Saturday, September 11, 2010

Under the Red Lights


My weakness is my strength. I cannot be at odds with the world any longer. My body is rejecting the things that are not tied to love. I woke up this morning and I raged at the demons of hate. I threw them to the ground. I dragged them to the door. I set fire to their robes and send them packing back to hell.

I need to get well.

I am on a journey. I slow my pace. I want to step slowly across the divided time. I want to remember my childhood without fear. Without the blackness cutting off the good times.

One time I drew on my mother's dining room wall with black charcoal. Big black streaks. My neighbors were intrigued, but not necessarily in a good way. I had been left to my own devices. Knowing their eyes were on me made me come alive. You cannot watch an invisible girl, can you? Aha. Now I see... Now I get it. I am real. I do exist. Those shaking heads tell me so. Those roving eyes are my proof. Brought alive by their staring. Watching. Watching me. Me.

My mother? She put up wall paper later on that same month. It was just an experiment and she didn't seem to care. Which is why I love my mother. She would get pissed as pissed could be when I asked for birth control pills, but she would have let me decorate my room with my own menstrual blood if I had really felt the need. I never felt the need do that exactly. But I did have fun nonetheless. Artwork. Always always the art.

You can never tell the difference between permissions and denials when you are a teen-aged girl. You want what you want when you want it. If you couldn't get it, then you snuck out the window at midnight to help your boyfriend develop film in the office of the local newspaper at the wee hours of the morning. You fucked like tomorrow would never come. Your naked body looked so different under the red lights of the dark room. Red lips now white. Thin body so nice.

These are the things that wakened me from my slumber of grief. From my post traumatic birth disorder.

Memories of my bedroom. The bedroom of my youth. I do not have very many days where I can look back in time and remember being fully awake and aware. But near the river my mind came alive. Near the river I smelled the dewy grass. Near the river I worked the soil and planted the flowers and I watched them grow. Under the red lights I knew who I wanted to become. Under the red lights I came. Into being. I came.


2 comments:

  1. Hey there thanks for the comment w/o it I would've never come across another fellow artist with such amazing talent. Your art and writing both inspire, encourage, and motivate me. Keep up the good work!

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