A baby headache is breaking in its teeth on my skull
nibbling, piercing, diverting blood from its natural
course with its flailing fits, its writhing spasms
flash and core a minefield mapped across my hippocampus.
I patter my temples with callused, gingered tips.
Afraid to cause pain, eager to bring relief.
Eight seconds of pressure, faith healing
applied into the love knot until all I see is white.
Well, some poems don’t necessarily rise up and present themselves fully dressed. Apologies for that shitty rough draft, I was just thinking I needed to try and write a poem tonight. It feels like the stars are in alignment for a beneficent light for rhetoric. Eh, not so much for me, I’m afraid. I think the President did better. I’m sure the blogs and media will spray reams with disapproval, but I liked the speech even if the policy was not all I desired to it be.
That was the message, of course, we can’t have everything, but we can have the important things we need and with those things we can make life pleasurable because there is pleasure in building ourselves up and right and strong and true.
This is the message I need right now, too. Nice synchronicity, universe. Need to keep faith in keeping faith, belief in believing and then ply ourselves to the task and wonders will emerge.
My body is not a wonder. Not yet, and I definitely hesitate to proclaim that it ever will be. But it feels like the work is not going for naught. I am not plasticine and not easily molded into this new, better shape by a mere application of force and heat. It’s really only since January that I’ve even got the force and the heat going at the same time. This is going to take – perhaps not eons or epochs – but time, significant time. Time enough to make some progress on other pains going on in my head, not to mention those in my heart. Whittle down the fear of intimacy into something less ark-like, something you can lift and realize is just balsa wood.
Sometimes I have to just bring myself down to earth when I get particularly squinty at myself in the mirror. One angle looks better, one just as bad, one maybe worse. I’m proud of myself for not letting those maybe angles scare me off. At least not today when I worked out like I was in a one girl production of Speed. It isn’t going to be done tomorrow. The scale doesn’t show it being done at all. I just have to believe that if I keep doing things that help and stop doing things that hurt, I’ll be making progress. I feel smaller, tighter, sleeker. Maybe it’s all a placebo, but people get well with placebos. You take your aspirin, you massage your skull, you release your stress, you go to sleep and the headache goes away. Faith and science, holding hands while nobody’s looking.