journal

and I am all these things…
a hall of mirrors, or a silent beast moving through the black night, a tangle, a spinning top, an empty space, a flight downstairs, a gypsy’s kiss, the unthreaded needle, untrodden snow, whispering, chatter, a pair of closed eyes, simple rest, wretched prayer, tumbling, tattered, born anew, pretty girl, small boy-woman, two shoes in the hallway, wrinkled brow, belly-ache, song, dream, failing will, shocking, true, terrible, false, little and soaring, scorching all the pathways, brave, a picture in your mind, blessed, cursed, holding a blanket, naked, tossed around, asleep, sparkling, dazed, drowning, helping, bewitched, summer in my veins, filled with dread, steeped in sorrow, red, flame red…white like the devil’s kiss…

I am you. I am nothing you think I am. I wear scarves and I cry from my stomach when I lose the ones I love. Charming, fumbling, alive, driven, silly, cowardly, blaming, idiotic. I don’t remember colours or directions. I don’t notice moved furniture. I like soup and old films because they remind me of when I was little and watched them with Mum. I try to regret nothing. I probably regret a lot. I resent people. I can be scary. I generally feel inadequate in the world. I always thought I’d fallen from a far off planet. I used to run in the rain. I wish I could drive. I feel the loss of my mother, of what she was. I adapt and like to hear her laugh. I love dancing. Most of all I want to sing songs that have burst from beyond. I am an insomniac in temperament, born with fear. I dislike loud people. I wish I could drink Earl Grey tea all day long. The sight of cakes makes me light up like a Christmas tree. I am touched by the erotic. I hate logical description. I feel things a lot. I dwell on details of horror in the world. I am obsessive. I fall, fall, fall, I am full of blood and yearning. I mourn the loss of the romantic dream and I will never give in to the crippling numbness that sometimes beckons me… I try…try again...lose...win… and I am all these things…