What is it that one can actually be sure of?
Here, the sun is coming through large windows
in a white paneled ballroom of a former silent
film star off of the Whitestone Expressway in Queens.
This is the reality I am describing to you.
Earlier, there was a child dunked in an oversized
silver chalice to erase her of original sin. Now,
there are people sitting here, dressed up, celebrating
a birth and ultimately a death. I am honest, you
always tell me.
Existence can be anything-- when I say
I was most alive at eight, he tells me I was
never eight. He tells me I was my whole
life, especially at eight. I try to pawn his
genius off as my own in this good company,
assuming he won't mind. Who is he,
anyway? He's not present, so maybe he isn't
real anymore.
Still sitting here, children with multi-colored
face paint sift from their mother's arms to the
dance floor, not so much like birds taking flight,
but more like ants scurrying around the farm their
mother built, serving her, but mostly serving themselves.
I am celebrating, and wondering
when it is going to be okay for others to
know the ultimate truth: the truth that I am unsure
of. That I am unsure of everything. And i know
everyone else is also unsure.
I remember, someone once told me I could write, so I believe
that because it is beneficial to me. Someone once told
me I was ugly, but I won't believe that, because it
won't get me anywhere.
Also, these words are meaningless. Nothing matters.
Once you know that, it is still hard, because you can't
convince others of it. Maybe I am in a constant depression.
Maybe I am absolutely filled to the brim with ecstasy for living.
Now I am still here, the sun is in my eyes, and I can't stop looking
at yours, blinded by an unnerving smile, which I am sure is at least half
natural by now, entertaining the good company, red lipstick reflecting
off the mirrors abound the room---those eyes, how they have changed these
past too many months, with tears, and insanity, and purity, and mourning,
and knowing what I know. I know you
know, beautiful. We don't have to talk about it anymore.
(unless you want to)
