Most days,
a blank page
feels like coming home.
But today,
it feels like
being lost in the grocery store,
trapped within the confines
of quotidian banality.
"What was I here to buy?"
I ask myself,
When what I really wanted to ask was,
"What am I here to create?"
I wanted better for myself
than dissociating in the cereal aisle.
I wanted better from myself, too.
Half of me stares, unfocused, at nothing in particular. I, her, we dissociate. Pleasantly warm, feeling nothing emotionally. Mentally, I remain in neutral. How good it feels to be nothing at all! Half of me flips rapidly through a rolodex of stories, half-baked daydreams. If only I could catch
And when I see you my heart crumbles to dust. For as lovely and healing as I am, you are as fearful and wounded. I am sad for you-- how painful must this be! I am sad for me, but I know that while I am deserving of love, this
I didn’t go to the party for this moment. I stayed home to sit by the window-- cat on my lap, writing by candlelight-- so that when the sky opened up, I would be there with the window open, to let the warm petrichor waft through. I skipped to
Who is she? This woman within, who I keep fossilized, buried under years of dirt in the sand that packs my soul. How could I let her become forgotten? Exploited, abandoned in man’s endless conquest. When did the rest of my being grow so dry? I once was a