A dance a pretty good jig.
I used to resent being a woman,
now i embrace it, now im staggeringly proud of it.
I wanna talk about it.
I wanna valentine.
Im going to start re reading dracula becuase i once picked him over frankenstein..or something like that.
I have a secret desire to be photographed, because i always do it.
I need to write my french stream of consciousness essay...
without accents or proper grammar
im probably gonna do it here.
As soon as i finish this cup of cocoa.
ick, perpetual onion breath, i really need to cut down on the onion haha.
anyways.i have the stream of consciousness thing down, now if only i could do it in french.lets seeee...
hmm stream of consciousness..
stream...
stream.
streamminnggg...
A rhyme makes me feel resolved, like red lipstick, like hot metal slides, like cutting into earth, like killing fruit flies.
Love she love me love we love they. Fiction is fact its the fact of the day.
You have to love something whether night or day.
Curse these breasts!
Curse these lips!
Curse these eyes!
Curse these hips!
quand j'etais un petit fille...
ugh why cant i get started, maybe later
ok i guess ill just translate this later...
When i was a little girl,
a little peice of my heart went missing.
I painted myself into oblivion.
Where i was allowed to desire.
where i experienced smallness,
where my breasts became white flags.
they were beautiful.
there was a small miracle between my thighs.
I was cleaning them, I was stuck in the bathtub
and the hair from the drain over took me.
Slowly.
First my toes and then my skin.
Back up to its root from where it originated.
Each strand seeking out its assigned follicle.
The forceful pilgrimage home.
Strangling me, taunting me
"you dont have a lover"
it said
"you will be alone"
it said
"I will over come you!"
Mighty, it was.
It wove me into a cocoon, and deposited me where lovers knew not. It reversed me in a way so cruel. It sewed me in a manner so quick and so careful. Stop motion.
With piano.
With fervor, forever.
It quilted me. stitched me. wove me slightly. Put me on a loom and wound me very tightly. Looked me in the eyes and spun me quite rightly.
But this is not the end of me. I could not let it be. For the heart could not bear it, It goes on buzzing long after all logic is lifting, After all gold is guilded. makes perfect product while the universe is regifting. In some small place it never gives up, it has not reason within it. To strain is to sup.
I trembled in a twine so lowly i struggled to feel cold. Here is the troubador. He called to me by name. He told me where to begin. He did not lift me but put me in this spot. He took all i had carried, sexed what he begot. He came to me slowly in my ear.
Let the breath tell me what to hear.
Let the music stroke and fondle all things cochlear.
Ici. Ici. Ici. haaaaaaaaaaa he's here.
Its true it never happens as one had hoped, as one had mapped.
Pinks and blues in a lovers grid spat. Legends and keys not at all as they say.
Liars they are!
Theives they are!
but this is they.
How they have always been. Beginning to regift, beginning to respin.
Woman after woman, coyly but wanton.
Ici.Ici.Ici. haaaaaaaa
But I am not angry.
But whats to release when you have nothing left?
Three words still and static in my breast.
Ici. Ici. Ici.
I wish you were here, I wish you were mine, so old and so new, at the same time.
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