you know what’s sort of fascinating. the word “feelings”. i think about this a lot. about how it comes as sort of a mocking idea, a shadow of reality. oh, did i hurt your feelings?
men, of course, don’t have these things. these dirty moths that bang around inside of heads, these girly feelings, these gay feelings, these not-cool-bro feelings. men are drinking a beer and watching tv and not traumatized by anything, not even her and her hair like a noose. when they want to crack open and tell their best friend that they are a million mirrors, all reflecting empty: instead they say nothing. they turn angry. angry is not a feeling. angry is a better place to be, the top of the roller coaster. nobody says you’re a fuck up if you’re angry. it’s sort of brave. at the bottom, because you come down, eventually, we all do, you wake up and people ask. what happened to you. is all this because of your feelings?
women, of course, are only these terrible creatures. ruled by it like werewolves. howling and sad and animalistic, chewed up by them. sobbing as a way to escape, because nobody knows how to handle feelings. this make us weak, flimsy, a bed to lie down on but not sleep, you’ll catch feelings. when it is a bad day, when it is a bad life, when we are complaining, it is because of our feelings. this is how we turn mouse-quiet too, learn to mask anger lest it be mistaken for that-time-of-the-month feelings. we cry over our best friend but we don’t cry in a funeral, unsure how to look strong and sensitive, hating ourselves at seven for crying in front of the neighbor, baby feelings, loving ourselves at twenty for holding it in when he sneers oh, does misogyny trigger your feelings? hating ourselves again when we feel a little colored out of the lines, holding our passion in like a breath, quietly sifting crazy feelings that maybe aren’t so crazy to begin with.
feelings. feminine connotations. impolite in proper society. when they ask how you’re feeling, you say “fine.” don’t cry, it will spoil the cake. don’t be so whiny, it won’t happen anyway. don’t feel, it’s not your place.
how to win an argument is easy. “oh, i’m sorry, did i hurt your feelings?” a spat word. a word that drips with venom, a word you shove the plate away with, no thanks i’m not hungry. empty of them. feeling is being in contact with the world, being stroked by it, having things get into skin and lips and behind eyes. strength is the opposite; the unsoft, the untouchable, the ethereal above-ness, no wound can utter the name of you.
i’m in my feelings. yeah, i have feelings for you. open word. gaping. an already-forming bruise.