.
Waiting in line, waiting to pay for something I can’t afford. Buried in the depts of my purse. Sitting on the kitchen table. The weight.
Every consequence I anticipated. But not doubt. I’m faltering. Is that what peace of mind costs?
Should I give in, should I surrender, should I brush off the alarms, a tinnitus without prozac. Acceptance.
I am what I wanted to become yet the consequences of my changes are bringing back the outlines to the surface. I pressed too hard on the pencil. I can still see. No matter what.
And the pulls, and the pushes, and the hooks. My skin rips, but does not shed. I can see my bones.
As naked as I want to be, disguises cling to my fingers. I have made no promises. Put forth only my hunger.
The weight. In my purse. On the table. No one is looking. But I see.
.
How ould one “word it” after such clarity. Reality sucks!
“… I pressed too hard on the pencil…”
Wow!
You have a way with words. You should go knock on some “Maisons d’éditions” doors!
p.s. And I’m not saying that to flatter your ego. I mean it. Simply.
I’ve been telling her this for a while now.
thanks guys. I’m already published… here 🙂
and the knowledge that you can relate to and find meaning in what you read here is reward enough.
but thank you very much. now I’ll get back to work… nothing better to deflate one’s ego :p
You must be one of those ‘naturals’ eh Swan! Another home run.
Cheeers
Glenn
What’s in your purse? Did you shoplift?
weta: thank you! no, it’s not a baseball in my purse :p
stephaine: I wish it was that exciting!