Author: Danielle Shorr

While standing in the line to get inside,
the rain makes a surprise appearance
this may be one of the few time I don’t mind it

I remember the first tuesday spent here
when my Chicago soul ended up on a Los Angeles street at the recommendation of a new friend and then
somehow ended up on stage

I don’t recall details like I should but
the eager racing of my heart every time I walk through the door speaks volumes, says I know why you feel the way you do
that moment of hearing myself speak for the first time is still new

on the nights like this where I don’t read
I still feel an energy that reminds me of a certain comfort
my hands still shake through the excitement of just existing

my stomach, a drain of stories, was used to swallowing whole without chewing
this is where I learned how to digest my past

I trade smiles with strangers who are just realizing their ability to do the same

if you were to ask anyone who has ever sat on this stage, in these seats, why they choose to join this cluttered convention of hearts in such a small space,
they would probably pause,
smile and answer something along the crooked lines of,
“you just have to be there to understand”

and you do
there is a magic in the air that you can’t bottle
instead you hold your breath through a busy week to
make it to the next
in order to experience it again

there is no language that could describe this place where
we each speak our own yet somehow
still understand each other
this is the place I cannot put an adjective to,
there is no metaphor for what experience can offer

this is the place where my cheeks turn fire in the best way possible
the rhythm of my chest is faster than it is in fear, unexplainable

this is where my tuesday night becomes weekend
this is where my empty becomes whole
this is where Yesika forms full moons with her words and the softness of her voice echoes against the hollow of the theatre lights
this is where the power of black stories remind my whiteness how necessary vocality is
this is where I found myself bare under a spotlight for the first time over a year ago and
this is where I discovered that bareness doesn’t have to be a bad thing

I know how it sounds
sitting on a stage in a dim room with strangers
listening for an hour and a half to a story that isn’t yours but
the best way to find yourself is in the words of another
this is where I find myself
again and again
this is where I come whenever I am lost

If you were to ask me why
I could only say

you just have to be there
to understand.

Dear thickness,
Dear bold flesh I call shelter of leg,
protection for this body I call home
Dear thighs.
You are more important than you think
more crucial than you’ve been told
more space than I know what to do with and
more vocal than most other girls’ quiet but
your prominence is nothing to hide
your existence is not an apology ready to be given,
your presence does not want to be covered
the way you suffocate yourself into a pair of jeans is
a talent unlike any other
or on hot summer days when skin comes out to
kiss itself between your graces
leaving marks as evidence
what some would call chub rub,
I call magic,
an inability to resist touching,
Thighs.
You never let clothing,
or temperature,
or weather come between you
you are passionate lover,
the proud I always strive to be
the unapologetic beauty I wish was all of me
you maintain the confidence I have to dig for to find within myself
you have so much potential built into the many layers of thick
I cannot tell you enough how important it is
Some say you save lives and
I would have to agree
but still
I know that there have been times when I have neglected you
moments where I have been blind in acknowledging your worth
It is not an easy feat to love the parts of yourself we are taught from
such an early age to hate
magazines have always said be small while
you have always aimed for big
trends tell you to grow in when
all you’ve ever wanted is to grow out and
expand into a galaxy built of freckles and skin,
you are human as human as gets
I have made you into a warzone on more than
one occassion and for that I am sorry
I am sorry
for more than one reason
I am sorry that this world has twisted your greatness into embarrassment
I am sorry that people have tried to make an apology out of your density
I am sorry that we live in a society that keeps telling you to shrink
I am sorry for all of the times I have wanted you to.
It has taken me years to be thankful for your holy,
you are the answer to my every prayer for health
you are living proof of survival,
Thighs.

