My Turn 2

My Turn 2

The second in a series of reflections 

Inspired from a night at the MoMA PS1 and a search for oneself

By Bird

Oh...umm...hello.

Umm...excuse me for just a moment.

May I have your attention?

...please?

I promise I won’t be long.

I just wanted to take my turn.

You see, I have been waiting

Patiently...over there

Waiting for your eyes to maybe -

Hopefully, catch mine

And, possibly, invite me up here.

Why didn’t I just ask?

Oh.

Well, you see, I am not always

The person who would do that.

What do I mean?

What do I mean?

I guess...

Well I guess I wouldn’t know what to say.

Y’know, once it was my turn.

It’s silly right?

I was hiding in the back - hoping. Waiting.

Wanting to take my chance,

But having no clue what to say.

I guess I thought it would come to me

All in the right time.

That I would get up, stand up, walk up,

And the words would come pouring out of me like a great flood and I would never be able to stop, and that there would never be a need for me to stop because you were so taken with my voice, and my words, and my view, and my intelligence, that you would never ask me to stop. I could talk and talk and talk and talk and never rhyme (because I am bad at rhyming...it always seems so forced) and you would take up every word, every sound, every expression I had to ever possibly offer.

Oh, but now I am rambling.

I am supposed to have a point.

I shouldn’t waste my turn like this.

I am sorry.

See, what I am trying to say,

I guess, what I really want to point out,

Is it is really hard to be me.

“It’s hard to be me.”

What a thing to be coming from my mouth, right?

But it is hard to be me.

It’s hard because I still

I still don’t know what that means.

That’s why I didn’t ask for a turn.

That’s why I don’t know what to say.

What am I to talk about

If I can’t talk about myself?

It’s as if my insides

Are really a big, open space.

A bunch of random things fill me up.

I try to attach your words to me:

“You are a ray of sunshine.”

“You are a natural mother.”

“You are a teacher.”

I try to attach my own words to me:

“I am a princess.”

“I am bright.”

“I am learning.”

And sometimes, I can see them take shape,

Within this void.

I can see little blobs begin to form,

Like the sculpture before the sculptor is finished.

I try to translate them, and I get lost in the stark white space, again.

Am I happy or am I sad?

Am I loud or quiet?

Am I shy or expressive?

Am I popular or alone?

Am I city or country?

I get lost, because I can only answer to all of these is “yes!”.

I was hoping that

By taking my turn,

I might be able to figure out

WHO THE FUCK I AM.

I thought it may be a good idea.

Thought maybe you could help.

Am I an introvert or an extrovert?

I am both.

I don’t fit into the categories.

I don’t know how to label myself.

I don’t have the words.

And then I write this.

I sit down and I think these words.

I come up here and take my turn,

And try to express myself to you,

To ask for your help,

While lacking the vocabulary to truly convey myself,

And I feel wrong.

Am I taking someone else’s turn right now?

Should someone else be standing here?
Am I victimizing myself, when in reality,

I am nothing more than an average

18 year old girl,

Existing with made up problems in my head?

Or is that the fraud police coming after me again?

How do I know??
I can’t very well walk down the street with a survey.

“Hello. May I ask you some questions for a study?

For starters, who ARE you???

WHO AM I?”

So I came up here.

Took my turn.

I am trying to learn.

And I think maybe I can see a little bit better now.

Your face is helping, I think.

I can see that it is hard

To be myself

When I don’t necessarily know who that is.

But maybe that is because

I haven’t defined myself.

And maybe THAT is because I cannot be defined.

Yes! Of course!

How could I not have realized?

Don’t you see?

By trying to label, I get lost

Lost is what I could be - should be

Lost in who I dream of

Lost in who I fear of

I get confused and alone

Because I am a person

Not a word.

I exist for me

And with you.

Not for you

As me.

I am not a name,

I am not a sound,

I am not an idea.

I am me.

Whatever the fuck that means.

And though saying that outloud helps,

And I do feel better

Knowing you are in on my new secret,

I can’t avoid the feeling

Of that white space in me,

Sitting empty.