06 April 2017

A Fail to Kiss Is a Fail to Cope




I want to rediscover my younger self. The passion for dance and art. The trinkets. The unashamed love of horses and you know maybe dolphins and shit. The heady high that comes with staring at pictures of beautiful, bright, photoshopped people wearing beautiful clothes. Music playing constantly. Clipping out my favorite pictures of everything and sticking them to the wall. Doodling on something that no doubt had Lisa Frank on it and at least one decal of a winking cat.

I want to remember that I existed before and I have much more history than I thought I did.  I want to remember that I existed in my entirety before 2012.  I get so focused on trying to live now that I forget sometimes how easy it was to live then.

But, I also want a future of stability, animals, gardening, an office with bookshelves and canvases, a place to put my things where I know they will be safe so I can use them, look at them, touch them, wear them, create them. Where I can cook and bathe and sleep and raise my children. A place where I can be found, reliably.


I also want to get into a car and peel away every string that holds me in place like unsticking so many glued on threads from my skin.  Drop every responsibility, be secure in the idea that everything will be safe if I leave it alone, safe and happy and healthy and not let down.

Run, drive, wander.



Touch and feel and eat and sleep in a different place under a different tree in a different blanket in a different climate over and over until I belong to the earth like I should.  Until the ground and I are family.

With no deadline.

With nothing but love calling me everywhere.

I have somewhere to be.
I don't know where it is yet.
I think, maybe, it's too many places to be in at once.

I know who I want to be.  I know my heart is like dust that floats and spreads and dissolves.

I know the fever is both fear and urge.

I know I'll find peace in little moments as I go.

I need to get to May.
Lift my head out of the water and take a deep, desperate breath.

Until then

I can breathe the little bubbles of the bright moments that get me from second to second, day to day, night to night.

Center.  Margin.

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