This is my proclamation of appreciation
This is my asking forgiveness
I never meant to make you feel anything but needed
Thighs.
you were not made to be thin
you were not meant to be shy
you were built to be the loudest voice in every room
head turning, eye catching, without remorse
you are never silent
even when I am
and for that,
I love you.

you’ll call me babe when we’re together
and when we’re not you won’t call at all

I’ll let you in and you’ll show yourself out
step onto the mat, leave your mark then
leave for good

it’s the invitation that’s too easy
it’s the only caring in the moment
it’s the lack of resistance
it’s the welcome without the stay
it’s the goodbye without saying

you’ll call me beautiful and then you’ll never call me again
you’ll go on your way and I’ll watch you as you do

treating your arms like a rental, you can take my body for motel
it’s just right now, nothing permanent
one night or
maybe a second
pack your things, don’t turn around
I swear I’ll be fine
clean the room, mop the floor for evidence and
we wont look back after the first time

this beginning will become end
we’ll try to make us last
speaking of
soon and
later
but I don’t hold my breath-
I need that to survive this
I don’t wait
not for you to call
not for you to come again

I go out to dinner with a near stranger
we sit on the same side of the booth and
I think about how you’re the only one who
knows how much I hate that

I drink a drink with vodka and lime and
vodka and it almost makes me feel like
I know who I am when I’m with someone else

I don’t think of you often but last night I did
I remembered how your arms are the
only place where I am not self-conscious

I lie next to him on my balcony and
there are a lot of stars above us but
I’m the only one who notices

he is thinking about what I look like naked and
I’m counting how many hours of sleep
I will get if he leaves before 2

there is not an absence of feeling,
just a different kind than I’m used to
he touches my hand and I smile in
a way that doesn’t feel forced

I spend a day with a near stranger and realize
there is so much he does not know about me,
so much he doesn’t care to

like how I got my nose pierced at 14 or
the amount of time I spend in the mirror each morning
picking myself into something I can carry only semi-confidently

he only learns I can’t ride a bike when he asks if I want to
he has no idea that my blonde is shielding a deep brown or
when I got the freckle above my lip or
the inch long scar underneath my chin

he doesn’t care and that’s okay
when he leaves we say I miss you but
in a different way than I’m used to

it is not a pain swelling to be morphined
nor is it a pulling from the gut but instead
it is the ever temporary desire to fill the excess lonely

we say I miss you and still mean it but
it is not the missing that a body feels for
a phantom limb

I am with him now and probably will be again but
moving on doesn’t mean I don’t miss you
it only means I’m trying not to

just because I’m all right doesn’t mean
I don’t wonder how you are
I can still be happy with the existence of a quiet ache

but yes I do
miss you,
I will until the day I can sleep without having to count sheep
I will miss you even if there are no stars in the sky to remind me

I don’t think of you but last night I did
the moon was too bright and
I was the only one
who noticed

Maya Angelou once said,

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel”

but the thing is,
I wont forget
any of it
the open ears,
the listening,
the understanding that was so easily given
the way he congratulated me
the day I pulled poetry from my teeth

I wont forget how he made us feel,
We.
We
wont forget how he made
us feel

the many conversations that lived in his office are
now stuck in between the cracks in the walls
I imagine the dark of the theatre in mourning,
the curtains heavier,
more blue than usually
the black of the paint chipping backwards to
share the memories saying,
“Look,
It is all here underneath
your feet.”

if you have ever wondered what magic feels like
I can tell you with certainty that
it is a bear grasp from a tower of a man and
a laugh that can be defined more correctly as a chuckle
or most importantly, a smile
that comforted when
comfort was needed most

what is hardest
is this reality, the growing up that comes with losing
I am trying to comprehend the fact
that there are going to be students,
new ones,
who
will never know the magic that
is a Conway hug

we will be reminiscing, telling stories and
his name will be a past tense we
didn’t want to have to use
this is a poem I
never wanted to have to
write
about a man who carried so many hearts
inside his own
The same one who
reminded me and many others of our worth on
more than one occasion
This is about the man who was like a father when
my own was sick
This is about the man
who directed my first kiss
on the same stage where I learned how to be vulnerable

it is so easy to say
this isn’t fair
but then I picture him,
Arms crossed, replying
“Life isn’t fair”
And it isn’t, no,
But what a privilege it is
To have known him

Maya was wrong,
we wont forget what he said,
sitting in the center of the studio referencing someone’s house
“Treat it like your grandmother’s”

I wont forget what he did,
What he taught me,
Us.
We wont forget any of it,
I promise.

