The Shattering
Sometimes it isn’t a grand betrayal that wakes you.
Sometimes it’s a broken mason jar,
glass everywhere,
a woman’s red-faced embarrassment
as a familiar voice says,
“stupid bitch.”
I forgave previous events
that showcased a lack of empathy
when applied to myself.
I called it:
ADHD.
Eccentricity.
Neurospicy.
Misunderstanding.
But cruelty to a stranger?
That’s just being a fucking dick.
And suddenly I saw everything:
my empathy used against me,
how wanting to fuck me
or get fucked by me
dressed itself up
and pretended to see
the value of my art.
Casual cruelty broke the spell,
and everything afterward
confirmed what I already knew
but really fucking didn’t want to believe.
You told me you were obsessed with my poetry.
I mistook obsession for attention,
attention for care.
A hook baited with praise.
But it wasn’t your poetry
I reached towards that day in Powell’s
hoping for inspiration.
It was the person whose shadow you stand inside,
hoping no one notices how little light is yours.
You kept asking me not to disappear.
People always do, you said.
Intimidated by the mere presence
of your creative energy,
the sheer force of you.
What a beautiful story to tell yourself.
That people leave
because you shine too brightly,
rather than the truth that
eventually they notice
how everything has to
bend toward you.
I told you someone close to me died.
“Happy Friday!”
“Happy Monday!”
“Hope you’re having a good time in Santa Cruz.”
As if grief were a vacation
I had forgotten to enjoy.
Meanwhile,
your mohawk entered the conversation
for the twentieth time
while I was trying to explain
that I was absolutely
not having a good fucking time.
To you, my grief was
something to watch and consume.
That ugly mix of voyeurism and narcissism
that thinks witnessing pain
means you were invited into it.
And suddenly
I understood the ghosting.
Not intimidation.
Pure exhaustion.
One casual act of cruelty
shattered the spell.
And I no longer mistake
your fetish for my
grief, body, pain, and poetry
as proof of being seen.
Chestnut Cowboy 