last night i woke up on the floor. or at least
i think i did, and even that was maybe a year ago because
time isn't real, and anyone who thinks so or lives by the minutes will die before any sane person tells them to ignore the ticks. they don't even realize time doesn't make noise. the slow inevitable marching? that's silence.
i remember when i was about eight or nine, a very young girl in a very blue school, my hands practically glued to the wood in front of my face every day for morning prayer. and hell, i swear, religion is delusion and time isn't real. anyone who prays to anything other than what they can see is only making excuses.
i remember being this young girl and fearing and forgetting and remembering all over the pain i was in. later i learned that this pain was called **** and this **** would be the next seven years of my life before i recognized it in the dictionary.
i did not stray from this pain, i did not stray from the abnormality of Christianity as a way of ****, i did not stray from the fact that a woman wanted my body as much as i wanted a friend, or a new pair of shoes.
i did not stray from the fact that a woman could ****.
even though i knew Adam and Eve loved each other, i hadn't ever heard of Eve and Eve and Eve and a little girl like me, and so on.
i knew what *** was before this, but of course considered it holy and equally unholy, something my small and shaking hands didn't get to feel.
was i wrong to assume that? maybe. i think i remember loving it, or maybe only because love goes with *** and *** is beautiful and it happened to make me. was i a victim? of ****? of love? i cannot think much more of this at a time, it makes me feel as though i am crazy.
i have definitely lost control. i have made dents in the walls, smashed and shattered objects around the house, not even my house. i have screamed, yes, and cried till i can't hear myself cry and i have shook and shook until i'm surprised i don't fall apart or bite my tongue off. but how much control did i ever have to lose?
i do not write as much as i used to, perhaps i am too concerned over aesthetic. i am tortured, but what language is that words are words, however abstract or ugly. i do relish the occasional purgatory.
releasing sin is necessary, even those you never committed.
we all need a little guilt in our lives.