mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - I say I hate the ones who play the game, I say I hate them but sometimes I play, too. Sometimes I grin ferociously and say I AM JUST GREAT THANK YOU HOW ARE YOU when really what I mean to say is, "time is passing." Sometimes I dream of a face carved in sharp angles that hurt to touch and I wake up to softly swelling curves that pull me in like quicksand. I see my own hands, small and pink and smooth and fat, and sometimes I see hands brown and mottled with scaly patches of black and white, I see wrists with bones like radio dials. I see the same shapes I have seen all of my life, long and narrow and like skin stretched drum-tight across a hollow abdomen. I have seen monsters moving above me and asking me for my secrets and I see other things, too, light and sweet and all I can think is do you know what I am? Do you know what lies and what truths I am made of? In my mind I am twenty two and flying like a kite and I am soaking in sounds like a sponge but that is not my reality anymore and I am okay with that sometimes and other times I am not. We are made of rotting meat, do you ever think of that? We are filled with things that other animals eat. We are not weightless glowing orbs. Who created mirrors? Who let us see our own faces for the first time? Before. Before these days. We just existed. And that was enough. We birthed our babies. We huddled like puppies each night to keep our hearts shooting warmth into our limbs. And we just existed. And that was enough. Tonight I will sleep without the sky bleeding red and white to bring me to my feet. And I will hear the humming of electricity from outside of my own body. I will dream of, what? The safety and strength of the walls around me and the way your wild imaginary body moves under my wild imaginary hands. 1:52 a.m. - 2012-06-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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