, her laughing at some joke I tell. I must be too different--too scared to hold onto anything magical. I frighten them away with too much honesty, a commitment too quickly wanting to prove my loyalty to you already. My dark past is like a monster to them. I thought it proved my strength of character. That's what I get for assumption. How can they trust me? Still learning, I think, how to live, how to breathe, what a need must truly be. How to communicate. How to survive and not go crazy. Please, dear God, don't tell me I'm crazy. That won't help me. It won't make me love you. I see your head on a plate.

Maybe I have some disease I'm not aware of. I'm a leper, a Jonah, a pariah, a sleaze, a big black monster with claws and teeth. Tell me the worst, most horrible things about me you can think of so I can be blacker. Kill my heart with one ruthless blow. You can do it. Here, just pick up this axe and do away with me. It's real easy. Don't be afraid. Label, judge, crush and destroy me. Tell me I'm a pansy, I'm a baby, out of my head, that my behavior is abnormal. Watch me squirm and hop about. Let me crawl back to you on my hands and knees with tears in my eyes, begging and pleading for you to just come back to me. This could be good, I say, if only you could see it my way. You can insult and offend me, hurt me all you want. I know I'm not worthy of more than that. I'm lucky just to have you. Yes. I know. I know. Yes. Will you hold me now?

I'm too sensitive, like a girl. You've seen me cry a thousand times already before you even knew my name. You're more like a man than me. In fact, you have no girlish qualities at all. Hmm. Guess that's not important. All I wanted was to hold your hand, reveal my deepest sincerity to you, but instead, you took a knife to my chest, stabbed me repeatedly until my soul turned red. Now, I'm bending over, picking up all the broken little pieces of me you scattered here and there, set on fire. Obviously, it was wrong to trust you. It's going to take me a long time to put out these flames.

I lay by the road squaking like a toad, the tires running over me, breaking my spine, but I'm still here, though gasping my last. The things we do for love, I think, the lost and the suffering.

I watch these people on the downtown streets, wondering if any of them feel like me. We all reach out, wanting the same, in a sea of angry, voracious predators who claim to love you unconditionally. The lies they tell. I want to laugh again in carelessness like teenagers do. My darkness turns red, like the songs in my head that no longer sound like a lullaby. I'll always remember this for the rest of my life, just by trying to reach out, to connect. This hasn't been the only time. I need to learn to spot them better, the heartless, proud, unforgiving, and righteous few. No, they are many. If only they had signs.

Of course, of course, I love you, too, baby blue. I would do anything for you, which is why I'm here, left with my last breath. Can't you see you mean everything to me, baby? Haven't I proven you're all I've ever wanted, every dream come true? It's why I cry so much over you, beg and plead, ask your forgiveness. I promise I won't do it again, ever again, if only I knew what the hell it was. I know you're never wrong baby, you've never done anything wrong, which is why you never say it, why you have to remind me that I'm so lucky to be with you. You need to teach me a lesson, show me what it is I did exactly. It must've been during one of my blackouts. You might have to put my head on a plate.