I have a crescent bruise on my temple from falling onto the mouth of a beer bottle; becoming an alcoholic. Elegance is strange. As a child, forced into ballet and violin, Chinese firecracker dancing, I thought delicacy pursued you; that I had to run and thrust the wild. Wild rides dragons and makes blood vows. Pretty loses at hair-pulling and sword fight.
Now, I wish to be more graceful; a careful person. I am a slob. I am reckless with the fragile holy.

Last night, I cooked fake meat for everyone and trashed myself; ended up on the sidewalk, late at night, in a slick mist. My knees knocking together like chimes meeting, I sob and woo parts of my body before striking them; rise just to collapse and complain to some inner parent -- a little bit dirtier, less shy of the street -- the empty air like an empty jar, labeled 'Shannon's Howl.'

I am pressed up against the dripping vines and sure that I in fact need to hop this fence and climb that particular tree in that particular yard in this particular rain, when, or course, I hear approaching bike spokes, and dismount the thought. And of course, it is someone I know, returned with concern. And I slobber a bit on him, spin in the dark, begging for continuity, apologize, and perhaps have lost my favorite new friend. Ack. Well.
My dad is worse. My mother says any day now, but he sounds fine; I mean, fine! Open heart surgery yet unscheduled. He says that he loves my painting but my mother tells him the ear is all wrong. I am so sorry for that ear. The ear hurts me. It curls into a burrowing tick and draws from veins in aches, pulses. I hate the ear I hate that I am so imperfect, that were I even to try to be perfect I would be criticized, made imperfect by how deliberate it was. The difficulty in dealing with people in times of pain is that no one trusts you to carry that much; yet, you must. It is yours, and indivisible. They give so much advice. You must defend your methods constantly. 'I am being happy because I am living for two. That is my way.' 'I am organizing my lamentations because if I do not, they will overthrow my government and claim it was an uninhabited island previous to their flag.' 'I moved here because I am selfish.' 'I moved here because I am not selfish; he said I should come here, and my momentum comforts him.' Why can't they accept that you are the expert? No one can know. No one can teach me about my fucking hurt or my fucking survival. I am scared and angry today.