Clara McGowan

Poet // Actor // Feminist

[clara-mcgowan]

The first time a boy wishes you smaller Is the first time you skip dinner Your mother congratulates your emptiness, Mistakes it for willpower.

The boy touches you hungry Eats you in one bite Drinks from the collarbone you carved out for him, In return, he feeds you compliments It’s all you eat for days.

You learn the way it feels to be empty Learn how to get rid of all the soft You go to bed with all your clothes on Even though it’s summer Like to wake up sweating, Feeling like you purged in your sleep.

What are you willing to give up to be small? A home? A love? Is all this hurt worth it? Are you?

Small // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

The remembering is a heartbreak A shallow grave you dug with your own two hands Dirt underneath fingernails The only proof it happened

When the pain comes The only thing you know how to do is grasp at your own neck In trying to kill all the hurt You make more hurt

How strange to have your story live in another’s mouth The pillow tells you how it happened The bathtub asks for hotter water You forget which parts of your home still trust you, You wonder what is still hiding under your covers, Sleeping until you are ready to remember.

Sometimes, the body is a betrayal. Sometimes, you are the body. You keep telling yourself it wasn’t real. You keep telling yourself it wasn’t your fault. 

What it feels like to stop lying to yourself // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

God, when I met you, I was too young ask questions. Dazzled by your brightness, Star peeling away from sky, I thought if I sat on my father’s shoulders-- Tiny hands stretching into empty nothing-- I would reach you. I would know what you felt like, I swore I knew what you felt like.

God, I am older now, A sort of in between girl, Not yet grown but too old for father’s shoulders, And I have forgotten why I loved you at all. I can’t see you anymore. Squinting towards heaven, I see no stars. Only an expansive blackness, A sort of vague emptiness. Sometimes I still listen for your voice, I built an altar out of my future And sacrificed my love for you, Why am I still so lonely?

God, I am standing on top of the cliff you built for us, I want to believe when I jump, you will catch me. I hear sea kiss shore below me, I hear wind shaking trees, I do not hear you. My feet stay planted. I can’t do it. I can’t move.

On Having Faith // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

I am trying to write a poem about Pluto And I can’t stop thinking about when you changed your mind. When we sat on your back porch And I stared at my feet So I could pretend I was rooted in something bigger than myself, Pretend I was not floating billions of miles away from you, You told me there had been a mistake. You told me you couldn’t trust a thing you couldn’t see, We were not our own planet.

That was the day I broke my own heart, Exploding like a star— You used to watch me while I slept, Make wishes on me before the sun crept up, You didn’t know I was a false promise. You didn’t know I had already vanished.

There is no sound in space. I know that is not an excuse For all the times I could have said I’m sorry

And didn’t.

An Apology // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

Today I welcomed you back into my home like an old friend. I hadn’t heard from you in a while and I recognized your persistent knocking And though it should have terrified me The familiarity of your rhythm was so comforting, I couldn’t help but let you in.

You have painted me into a picture of an unrecognizable girl And now she lives in my mirror. She is small and afraid But faster than me, And I am trying to escape the both of you. Sometimes though, I realize that I am running Away from you and towards you all at once. I hate you, but I know you. At least I know you.

Whenever you visit the sunshine on my skin Doesn’t feel like anything at all. It’s like I’m translucent, Like you took everything inside me and scooped it out. I’m hollow with you, But at least when you’re around I don’t have to carry my own weight. I can blame the emptiness on something outside of myself-- It’s not my fault.

I have to stop using you as an excuse. You are a dirty word, But you are also a warm blanket. I can wrap you around myself when things get too scary, And even though sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in you I know that at the end of the day I’ll remember how to swim. I know I’ll make it out alive And I can use you to justify the ache in my lungs— I just swallowed too much water. But I’m okay.

I am alone, for the first time in a long time, And the empty space next to me in my bed Is starting to feel like a hole filled with the things I never wanted to become And I am falling into it. It is easier to let myself go than to admit I am worth more than everything at the bottom It is easier to let you make my mistakes for me Than to change my life on my own. But God, I am done letting you push me around.

So this is me saying thanks, but no thanks. You don’t have to drop by anymore, Please don’t call to see how I’m doing. I will learn how to stand on my own two feet, And I will see you around, But you can’t make me into someone I don’t want to be anymore. I am stronger than that. I am stronger than you.

You are sucking me dry and I am letting you Or it is hard to let go and rebuild from nothing Or an open letter to my anxiety // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

1. I carved a hole in a boy who didn’t know how to love anyone beside himself. I lived there until I needed a change of scenery and left him empty. I don’t know if I like the view from here, and I don’t know where he is now.

