he comes in to do business— I notice this time he is friendlier and chats a bit. This surprises me and I try not to reveal this. He notices the ballet slippers as they all seem to; looks a quick back glance at me with the awareness of my body particularly as they all do this unconsciously which is only a problem for its awkward shame it poses— but it’s not intended so I rise above whatever I feel as he says,
“a dancer!”
I put my slippers away
I was a ballet dancer, I’ve said I know. like the two piano awards I won, it was not allowed
How do you come out into the light when you are used to the sheild of darkness. Does it matter I never had my swan lake moment? Does it matter
My story …. my story …. am I still beautiful if nobody sees me ….? am I still beautiful once my life is spent am I still beautiful if nobody ever has seen me
Is it valid then …. if I never was
never was …. like lost conversations …. held on the internet; did they ever happen? was it real or imagined in my head like that man who read me brear rabbit ….what is real when sometimes I believed I was invisible when I was sitting in the room with my mother. I believed I’d gone invisible — like the catatonic experiences—I thought this was its side affect; I’d go invisible to name one
lost conversations …. and nothing to mark it ever was just your own belief they happened
this empty chasm of lost time often can throw one into an extreme anxiety attack. And I’m not being ironic. An existential crisis to an INFJ personality type can be tripping the cliff edge of a live fantastic
****
I think it is time to see Gerald
*those are not my slippers (just a stand-in; a gift from a sculpture to me) mine got lost along with everything I’ve ever owned long ago
No comments:
Post a Comment