little blue flowers

the illusion of socks

My most vivid memory took place at seven years old along a freshly built deck at the back of the old house.

That day I tore off my socks and ran along the length of it barefoot
Not quite caring about the rough wood under my soles
Or the pain brought to light
As I sat in the kitchen that afternoon
Mom at my feet with scary tweezers and a frown full enough to drown the moon.

I didn't need stitches for the splinters
But I did supply the blood.

I don't think I would go back and do it any differently.

I felt my mistakes
I bled my fill
I cried an ocean my parents had to clean
But most of all
I was being me
Freely
Without thought for another
And yeah, that sounds selfish and silly and full of it
But it's one of my happiest memories.

I haven't taken off my socks and gone barefoot in awhile.
I haven't had many selfish, silly, full of it memories since that summer on the deck
Being me
I've kept my socks on dutifully
And the pain of some splinters is still there every time I walk
But it's real
And time didn't heal them like it promised.

Am I broken? Is that the problem?
Why is there fear every time I see them: the friends, the possibilities, the barefoot
Why am I like this?
I ask myself questions like these
Bombarding the rest
The mind so sick of it
The feet so tired
"Just be better," I tell myself. "Be who you were."
But the socks are glued to my feet
And I'm always tugging tugging tugging
Never living, never breathing
Drowning in this life
Of soft hands and warm smiles too pretty to stomach.

My normal is not the pretty, it seems
I don't like the glaring sun anymore
Or the faces, so many of them
I just need a few friends and a handful of starlight
To make it, to thrive, to be the better I keep telling myself about
To dream in color
No longer black and white
To feel the splinters of my life
Pulled from my feet, the soles crying
Tugging tugging tugging
Away from the socks and clean hands
To the rest of it
Bloody petals and terrific silence
Ink stains and lightning bolts
The memories lost in a tidal wave
Of forget-me-pleases
Is this it? Have I met my match?
The one to get me through the mornings
And mountains of faces to remember
Heaps upon heaps of names and skins.

I've been a filthy liar to think that
People don't change
We're not constant like the sun and its sisters
We're constant like us
Which is not at all.

And maybe I'm not wearing socks anymore
Maybe these socks glued to my feet are no socks at all
But tattoos, brands, skin leftover
Pieces taken and broken to fit the muscle
I wore those selfish, silly, full of it socks when I was still
Just a blank slate scared of tweezers
And now
The blossoming is finished
I'm done with the tugging
Tomorrow you'll see me running on that old deck
The magic on my feet not quite defined.

It is enough.