A poem from the mmmother archives. I’m actually going through a lot of my files and stuff (well… the ones that have been clearly labelled). If you’ve been with my blog for a little bit, you’ll likely remember my lamentations for my lack of creativity. I write from a source of inner pain and somehow that creates something… mimetic of magic.
“I have to fix my mistakes”
I have to come back inside
I have to remove myself from sight
I have to come back to myself
I have unfurled and grown and stretched too far
I have to cry. I have to hide. I have to look at myself and remind myself “why”
WTF am I doing here.
Why did I ever come here? Why did I speak? Why did I ever listen? Why did I ever reply? Why did I ever think that? Why did I have to respond?
I must stop doing that thing that I do.
I must close my eyes. I must not read. I must not look. I must not see.
I must cover my ears. I must not hear. I must not listen. Pretend I’m not here.
I must shut my mouth. I must not speak. Only open it for when I am to suck, breathe or eat.
I must keep my hands to myself, my arms by my sides. I must not reach, or stretch or wriggle or writhe.
I must not complain, I must not fight, I must submit to the dark empty night.
I don’t know who I am though I know who I am.
I mean to say I don’t know who I am to you.
It doesn’t matter though. You don’t owe me a thing. I am a real person behind this blog. I continue to exist with or without you. I don’t need your advice, your guidance, your support or your words. I do what I want, when I want, how I want, if I want.
I don’t understand the new rules of this land, the digital domain has changed from when I last constructed my space in the glass asylum.
I am too painful to others if I strike out on my own. My words are weapons and people see them and use them all wrong.
They hurt themselves. They hurt each other. They hurt me.
I am useless on my own, too often misconstrued. I’m misappropriated, I’m often misused.
I am a Mrs.
I don’t mind if I’m called sir, mistress or miss.
I know what you mean when you address me. I do understand when you talk to me.
But when I’m just doing my thing, that thing that I do… I inspire, I aspire, I respite my respire.. I aspirate my own aspirations.
But my dreams are too much, too many, too hard to conceive when I do it by myself with no one else to lead.
I am heavy like lead. I am lost in my head. I am bound to the place and time, the space I inhibit which I see in the present in front of me. I’m stuck in my body, in the here and now. It perspires, it seizes, it eats fucks and sleeps.
I require another, the other, or some one.. anyone at all, it doesn’t matter who… him, her or them. They’re just ideas I can refer to, to frame and construct and relate and reflect.
I need other people to show me the way for me to direct my mechanical thought trains.
I must retreat back to myself. Who I am. Where I am. Right here. Right now. Connect to the earth.
I am a muse. I know what I do. I amuse, bemuse, and confuse. I play, I teach, I respond, I repeat myself in various ways to guide others across their divided desires.
I have a face and a name. I have a signature, too. I have an address, a birth date, a history, a condition or two.
I want to tear this place down, and clear the slate. Begin again, perhaps.. I must contemplate.
I know I said November 18 is the date… but I only said that to placate… and promised my name and my face.
I have revealed my keys and the gates the unlock. They’re under construction, they are portals to empty black holes. They are places to fill if I spill too much.. to contain overflow.
I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know why. But I must listen to my heart. I must say my goodbyes.
I won’t post anything else, but I’ve got a week of scheduled posts. You have stuff to read if you want. I don’t know what else. I don’t remember what I’ve planned, how it’s ordered, or when what will be released. But I have to let go of it all if I am to be free.
Perhaps I will clear the canvas and the air after the last “scheduled post” has had a chance to be read.
I stand by my words, I do what I say I will do. I play my part and fulfill my end of the bargain. I may change my mind but I do not renege. I make contracts and statements, and complete them. I fulfill them.
I can only fill my own cups. No one can do that for me. Maybe they can help, but they don’t really know what I need.
Thank you for reading, I hope this finds you well. I do not weave magic to deceive you with spells.
I may lurk in the comments of blogs that I read. But I must stop trying to do everything. I must cement myself and I and be true to “me”.