Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across Read online

  VOICE 13

  crawls inside herself. So much

  to forgive

  [LEAVES A TWENTY ON THE PILLOW. KISSES THE DOORFRAME, REMOVES LIPS]

  VOICE 14

  wash your hands of this [turns to audience, vomiting diamonds] “I’m a stupid woman, always swallowing myself like this”

  VOICE 15

  [laughs sarcastically] your heart is not a mirror

  VOICE 16

  [burns both hands, enters hell] your heart is not a mirror

  ENSEMBLE WEEPS

  this love is not for you,

  [CHARACTER IS PARALYZED IN SHEETS]

  VOICE 17

  she is knocking on the room next door

  VOICE 18

  [whispers to audience] is named Ella or Gwendolyn or another kind of storied princess, she just wants a window to jump out of

  VOICE 19

  VOICE 20

  [FADES TO BLACK, CRIMINALLY QUIET]

  Dear YouTube Comments

  Inspired by Lindy West

  what would most make you happy?

  what would most make you delight in your own skin?

  Have you ever received flowers from anyone?

  Ever?

  Is it hard to be so knife-like?

  My little sister told me that she buried

  a flower once after accidentally picking it.

  Can you imagine that kind of humanity?

  Or do you find yourself ripping

  the heads off daffodils and laughing?

  Did someone once cut out your heart with

  flippant hands and you forgot how to speak kindly?

  When you fell, did they press their boot

  against your chin and say

  “Suck it up, pansy”

  Did you stay that way for a while after that unkindness,

  powerless

  It hurts a lot less when you can’t see

  your own blood, doesn’t it

  when you close your eyes like a night shade,

  you can pretend the blade in your side

  is just a hiccup after pot roast

  The mind is a mother like that

  “kill yourself, you fat cow”

  “you deserved to be raped”

  oh daisy, oh lily, oh marigold

  There are so many of us

  “shut up hefer”

  “girls like her make me sick”

  Do you know how strange it is that any body

  has an opinion on any other body?

  Do you know that some people never find

  what they love most about themselves?

  That they spend their whole lives wishing

  they were someone else?

  Oh lilac, oh rosie

  we are all flowers with our heads off

  No one gave us a burial

  “maybe you should sew your mouth shut”

  Have you ever loved anyone so much,

  that you wanted to bring them flowers

  every

  precious

  morning?

  P.S. u are a sad and depressin fuk, too

  We Call These Creative Differences

  Talked Friday / your career / the album / not trying /

  to control / or upset you. But / frustrated / seriously /

  detrimental to the process. / conflicting / your

  management thinks / is the best way / successful

  record. / major-label / the process / commercial

  viability / Last record / achieved such little success /

  entirely opposite / how you expressed you / wrong

  place / formally / relieve you of your contract /

  yourself. Additionally, / indifference toward success

  / or a hit. unwillingness / and / not commercially

  successful / product / we have / artists / hit-makers. /

  you are trying to avoid / “Success” to us / millions /

  radio hits to follow / pop / ten times the amount / last

  year / I would have felt / some reassurance. I respect

  / The bottom line / you seem to not / take advantage

  / expressed no desire / writing the album yourself /

  not a path / none of us are comfortable / with you /

  The truth is / you have not had a hit / you / desperately

  need one. / financially / terrible /

  commissions / frustrating / and your career / a

  downward slope. The momentum / gone. No desire /

  to take outside songs and you / caused this / every

  mainstream booker / passed on / no shows / Because

  the melancholic mood of your set / on the decline.

  Star potential / no one really knows / “Same Love” /

  three years ago. / We believe / will not yield /

  Getting a hit that excites us / you refuse / co-writing

  you want to be “unique” / major label

  become / established / manager / extremely powerful

  you cannot have / life. Not trying / blindside /

  consider what I have said.

  Thanks,

  Foreign Feeling of Beauty

  to Katie Pellegrino, Debora Spencer, Autumn de Wilde, Shervin Lainez, Mindi Gilyeat Skidds, and anyone who’s ever fluffed my hair

  Remember when you took your senior photos

  And you felt like a model,

  And how the photographer encouraged you

  and occasionally murmured,

  “stunning.”

  You understood how people could do that for a living

  wear new clothes and hear “stunning” over and over again

  “stunning”

  and when you cried at how sublime

  it was to be called stunning

  and what a strange feeling that was

  and how that foreign feeling of beauty

  was kind of lonely, wasn’t it?

