No Synecdoche
Location
I am not
NOT
not
about to pick apart the pieces of myself
tear out a ventricle here
a molar there
a fingernail and a stretchmark
sew them all together with
pretty words (much prettier than this
much cleverer than this
but not mine own) in a shape of a snowflake
to say
HERE I AM LOOK AT ME- look at this
collage of mine I have picked it from
parts of a whole and look at that beautiful
synecdoche
a ventricle becauseshecares a molar becauseshesmiles a fingernail becauseshesnervous a stretchmark becauseshesfat.
Well I do care. I do smile. I’m nervous, and I’m fat.
And that bloodied collage does not scratch the surface of what I am.
I could say I am only me when I am no longer in control,
when I’m a hulkish mess,
on the floor howling,
soaking in my own mucous.
That’s #nofilter, right?
There’s your
bloody
collage.
Except that’s not
me (or not the whole me and you know what I used to love synecdoche and I do I still do it’s just that
a part of a whole leaves a bit of a hole).
My filters are a part of me because my mind my thinking mind for all its worth is worth nothing when it’s pulled
apart
to my basest instinct my #nofilter my #nofilter is survival and I do that ok
but I am worth a whole damned lot more than survival.
And yeah granted
I don’t even use Instagram and the days I wear makeup are few and far between and coffee kind of makes me sick to my stomach and it’s a lot harder to filter a heart that’s on your sleeve
so maybe my life is a little #nofilter already but I’m sick and tired of being asked about the #realme without all this #technology and “newfangled” #vanity
because that question is a #filter since it’s asking me to be #onething.
My #filters are #mychoice and made up of my cells like every other part of me.
(I use the filters
I like the ones
I want
the ones that make sense in that mind that thinking mind that
is
me.
And if I can’t be my choices
what the hell
are you asking me to be-
I’m no synecdoche.)