spinning
won't stop
spinninghurts
and I am
overwhelmed
stuck
foundering
flailing
failing
at
E V - E R - Y - T H I N G
too big
too small
too hot
too scared
too much
not enough
out of time
out of place
out
of
touch
touch
touch
can't
touch
cannot
stay
can't go
anywhere
elsewhere
is there
nowhere, no
somewhere
far
farfar
far awayfrom
w h o
from
w h a t
from
w h e n
from
me, from
hell
on earth
land
sea
sky
space
time
memory
mind
Nothing
is gone
it's never
gone
it
changes maybe
takes a
different shape but
it's still there
it's there
forever
even if it looks like
it's
rottingit's just changing shape and
it will never
go
away.
----------
(Bring to this
what you will, I
cannot tell you
what to feel.)
Familiar, intimate thoughts
ReplyDeleteDo you read (in my head)
or your own, alone?
As my husband said to me, "Either you must keep moving to new houses...or learn how to lock your doors."
Margins, responsibilities, control, effort, intensity; still learning where I fit.
Where do you?
Attentive,
CiM
(((hugs)))
ReplyDeleteI turn this over and over and I'm not sure. Hurt and being overwhelmed and failing, failing, failing (I'm there too) but with . . . a still, cool core? A peace. Something changing and transforming. That looks like it might be rotten-ness (sometimes I feel like I am veritably oozing) but is, actually, something in transition?
ReplyDeleteBut still can't stay, can't go. When things don't leave, that can be a blessing and it can be a curse?
This piece is like one of those drawings of a face where, when you flip the paper round, you see a different face? I'm sure those must have a name.
Ahh, CW, this added layer from you..."like one of those drawings of a face where, when you flip the paper round, you see a different face? I'm sure those must have a name."
DeleteYou magnify and multiply what can be seen.
As usual, I love you for it.
CiM
She really has got it spot on.
DeleteI sincerely believe that nothing, once created, is ever truly gone -- things only change shape, constantly, whether quick or slow.
When I think about this in the context of sexual abuse/childhood trauma it is extremely depressing. All of the ugliness rises up, spectre-like, and taunts me, whispers in corners, throws a woolen blanket over my head, makes it seem impossible to ever truly be free. But when I think about sweet tiny dead babies and fleeting innocence and clarity of mind and a sense of connection to the universe, the notion is comforting instead. Nothing can be completely lost or forgotten if it is not completely gone. But nothing can be completely escaped if it is not completely gone, either.
Flip, flip, flip.
Which face do you see looking back at you today?