You say,
“I’m sorry for dragging you
into my life”
and I want to laugh the loudest
laugh possible for my lungs to emit, my
chest heaving with the irony, the
actuality that I was not dragged in forcefully
I stepped in willingly
to a door already closing

–

I hope she loves you as well as
I never got the chance to
I hope she speaks about
how full her heart is and how
easy it is to be with you
I hope this half ton of weight that
is finally off my chest makes
its way on to yours
I hope it’s not too much to carry but
then again I do

–

You say,
“I’m sorry, don’t hate me”
but my dear,
don’t you know that it is myself that
is always the target of disappointment?

–

I hope I’m washed out of your mouth by
the time you kiss hers
the sour, the whiskey, the passionate hatred,
the coming back again,
tonight the neighbors are having a party and
all I can think about is
us at 2 in the morning dancing
to the noise of each other

–

You say,
“I’m sorry, I’ve tried calling”
but we both know the lack of dial tone in your voice and
the absence of ring in mine says enough
I waited for an answer but
you hung up

–

I am certain that
I will spend the rest of my time in this city
searching for you in other people,
I am convinced that
I will need sleeping pills to forget
the music in your voice, your singing in my ears
has become nothing more than a repeated knocking

–

You say,
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
I say nothing but
in my head I say thank for
untying this knot we
got ourselves into
–

this is about a future that does not have you in it
one where I will pick at my food while you
pick at her shirt, pulling off clumps of cotton, laughing,
while I try to fill this empty stomach with anything but
sorrow and morosity

this is a poem about a song that isn’t for me
she’s a poet too,
how fitting

It always seems to be a similar path,
this one I go down.

strung along, hanging on to the back of jean pockets and
holding on to loose hands
clinging just gently enough to not be a bother,
this is how I love.

insecure
like a mid day shadow peeking out to make it’s presence known
quietly, but not too loud as to call attention,
this is how I love.

like a peach picked up at the market
promising sweet no matter how bruised
I care only to keep the tastebuds wanting,
this is how I love.

cautious of being too much,
constantly afraid that I am,
conscious of how easily I could be replaced,
this is how I love.

one sided like
skin meeting ink
you will be the tattoo gun and
I will be the swollen reminder
you will go unharmed while
I am marked permanent,
this is how I love.

twinge-yearning,
nail-pulling,
folding back the flesh.
this is how I love and
I know how this goes

you’ll look at other girls and
I’ll look at you the way the land looked
at rain after the first drought

you’ll give away glimpses of your smile to strangers and
I’ll give you all of me like it’s possible
to grow back complete

you’ll put your arms around hips that aren’t mine and
I’ll feel my own expand with envy

you’ll toss around the word love and
I’ll attempt to catch it every time it lands
near someone else’s feet

you’ll carry other names in your mouth while
yours will be the only one in mine, tucked
safely under the tongue

you’ll provide me reassurance without an asking for it and
I’ll pretend I don’t care about a thing in the world when
really it is you who has become my entire universe

you’ll play me the way that I’m used to and
I’ll laugh like it’s a game I never wanted to win anyway
because
I hate losing things I love

you’ll make me swell empty without intending to and
I’ll make you full with whatever I have to offer

you’ll inflict sadness unknowingly and
I’ll make you happy like it’s a method for survival,
like it’s my god damn purpose for existing

this is how I love.
not too tightly, just soft enough for your liking
here I am, programmed for the pleasing
I will hang on like a child’s fist does a dandelion
light enough to keep the stem intact
leaving room for your fingers to wrap around
praying you wont let go but
this is how I love and I know how it goes
how it will go
destined to meet the ground eventually after
being dragged along knowingly
I am
aware of how it is,
the same,
always
this is how I love for
I do not know any other way

You’ve made mistakes
Many, you know this.
Lived close enough to the edge to
feel the thrill of it but just far enough to
not fall off, you’re strategic.
But the paint on the walls you’ve been building up is
starting to chip and sometimes you forget to laugh at
things you’re supposed to
You don’t listen with detail often and
when you do, you forget to care.
Apathy is not pretty on you but
neither is desperation.
You remember when you wanted to
save yourself for the right one and
now it’s funny to think about how
your list is too long to keep track and
you can no longer count your reckless on your fingers
There’s a boy who brings you sunflowers and
before you can tell him he’s too good for you,
you hurt him,
unintentionally.
You could say sorry but there’s no correct apology for
I can’t love you.
There’s no believable way to say
I don’t deserve you or
don’t know how to or
Convince a hopeless romantic that
you’re really just pathetic.

