Instinct to Live

it's just an instinct
an honest-to-goodness
i-don't-give-a-s**t
i-can't-help-it
(why-would-i-help-it?)
natural instinct
(and) to censor :-: myself
to.squeeze.every.last.breath
from my body
to quiet my dangerous affairs
and drown my inner voice
don't - stop - f**k, just let me be
let this body, this fluid flowing being be
natural and true and wise and naive and free
like the wind
at the top of a mountain
or a glacier or a river or a stone
an earthy stone where seagulls perch and feed
or like the perfect cool night air and star filled sky.
with every breath
and every passionate pastel stroke of faith
and worry and compassion and indifference
and smiles and tears and sighs and strange faces
just look at me. look at me. look. (what do you) see?
there is no art to tell a person's heart by their construction
we are all one and the same
my legs sitting crossed or stretched wide open
my lips pursed or screaming for attention
my a*s in a thong or in briefs
my b***s smushed up and together or in their resting place
my legs silky smooth or stubbly
my hair in long curly locks or short and spikey
lipstick, baseball caps, skirts, hiking boots
the way i talk the way i walk the way i move the way i see
the way i see the world, the way i wish i could communicate
for everyone to see what my eyes have seen and
breathe the air i've breathed and loved the way i've loved and cried and tried and slept and died and laughed and sat and sang and listened...
to the ocean...
for a moment...
and fell and broke and hugged and tasted and touched and felt and thought and wondered and missed and felt oh soo good...
and i say to you:
live and let live
in peace.

 

Melissa Babyak (c) 2006