[ROCK] The Revivalists – “Bulletproof”

[ROCK] The Revivalists – “Bulletproof”

[ROCK] The Revivalists – “Bulletproof”



Part of me was home, the other half was gone

I can’t feel the pain when I’m lying all alone


Gone where? I don’t know. It happens like that some times. Part of me just kind of drifts off… It’s not a painful thing, or even a sad one, I think some times you just need a separation, a distance of sorts. Lying there still, peaceful, aware of the cool cotton brushing my legs. That slow sliding feeling when a cover begins to slowly slip off, a cotton waterfall streams down grazing my thighs, knees, calves, hanging for a moment as it reaches my ankle. I bend to retrieve my cotton protector. Without it I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am. My skin puckers slightly, hairs stand a little more erect from the slight drop in temperature and increase of air. The fan blades turn above, their gentle whirring reminding me of the motion around me, even as I lay still. I flash back to all the other times, places, that I’ve been in that pose. Blankets strewn, exposed but, peaceful, looking up, watching the fan blades turn. Some memories are better than others.

I was breaking down 

She was snorting cocaine – in my bed 

There we were partially dressed, partially towel clad. Some horribly stereotypical music blared in the background from an iPod dock. I sat cross-legged on the floor applying coats of mascara. She lay in my bed. The cloud, it had so regally been dubbed. The perfect haven, puffy and white, cool and soft, but then warm and comforting. It was a place that held so much pleasure, ecstasy, experimentation, pain, sadness, and some regret. But in that moment, we were on a high. Frantic and giddy with unbridled energy coursing through our veins. God how I love her. She is always a good memory. The fan blades continue to turn and as they do the memory fades, and shifts into another…

Somehow I know it’s going to be alright 

Something came to me in the wind last night 

It’s amazing how much clarity can come, lying there alone. Protected by mounds of tangled feather down, piled up in some places and crushed underneath the weight of limbs in others. There’s no judgment, no expectation, no questioning. The mind wanders and you let it, trusting the meandering path it takes to eventually lead to some conclusion or revelation. And it does. I look to the place where another body usually lays but the space is empty now. I fill it with my own body. Stretching, sprawling, reaching to the corners with finger tips and toes. I consume the space. This is how it needs to be for now. Stray hairs dance across my face. I lick my lips to feel the added coolness of the soft wind on them. The time has come.

Get out your bulletproof vest 

We’re going to make it now 

We’re going to make it out 

You laid there and said it would take a miracle to save us. Bang. The shot that hit its target – an unprotected heart. The back that lay turned to me – the heart that faced away. Bang. I wasn’t sure when the change took place, the change from haven to war zone, but the evidence was undeniable. So I had a choice. I was done with the fight. This was no longer a battle that served me. It never really had but it takes time to come to terms with surrender. Realizing that walking away is not defeat but in fact, a victory of your own making. That realization, that conviction in yourself, that becomes your new haven – your new protector.

So here I am, fading in and out of my pillowy surroundings. My fingers trace constellations of freckles that cover my legs, my arms, my chest and stomach. I lay there uncovered, unafraid… free. The corners of my mouth begin to pull, ever so slightly reaching back towards my ears. A smile. Realization of where I am. The weight of that bulletproof vest finally gone, no longer needed. An unprotected heart is a scary thing but the weight of walking around with an armored one is too much to bear. There’s something to be said for self discovery. Other hands have been where mine now lay, dedicating tracing, teasing, but it’s not the same. There’s an awareness that comes with skin to skin contact. There’s an awakening that comes from your skin on your skin. I turn my face, press my cheek into the smooth brushed cotton. I feel my eyelashes as they comb over the surface. I made it out. I am here. I am becoming who I want to be.



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