so, what happens is that, it does trigger the old scars
and the unpredictability of what will surface and when….
in the aftermath of the newest trauma
well …. as the layers of the sheild wall melt off, with the adjustment to quiet —it does fool the senses to relax…. so then like a bolt or smack like a crack of a whip
….cannot stop washing…. it is as if it is all over my skin…. to scrub it off….can everyone see it?
….
I will not be branded
is it a scent?
….a song?
….a random flash of a memory or—the insensitive remark by someone of a reference to a similar experience
like a power keg ready to go off
no, I was never big on crowds anyway …. but I used to try to convince myself to think people were worth the effort but, now, I don’t know. I really like animals better. And trees. I know there are some ok people out there. somewhere. I guess. the ones who trickle through
but lately I’d rather create my own world apart ….
every experience forms an artist. I cannot ignore my experiences.and my work could never continue in a vacuum. of course this is part of the work …. that was why it ever began; it is about truth and as my reactions of things that happen causes the course…. to flow another way—it is a pilgrimage
I am different from who she was when the Dictionary began
recreated so many times—does it make me a better tree with new rings?more rings…. the roots go so deep….
I am resigned I think to accept it as what “is” —while no, it’s no mistake I ever landed here, but to be a part of—only apart is that endurable and I just don’t care anymore if I’m to be called a loner or recluse because who says that no longer matters to me and it never ever had to
I see it now
not everyone is meant to take down the house and I’m ok with that
….why do people stare?
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