I’ll remember how I wanted to tell you everything
rummaging around in my head
I’ll remember the crumbs I gave you
and the tears that threatened to shed
I’ll remember how I locked it all away
and let you speak instead
-Mother & Daughter in the café
I am not a Princess
I am the Queen of all my days
and the King of all the time that is left
for I do not bow to Fools
or laugh at the Jester who impedes my way
I walk this day as one walks in grass
sunken feet into the dirt
green shards between my toes
and I know that I am home
This life is a dance
in a sea of knives
when it is easier to sting
than it is to be kind
I sit in the corner of my bedroom
knees clasped firmly against my chest
asking myself why I’m so afraid to be small
When I wander around the city
and see skyscrapers rise
I consider how small we all are
and wonder why we try so hard to be big
I don’t want to spend money
I want to spend time with you
playing games like they use to
in those movies
from the eighties
when a song and a hairstyle fixed everything
I want to drink wine and talk about the wind
how it feels against your face
I don’t want to spend money
I want to spend my life looking
around at all the places
on all the smiles that we made
There is a bravery that comes from being able to look at yourself in the mirror and see what the world has done to you and you, in turn, to the world. Too often people spend time pretending they’re perfect. They lie to their mirrors and tell their eyes that they’re ok. Eyes are the biggest liars in the world. They see only what they think you want to see but they do not show you what must be witnessed.
Witness the homeless man on the street corner without drugs you presume he takes.
Witness the children, starving on television screens and don’t convince yourself they’re actors in some Oscar winning scene.
Witness the lie of those whose mouths curve upwards, when you make a joke at their expense.
Remember that pain is not often witnessed, by indicators you have grown up to believe.
If you have nothing at all then you have nothing to lose.
This is the flawed philosophy I carry around like a tonne of bricks tied to my back. I don’t believe I willingly choose this state of thinking. Sometimes thoughts simply become you – a result of all your experiences.
Are we not the total sum of everything that made us? (or unmade us?)
I saw a picture last night of a young boy. His skin was practically touching bone and his eyes were deep black pools. It was as if no soul existed behind his face. Like it had been sucked away by circumstance.
We are all born into different circumstances.
I was born into a circumstance where food was given to me as comfort, and eyes were given to make me uncomfortable.
He was born into a circumstance where food was rarely given, and I’m sure that is more uncomfortable than the unhappiness I feel when I look into the mirror.
I think about food and what it’ll do to my hips.
For a long time I never truly considered the millions of souls dragging their hips along the dirt, gasping for breath.
I wonder about the tears they would shed if shown my local grocery store. I also wonder about the reflections I stop to stare at in every mirror of every store. How I examine every curve, every line, every fold.
And lastly, I think about how I never stop to consider, the beauty of a nourished soul.
White chocolate mocha,
cold shortbread with cream
and a brand new notebook
scribbling by the sea
There is a joy of sisters
who know both the Sun and the Moon of our soul
and the constellations of our mind
Who breathe the light that radiates from our eyes
and grieve with us the death of a smile
Who know the beauty of a teardrop
falling gently on a naked shoulder
The salty sting to bind them in
an embrace only felt by sculptures
moulded side by side