I type with the curtain closed
and dabble between scud really and harsh fantasy
driven by past voices, patriarchal and matriarchal, both,
some more muffled and hidden than others,
I write with the curtains just adjacent to one another, teasing sunlight, sneaking sunlight from the countertop, from the storefront
I wish for my sanity, in solitude I wish to not forget myself, or become lost in wild reflection and lose my footing, or self that my vanity turns me handicapped, or so lost in fantasy that I babble and make no sense,
I'm asking the collective, the dieties, I understand I have willpower over this,
coincidence and chance,
rubber bands snap and rotate, hold hair, too
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
I type with the curtain closed
and dabble between scud really and harsh fantasy
driven by past voices, patriarchal and matriarchal, both,
some more muffled and hidden than others,
I write with the curtains just adjacent to one another, teasing sunlight, sneaking sunlight from the countertop, from the storefront
I wish for my sanity, in solitude I wish to not forget myself, or become lost in wild reflection and lose my footing, or self that my vanity turns me handicapped, or so lost in fantasy that I babble and make no sense,
I'm asking the collective, the dieties, I understand I have willpower over this,
coincidence and chance,
rubber bands snap and rotate, hold hair, too
