Secret Pop

Dec 6, 2002

"Nothing comes from nothing. Nothing ever could."

It's hard work. All of this. Getting it together. Keeping it together. Sometimes I feel as if I am keeping my world from collapsing through sheer force of will. And I fear that, if I relax or turn away for a moment, it will all come crashing in. I fall behind constantly. I give myself more reasons to feel the opposite of pleased. And I have no one to blame but me.

I get caught in that oscillation -- between wanting to be bright and sunny and forgiving and friendly and wanting to be dark and dank and brooding and gloom-clothed. I have no idea if one of those is my natural state. It is always a choice. Always always. Like deciding to wear a blue sweater or a black one.

I can't help chastising myself. Concluding that I deserve whatever I get. Remnants of a childhood with a lot of scolding in it. I was never the one who thought I deserved more. And I got what I asked for.

For a girl with such small hands, I have a remarkable inability to let go.

One day, I'll fly away.

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