from the archives — 12.3.2019, shadow box

break me down. make me useful.

excavate the heart until you hit passion; the soft, raw, bleeding center.
wipe it clean as you extract it.

don't let the mess of it scare you the way i did.

wrap whatever is left in newspaper and toss it next to my eyebrows, tits, and sense of humor in a box marked ‘salvageable.’ 

crack my head open clean like a summer melon and scrape out the lost, twisted, wishful thoughts with a spoon. throw most of it in the trash. save my laugh in a music box and give it to my father, under care of my grandmother. i learned the soundtrack of life's joy from reading their lips. it would be selfish to bury their gifts. i want them to know that i remember who gave them to me.

weave the hard won self-love into a crown studded with whatever confidence i had left. wear it yourself or give it away -- but let the hope behind it rest a minute. put it in a shadow box with the heart it spawned from, and give them a minute to remember each other. they've been strangers since the night my sense of wonder stayed out after midnight, and never made it home.

crack open my chest for your pick of the empathy blooming in my rib cage. pluck at it like flowers, one by one, cause by cause, and get to know them intimately. hold them gently. let them fall through your callused fingers and return to the tired earth. some of them will be the color of fires that burn in chests heavy with injustice; others will be smooth and soft, loving hues of pink idealism, bright with hope.  

press the memories between the pages of the heavy books that immortalize them, as they may never bloom again. anger, sadness, fear, and pain live here, too. cut them out carefully; each hard, necrotic mass. take the joy and hopefulness, too. don’t leave any malignant cells behind to creep back into the earth. 

take turns. be thorough.

whatever drew you to me in the first place, take it with you when you leave.
give everything else back to the earth.

break me down. make me useful.