Performance & I AM Take A Walk

To the part of me that feels unseen,

Sweet hidden majesty. Sit with me.

Where does it hurt?

Where does the loss of gaze touch you?

What does it mean when you build a rose-covered door

and their eyes focus on the welcome mat?

Can I walk through your garden?

Will you let me notice your new blooms?

I have come to witness your magic.

I am here to hear you wail.

I am here, not to touch you,

but to be touched by you.

I am here.

From the part of me that feels unseen to the part that is asking,

It hurts when my weeds and wee buds are teased.

It hurts when I rain warm, cleansing droplets and you don’t drink

or you spit the water out.

It hurts when I conduct a symphony of nurturing and still the garden is empty.

It hurts when I blossom over and over and over again,

beyond season or root structure,

and there is no sigh, no relief of recognition, no reciprocity.

It means I do not exist.

There is no garden to walk through.

I become a single frozen petal hanging onto the sepal.

I am afraid. I am alone.

I need to make you see there is a whole garden here.

I want to make you love the garden and its beauty so it will grow in your gaze.

I desire to feel your heart in the garden,

but now there is only one, small cold petal.

So, I name myself Performance and I do my best.

Maybe, with just a little bit of magic,

you will know my magic.

…

You are here.

But who are you?

To the part of me that feels unseen,

I AM

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