a life creative
This is a time of wonder, they tell me. This age. Not quite young and not quite old.
In this age, at this time, I wonder at the heart and just how much a heart can be shattered and how you still keep breathing. How one person can leave another person in the rain but have them suffer just as much shit rained on them from their past.
How do you keep surging on? How do you even survive?
I am not proud of events that have taken place in my past, how I have handled myself as a human being. I’ve kept myself muted, unable to say no to the wrong people, unable for some reason to speak up, to shout out that big, loud no. Empathy for the self non-existent. Empathy for the wrong folk at 100%.
Now I feel at a crossroads, still. I’m ever here, at some crossroad or another, wondering when the next outburst will be, wondering how the rains of the past will be falling today, or tomorrow. All shit, in any case. Sideways rain today. I left before I could lash out and hurt the wrong person again.
I am filled with fury, a fury channelled toward the wrong human beings, however. I should have lined up all those arseholes from my past, shooting range style, cut them all to pieces. Cut them down, cut them out. I thought I had, but they keep popping right on up. Carnival style.
And the shit rain keeps falling and the shit river keeps rising. Though I live now with a fire of love and a scorched heart, I’m going to drown in all my wrongs, daily, one by one as they’re drawn like teeth out of my soul, then dissected. It’s poisonous.
I am not used to this. Jealousy. Not mine. I’m not used to being loved so fiercely and fully. I’m not used to being loved, full-stop. I’m not used to seeing myself as beautiful. I have entertained a 42 year search for love, finding naked disappointment or pared-back sex, or both, in varying levels, lying to myself. Cheating myself out of a good and real life.
I don’t know how to conduct myself anymore. All things in life call for an energy and honesty. Honest I have been, only to be called liar. The energy, I have none of that any longer. I am the werewolf bride stripped bare, flayed, called schlampa and shit. Helping out the patriarchy, apparently. Many of we women can say the same: we stand up fight the patriarchy and we’re pushed back. We slide back down that muddy hill, because it’s just too damned hard, and then we’re called out on that. It’s a fight, always, always a fight.
This wondrous time is short and it’s running out. In the last month I’ve faced more than my share of 42 years of lying and hiding and running.
Time is running out. Love is work but it should not be this amount of pain. I’m tired of trying to make myself heard above all the noise dressed up as love.
I’m tired of being told who I should be and how dreadfully wrong and shit I’ve been.
Time to take that shower in clear water.
Time now for me.
Writer | Artist
Fatos e Curiosidades sobre a natureza e tecnologia
"per l' allegria il pianeta nostro è poco attrezzato. Bisogna strappare la gioia ai giorni futuri "
by Isabelle Warren
a resource for moving poetry
Linking collage work to the meaning of personal and universal symbols.
This is my adventurous story about buying, designing, and renovating homes in ITALY
Author ~ Mythologist ~ Historian ~ Guide