Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I wish I could control my feelings. Everyday is like a little hill and its up up up then down down down. One little thing -- like seeing an old note -- and then the head bells and asylum and the pills. Everything is a alive and super -- outsized and fleeting. Gargantuan mists. What is that? Too big to put your arms around it. And the fingers slip through.

I think of pain like a knotted rope. One hand over the other to touch taut rope or knotted rope. The rope is rough and prickly. It makes me cough.

"But you're so young..." I feel old and broken. And yet I know one day I'll look back, shake my head at my former self. "Fool!"

I imagine another version of myself -- someone like you -- rocking back and forth on her heels, confident and brutal -- "My back is yours. Fix me, doc."

For every knot there is a shadow self who knows just what to do, knows what we should have done. Paper dolls for every bone. Paper bones. Flutter, flicker, let go.

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is this real?