2. I promised him the mountains and left him for the flatlands. I was too tired to keep walking uphill. He begged me to crawl into his arms, to let him hold the weight of me on his shoulders and tread upwards, towards everything he wanted for us, and I didn’t say anything.  

3. Everyone told me not to go there. I didn’t want him, I wanted a body, but I insisted he was necessary. I kept trying to write love poems for him to prove this to myself, but so far, these are the only words I have been able to find.

4. She was trying to kill everything inside herself. I held her in my hands to keep her from falling onto her own blade and I didn’t drop her on purpose, but that doesn’t mean anything now. Last week I recognized her outline in a crowd of happy people and I wanted to tell her she is still lovely. I didn’t, though. I can’t keep pretending that I can talk to ghosts.  

5. I told him about the monster living under my skin and he listened. He never stopped listening, even when I forgot how to speak. He still checks in, But the only word I know how to say to him is “sorry”. You can’t build a home on “I’m sorry’s”.

6. I was trying to swim to the bottom of the ocean and he told me to stay ashore. I told him to trust me, there was so much under the surface that I still needed to see. “Silly girl”, he said. “Don’t you know you can’t breathe underwater?” I’m not okay. He is. I loved him as much as I possibly could.

Thoughts About People I Used to Know // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

When the weight of my father’s past Becomes too heavy for him to carry on his own, She calls me to break the news. I am in a church when her voice pulls me off of pew, Knees press to floor, Hands press to heart, Begging her to take it all back, I am sitting in the house of God And I feel as if he is not home.

The next time I see my father He has grown a beard. I’m not sure what he is trying to cover up anymore. He cries when he hugs me, But he will not look me in the eye. We do not know what to say other than I love you. He is sorry. I love him. We are proud. He loves me.

We have searched through our home, Purging it, Checking under blankets and in closets, Disposing of any evidence of what we almost became. We do not speak of this. We love And we are silent.

Things we don’t talk about // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

One Wake up. Your body will feel heavy with the weight of his leaving, Lift it anyway. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, Let your feet feel the floor beneath you. Remind yourself it is still there. It never left. Make your own coffee, Laugh at yourself when you forget to add the water. Try again. Do it until your coffee tastes like the day you want to have. Be proud that you made it by yourself.

Two Take a walk, Look at every stranger you pass on the street, Remind yourself you are not alone. Go to bookstores, Remember other people have stories too. Keep walking, until you’ve gotten as far away from his memory as you can, And when you feel yourself sprinting backwards Trap yourself in the love that is still around you. Let your brother call you twice a day just to say hello, Fall asleep in your best friend’s lap, Remember that his hands are not the only hands that can hold you. Everyone has hands, even you. Touch every part of yourself and learn how to make your body become an ocean. You will turn to waves, Learn how to do it all by yourself You are your own current, You are your own crash.

Three Cry. Cry again and again Because there is nothing wrong with trying to understand. Do not let anyone tell you to get over it, As if love were some tangible thing you can get over, As if it were a mountain to be climbed, Call that mountain Volcano Erupting, Dare them to try to make it all the way up and over Without getting burned.

Four Rebuild. When you’ve finished Love Actually for the third time And you’re out of chocolate ice cream, Use the fire he lit to burn down the box he put you in. His paper walls could never hold an ocean. Explore your own sea, Learn everything you possibly can. Buy yourself new hiking boots and Keep climbing mountains. It will be hard, but it will be worth it. Sacrifice your ankles, Let them blister. With time, they will heal. With time, so will you.

A Lesson in Being OK After the Door Closes // Clara McGowan

[clara-mcgowan]

it is evening and she watches him leave her like sunset. she peaks out of curtains, chin lifted, taking in the last of him as he disappears, this is expected. he smiles over his shoulder, a promise. “go to sleep. i’ll see you in the morning.”

she wonders if the sky would look different without him, if he burnt out somewhere between their two front doors, what would be left in the wake of his vanishing? she knows she cannot make him stay. she knows to hold would be to hurt, which is to say he can take as much as he can give. she wonders if it would be worth it.

when she thinks of the list of all the things he can bring life to, she does not see her own name. some days, she sees nothing but her own name. she has gotten too close, a scorching kind of love,  it is too much. she has grown too dependent on his certainty, on his cyclical return, what would happen if this time he did not come back? could she see love in the dark? would it even be love at all?

nights are hardest // clara mcgowan