My right arm just below my shoulder is pulsating off and on as though it is a separate being. For some reason, the occasional twitches and pulsations of my body are fascinating to me. I think it’s my nerves. Every few seconds comes the twitch, which lasts for a few more seconds. The pulsing is so fast, I can’t count how many times it pulsates. What a thrill.
Sometimes it’s my right eye, rapid like a bird beating her wings. Then I must capture it in the mirror or with my camera, my own private freak show. Fortunately, this twitching happens infrequent enough to be amusing to me and even calming. Look I’m still alive! There’s my brain misfiring again.
Starting in high school, I noticed in my left palm a vein that I could watch pulsate if I rested my hand just so on my desk. This must’ve seemed like a swell parlor trick to me because covertly watching my vein pulse also calmed me.
I twitch my nose also, but this is voluntary. But I’m so used to doing it that it’s more I have to consciously stop myself from doing it. It’s like twiddling your thumbs, except it’s my freaking nose. I also move my mouth too. Match.com here I come!
I thought my family found me,
the other day.
Nothing too dramatic,
just another friend request.
I have a thousand friends,
none who know me.
But this request.
This request had my bizarre surname:
“Son of the Butler” in old English.
“Son of a Bitch” it might as well mean.
Why after nine years,
a computer literate one looked me up?
Second cousin had an adult son die,
but they still have that other one.
No need for their dead cousin’s kid.
I used to think their anger at my dead mom
could only last so long.
I thought one Sunday
sitting in a righteous pew,
their pure minds would hit on me.
The request was a fake profile.
I deleted it almost in relief.
No need to suppress my politics,
or pretend to be normal.
Appalachian cousins don’t forget.
But maybe someday.
Can I get an oink for body positivity?