  That you never felt that way before? In your whole life?

  looking at the spread of negatives on the kitchen table

  you didn’t want to ruin them with your small tears

  Remember after the hair salon

  When you stood in front of the mirror

  in sheer disbelief while

  Mindi fluffed your hair

  this way and that

  and how it was a little bit sad that someone

  thumbing their fingers through your

  hair felt like a halo,

  felt wanted

  are there people that exist that feel like that all the time?

  or does everyone cry when they’ve been ugly for so long

  and hear “stunning”

  How do I say that when I am alone and

  feel so very heavy

  If I Were an Artist,

  I Would Paint You Joyful

  i would paint laughing and i would paint a song

  but the art is contorted, even in my mind.

  it isn’t what i told the brush to do. hey canvas,

  hey red slop. my wrist is ugly & uncomfortable

  here you are in my room, here you are crying

  here you are crying about my leaving

  here i am ruthless and gentle and wrong

  i smear an orange star over your mouth

  you are crying onstage. if i hate myself

  enough, i can call it kindness

  no, no look! a sunflower instead

  a meadow filled with babies

  the babies are dressed as sunflowers!

  what joy! do you hear the music?

  i can hear you weeping into the microphone

  i am not an artist. it isn’t beautiful.

  I scratch out the meadow with my fingernail.

  each stroke, tiny evil truths.

  Morning Blessing, May 19th.

  for Paige

  I.

  how could I deserve

  this goodness, this

  morning, O

  I wish it were a whale,

  s
o I may see

  love,

  heaven. sweat. real

  stupid, ridiculous

  music in my body—

  I only care

  if it’s you

  at the end of the aisle/

  the tourniquet

  you you you you you

  I am a ready and able

  offering,

  my love. I want the

  ache & ghost and

  kiss, this life with you.

  synthesis of stars,

  you, my forever heart,

  the brilliantly obvious

  angel calling to me

  in the evening—

  god I want to wake up

  every morning,

  and again after that.

  Bless you

  hands? to kiss all

  unwavering beauty. O

  —is it god? bless this.

  bless it fiercely & blue

  this moment of royal

  this weight of

  love, the infinite

  love, this welcome

  village

  of dancing

  & me

  you carry the stars

  on my charred heart

  & me & us & lucky—

  paradise

  listen. time is a fool

  now & then & forever

  oh bless this

  present ocean. holy

  shameless love. Bless

  the selves I was before

  now. Bless that hell

  again. that hell

  is part of my history.

  with you,

  night & moon & kiss.

  everything is so alive.

  Bless you again

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my editor, Kate Farrell, for being a champion of this book. I am grateful for your thoughtfulness and positivity and enthusiasm for such a depressing book of poems. I would also like to thank everyone at Macmillan, Henry Holt, and Feiwel & Friends for believing in my book and letting me be the unicorn queen of my manuscript. I feel so lucky to have a team this supportive of my voice and writing.

  I would also like to thank Sara Brickman, who saved this book. Sara painstakingly line edited these poems and gave such thoughtful, brilliant critiques that have forever impacted my writing. So grateful for you and your spirit and your perfect laugh.

  I would like to thank Marc Kaplan for inviting me to perform at his daughter’s school fundraiser, where I read some poems, and was introduced to Kate from Henry Holt. Divinity is a good friend.

  So are you, Marc.

  I do not do any of this alone and have a team of wonderful people who deserve recognition for their support, energy, and vision. Thank you Nadia Schuessler, Simon Green and everyone at CAA, Alyssa Fasolino, Kat Eves, Gihan Salem, Brian Giggey, Amy Gravesande, Tim Mendonsa, Carole Kinzel, Shervin Lainez, and Micaela Lattanzio.

  Thank you to my family: Mom, Anne, Hannah, Kat, Catie, Jer, Amy. As mom said once, you are all wonderbeings with skin on. Thanks for letting me be a true weirdo.

  Thank you to everyone I have loved, kissed, crushed on, sent unsolicited love poems to. Thank you to everyone who has broken my heart. I don’t know if that broken heart part made me a better person, but it did make me a better writer.

  Paige, you are my favorite chapter of this story. I am the luckiest.

  Tim, you are my friendship hotdog. Thank you for letting my cry at you for the last ten years. Thank you for keeping me alive on the nights I felt myself drowning in the enormity of shame.

  Kristen, thank you for always being in my corner.

  Nadia, I hope we get to laugh and drink wine on the porch until we die.

  Julien, you are a gift to the world. I am grateful for your friendship.

  Mal, thank you for seeing me when I felt so contorted by heartache. I hope to always know you.

  Hollis and Rose, where would I be without you? Who would I be? Thank you.