You’re drifting off the road in your dreams but
The car is still intact the next morning
During the day you think about all of the sleep you didn’t get
You couldn’t get, you’re not sure when rest became
a chore instead of a reward.
Your lonely has turned into habit and
the smell of gasoline is more appealing than perfume
Sometimes you don’t appreciate things you should and
that’s just normal routine.
But you’re tired most days and it has become
a purposeful cycle of
Consciously messing up to fix it later,
the trouble keeps you busy,
The ache is constant but
it keeps you full.
You used to collect records that
now collect dust sitting in a room
in a house that no one really lives in,
Someone does, yes, but only quietly.
There is a doe-eyed girl who has
drowned in your search for passion,
You’re guilty for crimes you didn’t mean to
commit, mostly careless in intention and
you never meant to hurt anyone but yourself.
Your arms are wide but you’re shaking and
there are so many questions that
you’ll never have answered.

What happens when your fingers break
from reaching out too much?
What do you do when you’ve run out of
bones to crack?
Will your spine still stretch after you’ve bent backwards
so many times?
How can you possibly love someone
when you don’t know how to yourself?
You’re learning, you swear.
Trying to understand that appreciation
doesn’t directly translate to narcissm, that
You don’t always have to feel bad for
what isn’t your fault.
You’ve made mistakes,
many, you know this.
Move farther away from the cliff,
don’t hold your breath, this is life,
my dear,
you know this.
You’ll be okay,
You know this.

The smell of whiskey makes my teeth hurt and today I woke up gasping for breath
Missing you kind of feels like rubbing alcohol on every paper cut from the scraps left behind
Some days it is a hollow swelling but the majority feel more sunburn, easy to forget but sore when touched

I used to dream about waking up with you as a normal routine, instead there is only quiet
I hold my hands together when I sleep to fill the space of a bed too big
I find pieces everywhere, your hair on my pillow, your cologne on my sweater, your sock, just one, tucked into a drawer I didn’t know existed

I don’t think about you often but when I do it becomes a sinking
A hole jammed into the side of a ship that had just learned how to stay afloat
There is never enough time for me to save myself from drifting off and I give up

It is back to you, and the guilt washing on your face when you said this feels weird, lips building lies like the fixing of shelter after a storm
When another someone tells me how soft my skin is, I want to light it on fire to burn off your fingerprints,
to forget that you said the same so often

I want to call you and ask why you haven’t tried to reach me
I want to remind you that we live in the same city, big, enough distance apart to ignore
I want to pull your hands out of my hair and your breath off of my neck but I’m aware of the inexistence of both

I’m aware that now you have become nothing more than a figment of my imagination
Gone from reality but still alive in memory I do not try to erase
I’m not waiting for your return, I know you wont but I am waiting for the day my tastebuds don’t crave you
It will happen, sooner or later but
for now I still do

I think about how waking up
is an identical routine
after a restless night of shifting
The comforter meets the floor, there is
a single sock wrapped somewhere in the sheets
hair is tangled for a reason unknown
and everything in the bed somehow became a mess
This is how it is, always

I think about how not wanting to get up
usually follows the waking and
falling back asleep always seems like
a better option than getting out of bed
to face the world
but I do anyway, we do
anyway

But I think it would be easier,
this rise to consciousness,
if you were the alarm clock calling to a new day, if
your body were to lay parallel to mine and
the tossing meant I could catch you every time you turned
It would be a privilege to know your morning breath

It would be a privilege to forget your presence in sleep and then
wake to find you next to me

It would be a privilege to be yours the way it is
to watch the sun rise everyday while
knowing it will always set in the evening
there is comfort in predictability,
there is beauty in monotony,
and calm in knowing what will happen
tomorrow