You’re off my neck, off my wall. The poster is purely aesthetic and now means nothing. Do you want to take more? Like a game of tearing down? You’re winning of course, because you are the Great. I am helpless, and nothing in comparison. I already knew that, but I guess the reenforcing was too fun to resist. Was it? Is it? Is there more? I guess I can’t ask though, because questioning in a sin. Right?
Dimmed- the lights and my heart,
when clouds overstay their cautious welcome.
But upon meeting you, the dark presented
a mask, wrapped just for me.
It came with the peace of kind surrender, I hastily put it on.
Eyes closed and I felt arms tight across
my very nervous shoulders.
I heard our whispers of moving forward, and fast a smile that didn’t stop.
Its sincerity ardently foreign, because its been too long a while
The good feeling of coming home
to somewhere new but so much brighter.
What I needed- to be quiet, to be steady in being enough
(usually seen as weak, but)
You assured no shame, just your love
whether deep or shallow, strong or small
You will kiss my head till it gently calms,
till I reach where I’m real and I’m my own (and always truly yours).
Drops on the windows
Wet stones in the rain
Dampened skin and cheeks
Leaking down the lashes
Gulping stitches and hot tea
Heavy falling of my ribs
Its ridiculous and maddening that it is in my own home that I feel the smallest and most insignificant. Can anyone house me for the night?
What I imagine as magic now has turned dark, mostly a visual swirl of smoky escape. I wish I had a meter or an emotional compass to show others that the resentment I live with and feel is overflowing onto the routine every days of my life. That what I know is good has lost its positivity and colour. I am aware and conscious of this change but it lives in my heart, in my tight chest and I can’t seem to put it forward to be shared with or understood. I keep wishing for a meter that doesn’t exist; so it can tell others for me and speak for me with its pointer on different levels. Then maybe I can not give answers that words make absurd. Then maybe I don’t cry on my own. Then maybe, I can go.
I used to watch this every single day as a kid, on a tape labeled (by my mum) BB. Funny though, I watched it every day but only remember this part and nothing after. Susan Egan is lovely!
I would make a good assassin, considering I already have a list.