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Nuclear Vague is Not Me

Society is dying to communicate evidenced in our ever frantic FB posts, Twitter rants, and Instagram selfies but it’s all so blip and vague most of the time that it fails to render meaningful deep content.  I often question if I am oversharing but then, I’m like, fuck, why are we even doing all this if not to say something, God Damn It?

Why are you telling me you are devastated if you are not going to vomit up the details right then and there?  What is the point?  I’m mad and I want you to know I’ve been wronged but I just can’t talk about it.  I really think we’re all just word constipated.

And it’s taboo to tell each other how we really feel.  Heaven forbid we hurt your feelings with a genuine response.  We have never been more robotic, empty, and digital.

As a poet and artist, I question my authenticity of self on a daily basis.  What am I hiding?  What can’t I reveal to the world because it is too personal, too precious, or even too embarrassing?  Unfortunately, my gift is truth, so it all comes spilling out like last night’s affair.

I get why we hold back, especially now at a time in history when there is much violence and inequality, some of it embraced by major institutions we used to trust.  Some people can’t even trust their own families to hold their secrets.  It’s true you can reveal your sexuality and lose your job quite easily, so why say anything to anyone?

Presentation is everything.  Dress up that mess.  We do it for work, why not keep up the charade on the weekends too?

I never agreed with any of this but yes, I have suffered consequences all my life for being me.  I’ve been thinking lately of how differently I saw the world in childhood from societal norms.  I wore the hate language people assigned to me like badges, even when I had to go home and look them up in a paper dictionary first.

Adulthood brings additional challenges because we have to protect all that other stuff that makes up our life now like intimate relationships, kids, the ability to make money to survive, etc.  So, it’s easy to hide and lie all the time.  Get that PR.  Make sure you put on enough makeup that would make a hooker blush because the camera is always on, honey!

I turned down my hip hop in the car today because somebody looked at me.  Like fuck that guy but blending is so in.  Don’t leave your mark.  Don’t be you.  Be that guy.  Any guy.  A guy who is ashamed and always checking to see who notices.

You’re either going to be yourself proudly or decide it’s just not worth it.

I’ve always been perplexed by the amount of people taking hard drugs.  What are you trying not to feel?  I’m not victim blaming, so don’t throw that shit at me, but my ability to deeply feel and communicate pain is what ultimately makes me human and not a prickly dry cactus on top of a work desk.

Life hurts and we’re mean to each other.  Willful evasion of emotional communication through whatever means is the death of personhood.

I don’t want to be that person who is afraid to say they are queer or bipolar or really bad at styling their hair.  Hiding is just so much wasted energy and it’s negative to the core.  In the end, conforming, being the mouthpiece of another, and not accepting responsibility for being you will cost you.

And so, I am writing tonight of my black heart sucked dry in this vacuum of false identities and feelings hung for public adoration.  If you don’t like me, good for you.  Pretend affection is for ugly dogs and diet cola.  Existing is for rocks.

I want a life drowning in frank honesty decorated with orgasm, hurricane tears, and risk of loving myself.  Creating encourages me (sometimes drags me) to be vulnerable.  I want to go there again and again.

About missyrogers

Lifelong Michigander, early 40s, craft addict, chihuahua collector, coffee drinker, recovering human being, bipolar I, electronic music lover, bullshit caller, 5' tall, my blood is organic, and I refuse to be anything else. I will write until I die.

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Queen of the bad haircuts with coffee for blood.

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