I have always hated the Boston accent.
I think because a lot of people I don’t like have it.
I know the problem with hating local accents.
I get it.
But I think I’m allowed to hate the sound of my own voice
when I’m angry or drunk
and I drop my r’s.
my mother says
the boston accent
isn’t an accent, really,
but an attitude.
“come ahn, ked”
“pahk ya cah” and all that.
it’s angry, it’s drunk
just like me
when it comes out of my mouth.
i already feel gangly and too big
(though I’m only 5’2).
I already don’t like to be noticed in person.
I only like my words to be noticed
when they are printed
and handed over silently.
i want people to read my words
and hear their own voice
i want to be invisible.
i hate my accent.
“you don’t even have an accent.”
everybody has an accent.
even when i’m not drunk or angry
people at college knew where i was born.
i’ll never be free of this place.
my tongue remains a prisoner.
at least my fingers are free.
i know that i should get out of bed
but who’s keeping score, anyway?
who but I will know
if i spend today
like a day is a handful of coins
given in exchange for something else.
i shouldn’t have to do anything
but i should do something.
according to who?
well i guess, me.
i guess i’m the one who will be disappointed if i don’t
i will think to myself.
you’re wasting the day
the voice inside my head tells me.
is it wasted if i’m enjoying it?
is money used to buy candy wasted
a big tip in writing is to “take a step back” and wait a few days, weeks, even months before going over your first draft.
maybe the same is true for trauma
to forget it for awhile
to tuck it away in the folds of your grey matter
to bury it in the bottom of your sheets with chilly toes
and sit on it for a few days, weeks, even months
before going over it.
maybe you need to let it stew
let it sit
let it tumble around in your brain without your consciousness getting in the way
maybe you need to see it with different eyes
eyes more wise and steeled with time.
strengthened by distance.
maybe you need to forget a little
to be strong enough to step back into your pain again.
maybe that’s why i know my grandparents’ stories
but not my own.