Social Commentary

Eyes wide. Shut your mouth. Don't speak unless it's to entertain. Pretty pout, painted, posed. Small target. Shrinking inside myself. Not like the bud of a flower. Like a vacuum, a void.

Don't make a noise or you might break open. Don't share. The pieces falling out irretrievably ugly in their purity. Best kept on the inside. Thoughts swirling. Thoughts grow and spiral out of control behind the too wide open eyes soaking in the world.

I lose my truth. The truth of me. I don’t have a truth that is not him. Do I? But how does one broken soul hold another? Have you ever been a stranger to yourself, watching yourself with detached interest? To experience that moment of looking at your own face without recognition is astounding. I run my middle finger across my jaw, above to my freckles, so jarring on dark skin. There you are lady, my spirit sighs. I know you. I’m here now.

The truth is tricky....elusive, hidden in the shadows of the id, the ego, the old, the new evolution of self. Shades of reality from a spectrum of grays. Some sparkling and crisp like clean linen. The scent, a strong and low moan like a storm across the ocean. Others dark and gritty contained in a dirty, second hand cup of coffee with stale cigarette ash floating on top.

You have to look for it, the truth I mean. Seek it under that mossy, dank, wet rock of your heart amongst the earthy scent of your soul. Seek it in the fleeting moments of soaring, sailing blue joy full of heat and love and frenetic spontaneity. Seek it in the steel, glistening sword of your convictions.

Whatever you do don't stop...the seeking, the understanding, the getting-to-know every beautiful freckle and mole and curve of your truth. The flip of it's auburn fiery hair cascading down that gentle hollow at the small of her back. The shy smile filled with a knowing of experiences wanted and not...but captured and harvested none-the-less.

Seek until your heart is full with the knowing of who you are, have been, can be to make up the gestalt parts creating a whole. Complete only in the knowing, the not knowing, the seeking. Circular, never ending, ever evolving.

My soul is wild. Full of gnashing, frothing, crescendos of horror teeth. Like the sharpest inhale. She is ruthlessly honest, high on truth and pulsing, red heart, tequila-swilling, tattoo-your-soul adventure.

She is lost sleep and a silver bullet heart filled with grave digging, bleak theatre of anxiety. Baby, she fights everyday for the glorious fairytale deep down low

Joy in the little things. Joy in the hardship. Joy in yellow thick hospital custard. Joy in comfort and sleep. Joy in the morning sunshine of my garden.

I want to be intimately entangled in joy. At the moment we are flirting...suspiciously at that. Building trust cautiously. I haven't swiped right. We are not going steady. No rings have been exchanged. I have plans to meet joy for coffee sometime soon and begin the process of asking some serious 'getting to know you' questions. "I've seen you around. Where do you like to hang"?

Between the lines probing more deeply. Questions such as, what parts of you will fill the voids in me? What parts of myself will I lose as we dance the dance to become more firmly acquainted. Will we be friends, lovers, acquaintance? Are you here for a moment, a season, a day, or a lifetime? Can we build a life together that I will recognise? Do I want to be able to recognise it in the long game?

I'm confident that survival looks good on me but joy?? Still feels a little ostentatious. Slightly overdressed. Like young girls playing dress ups with Mumma's red lipstick and stilettos before they learn how to walk their own walk. In their own skin, listening to their own voice from within.

No wonder it's so hard to break the pieces of me apart and get in. I can't even let go and spread myself wide enough to give to myself with any ease. Not without a thousand introspections and redirections occurring as part of the process. To let go...oh the bliss to be able to just let go and breathe in the now.

Yes, I am Pandora's box.

I struggle against the too bright noise in my head. And then he is there and time stops. The swirling, whirring chaos closes and shrinks to a fine white, bright point of light and sound. He is there. Presence of masculine safety and I pack my swirling, whirring thoughts away for that moment. Eyes a little wider, brighter. Painted mouth smiling as I ask about his day. My day wrapped up tight saved for the next solitary moment.