Euphemisms

I think about euphemisms.

About how we soften things so they don’t bruise on the way out.

How we rename chaos into something polite.

And how we file grief under ‘growth’

Or heartbreak under ‘plight’.

I was watching a film called Closer,

Where “Daniel” talks about writing obituaries.

About how he never says dead,

He says, ‘passed away’

He says, ‘no longer with us’.

He dresses endings in better clothes.

And I think it's because truth is messy,

And because chaos doesn’t photograph well.

Even or especially when 

The truth must be told.

So we translate.

We call distance ‘space’

We call isolation ‘busy’

We call unfinished things ‘complicated’

I do this too.

I tell myself I’m fine,

When I’m really just functional.

I tell myself I’ve moved on,

When really I’ve learned how to carry it quietly.

The chaos lives in language first.

In the way we change our sentences before feelings.

In how we avoid naming what hurts,

Until it all becomes white noise.

This chaos shows up in half-formed thoughts,

In questions we never ask

In people who stay in your head

Long after they’ve left your life.

And then “Alice” asks what euphemism she is.

And he replies,

“Disarming”

And I think about that.

How we don’t need translation.

How we should be as we are,

No soft edges, no warnings,

And simply be the chaos.

Disarming