the yard

I’m in the yard watching the spontaneity of flashing fireflies. It is peaceful and quiet out here.

Last week we cut down a really big tree in the yard and can now clearly see past our fence to Parallel Street. I miss the tree but love it’s absence and how it brings in so much natural light into the kitchen – even at night.

I meditated twice today. I think I need to start doing longer sessions. I did a 15 minute one today. I opened my eyes and it was like a whole new planet. My anxiety is still persistent, but I’m smarter than to fully identify with it. It’s not truly me.

I remember when there used to be a swing set in the yard. All plastic and metal. When I was a kid, I couldn’t imagine the yard without it. Now I often forget that it existed at all.

My dog’s buried in the yard. A secret kept. I wish I felt more emotional about it. But I suppose my upbringing was very much rooted in solemn, factual understanding. I couldn’t change it if I tried.

God bless the humidity when it leaves. Like anxiety it is sticky and viscous and clings without asking, choking. It makes me panic. But I am not my anxiety. The weather is not its humidity. It is a side-effect, a part of the whole.

I’ve been thinking about melody composition and what a magical process/accident it really is. I listen to Tigers Jaw and dream of being in a band and looking into your eyes and singing to you because I can, because I understand. I understand.

I never want to move to New York. I love the yard too much. Where the ghosts of old friends making smores in 2007 are almost fully faded. Where the birds and bees and cats and squirrels and skunks run and fly free, where the poison ivy grows.

As the night goes on I slow down my breathing and feel the weight ease off my chest.

I will make friends and go on living. I will learn new skills and stay close with the people I love most. I will gain more than I will lose. I will grow as a person even when I think I have already grown. I am the grass. I am a wildflower. I am an untamed wild stallion crying on the prairie.

I want to love more openly, but I am atypical and unexpected and too calloused for my own good. I toss my neck and scoff and make others uncomfortable. I am terrified of admitting to any feeling that may make me vulnerable. I have had my heartbroken. I have felt embarrassment and shame. I do not know how to get over these hurdles. I am still not over those teenage moments. I do not trust men’s intentions at bars.

I love all my queer friends because they understand what it’s like to be different and not fit in. And I think that’s why I get along so well with them: Because I have never fit in anywhere in my life. Occasionally I’ll dip a toe, but the water soon dries up or gets too cold.

Will there ever be a time where this yard will no longer be mine? Will there be new yards with swing sets and dead dogs and animals and flowers and dusk summer nights alone wailing to laptop screens on fingertips bated breath oh wait I have to breathe close my eyes look up at the sky silhouettes of trees –

Deep breaths,

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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