  Sara Ramirez, it is an honor to know you. Thanks for letting my cry on the phone at you. Here’s to more nights of self-reflection, honesty, cocktails, and lamenting about the utter fuckery of love.

  Cutrone, praise the divine goddess for you and your grace, power, and wisdom. I’d happily start a fight in a restaurant for you any day if it means smashing the patriarchy with you and Ava.

  Thank you to Youth Speaks, Brave New Voices, Winter Tangerine, Arts Corps, and The Seattle Poetry Slam.

  This would be the dumbest page of acknowledgments if I didn’t mention the poets I love, the poets that are friends, the poets that make me weep, the poets that have encouraged me to grow. There’s a lot of them. Look every single one of them up. Buy their work:

  Shira Erlichman, Tara Hardy, Angel Nafis, Ebo Barton, Safia Elhillo, Brian Ellis, Rose McAleese, Rachel McKibbens, Rudy Francisco, Lauren Zuniga, Jon Sands, Buddy Wakefield, Anis Mojgani, Ada Limon, Aracelis Girmay, Morgan Parker, Hera Lindsay Bird, Ashley Lumpkin, Jesse Parent, Megan Falley, Richard Siken, Danez Smith, Franny Choi, Camonghne Felix, Nikkita Oliver, Maddy Clifford, Hollis Wong-Wear, Rachel Wiley, Chris Zweigle, Olivia Gatwood, Kim Selling, Jayy Dodd, Nina Powles, William Nu’utupu Giles, Jamaica Osorio, Muggs Fogarty, Denice Frohman, Doc Luben, Sarah Maria Medina, Sierra DeMulder, Andrea Gibson, Sarah Kay, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, Janae Johnson, Amber Tamblyn, Brit Shostak, Roma Raye, Lana Ward, Donte Johnson, Casey Tonnelly, Matt Blesse, Ken Arkind, Mindy Nettifee, Denise Jolly, Amy Everhart, Alaka‘i Kotrys, Jovan Mays, Robyn Bateman, Imani Sims, Robert Lashley, Shaun August, Clare Elliot, Beau Sia, Jodie Knowles, Austin Mansell, Christian Drake, Justice Ameer Gaines, Mike McGee, Roberto Carlos Ascalon, Gibson Collins, Robin Park, Erich Haygun, Jocelyn Ng, George Watsky, Matt Gano, Danny Sherrard, Brianna Albers, Samantha Peterson, El Dia, Ittai Wong, Elaina Ellis, Chrysanthemum Tran, Stephen Meads, Eirean Bradley, Mud Howard, Karen Finneyfrock, Sam Sax, Miles Walser, Hieu Minh Nguyen, Elizabeth Acevedo, Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, Tu Anh Phan, Jae Carroll, Chris Carroll, Joy Harjo, Jeanann Verlee, Lucille Clifton, Aziza Barnes, Teresa Siagatonu, Eve Ewing, Caroline Harvey, Simone Beaubien, Mahogany L. Browne, Amber Flame, Troy Osaki, Sean Patrick Mulroy, Yasmin Belkhyr, Natasha T. Miller, Kirya Traber, Aaron Samuels, George Yamazawa, Jamila Woods, Porsha Olayiwola, Lydia Havens, Hanif Abdurraqib, Dominique Christina, Dåkot-ta Alcantara-Camacho, Jasmine Mans, Ronnie Rain, Ashlee Haze, Kaveh Akbar, Emily Rose, Patricia Lockwood, and Jack McCarthy, who beat me in my very first slam.

  About the Author

  Mary Lambert is a multifaceted artist—a singer, songwriter, musician, and poet. Along with Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, she is the talent behind the incredible Grammy-nominated single “Same Love.” A mental health advocate and LGBTQ activist, Mary lives in Seattle, Washington. Visit marylambertsings.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  ONE

  my body is terrifying,

  idaho is a giant shithole,

  and other wholesome stories

  TWO

  the good things are still flawed

  and

  i think i got intestinal problems because farting is really hard to do when

  you’re in bed with a hot person

  THREE

  Congratulations, you are bipolar

  FOUR

  Bless this whole shit show

  FIVE

  Started from the bottom,

  now I can pay my bar tab

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary Lambert

  Lyrics from
“Smoke Signals” by Phoebe Bridgers reprinted by permission of Phoebe Bridgers and Marshall Vore, published by Whatever Music (ASCAP), administered by Kobalt/Pizza Money Music (ASCAP).

  A Feiwel and Friends Book

  An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

  fiercereads.com

  All rights reserved.

  Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018936439

  Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at [email protected].

  First paperback edition 2018

  eBook edition October 2018

  eISBN 9781250195883