I get deflated by the tiniest things. I can't believe how fragile I am. It's usually not one tiny thing, but a string of them. They slither around my neck, slowly slowly, and then squeeze, strangle.

It's ok, though. A pal was telling me the other day that he was really troubled by his inability to cry, and I realized I can't remember the last time I cried. I like to think that I have a really balanced, authentic emotional life, but I think I alternate between ecstatically happy and numb/bored/disengaged. I almost never let myself feel upset anymore. I think usually, the things that could make me sad are just too insignificant to feel attached to, but that is not true at all. I just push those things out of my consciousness. But they are always there. Shit, we are humans, right? We have loss and pain and death and failure just as surely as we do companionship and joy and life and success, it's all just a matter or proportions, emphasis. Loving anything means you'll have to lose it one day. It's worth it, of course. But it doesn't hurt to feel the absence, the frailty, every now and then. I am feeling it now.

I feel like a little kid lost in the world. That is what I am deep down. Maybe that image will change one day, maybe I will become a goddess or a mother, a shield, a river, but today, I am still a child.

I wish I wish,
I was a child
with a friend.
a friend in the flesh
who would see my tears
instead of only reading about them.
But I am still
too small
for that.
too small
to cry out in the open.
Where is a child too small to cry?
Am I in some womb?
But if I were there,
I wouldn't be so cold.
alone, maybe,
but surrounded.
No womb.
Just lost.