Centripetal Motion

For years
and years, I have seen
myself in terms of my negative
space, from the gap
between
my thighs to the endless
potential of what I might one day learn,
regardless of whether or not I have the confidence
to get there intact or even whole
enough to hold myself
together.
For years and
years I have measured
myself in outlines I want to fill but can’t. I’ve
wondered why my spirits soar and crash with all the amplitude
of a mighty ocean tide but none of its regularity,
even as I let the lofty magnitude
of these mirages
catch me
as they catch the light
and leave me lost and bleary come night.
These are the dreams I’ve imagined in such vivid detail
I know them better than I know whether I’ll find the will to wake
up one more morning and stumble through one more step
on a route I plotted when I had no concept
of the horizon’s blurry
subjectivity.
Maybe
I painted these contours
to give me something to breathe, to fight
for, but I never knew the weight of their emptiness
could make it this hard. Maybe I wanted
something to give
me direction,
but I never knew
I’d accelerate towards
my hopes not directly, but centripetally.
I circle my goal, drawn ever towards it, but our radius
remains a constant and every day I cover
the same worn ground
again.

/cristina

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