Behind a Wall of Flame

And you don't know what it's like
To have those
Those supposed to be 'family'
Doesn't matter that we just met
They shouldn't look at you like a piece of meat
And they are half starved wolves.

But they don't seem to notice
I'm a wolf also
I am the true wolf
You jackals can only pretend
And I'll hunt you down
Or I'll run and hide
But you cannot touch me.

Letter from an Opheliac (and a Hamlet) to others of her\his kind

I realize that as much as I want to live now, to believe in my own beauty and power, and develop my full capabilities, I don't want my past to be called 'dirty'. Self-destruction is not dirty. I am not some awful thing for planning suicide or cutting or lying numb and dumb. I want all that is 'awful' to be seen in the light. My darkness is no longer my shield; it is my banner and badge- it is the thing that deems me war torn and battle weary. It is nothing to be ashamed of!

Haruki's Assignment

A measure of water in a faceted glass cup. Beside the remains of an odd, vegan dinner: sliced strawberries on 'cream cheese' of the soy variety, on multigrain toast. It perpetually sits out on the counter. Right now, it has gotten somewhat warm- having been poured about an hour earlier. Calling me... "Drink me... Drink me..." I feel like Alice.
I should get up and restore myself. I am parched. I am spent, as panic attacks, moments of mania, times when frenzy dominates my body and mind are bound to do.
But I don't want to. I want to rest, I don't want to sleep. I just want to sit in silence until the sun emerges and remind me that I have obligations that will now be near impossible to fulfill.
And I want to knit- a useless skill, I know. How frequently I take the time to learn what is 'useless' and forget what is 'important'.
And I don't care.

Favorite Colours

It has been many years where my favorite colour was blue. And I don't mean the primary, mix-with-the-other-two-to-make -secondary-colours, blue. More like misty blue, fade into smoke blue, mystic blue, purple and blue, black and blue- even greenish blue.
For a long time, I sat wallowing in my own filthy depression (I realise now that I had childhood depression- not fun when no one believed such a thing was possible). It has only been within a short while that the darkened haze has moved away from my eyes.

Lately, a shift has happened, now I would have to say that my favorite colour is violet- and its shades, tints and tones. The brightness and beauty of this colour draws me to it. The fact that its beauty rests in its inherit spirituality means so much more.

And I notice something new: 'hot' colours hold sway over me now. Where before they burned my eyes (and I'm not kidding. I've been tested and have extremely sensitive eyes to colour) now they are a delight.
I like red. What does that say?

Necessary Words

The previous is something that has been floating around in the synaptic connection of my laptop for the last three years. I see that I haven't changed and have changed infinitely. I suppose, at everyone's core we have that pure being inside that can never be completely covered. And that is a good thing.

Glimpse on a Subway

Did he know he was (almost) perfect? The pretty perfection of his face? No... he couldn't have.

I was suprised- quite honestly- by the fullness of his lips. He was white- as white as new fallen snow- he was a he, yet he had the mouth of some gorgeous Mexican boy.

Cheek bones like steel- hard jawed and strong chined... really a sculptor's dream.

The delicate, silvery frames of his lenses- planted on the perfect slope of his nose.

All wrapped-

In the dullest of clothes: plain, scruffed, blue jeans; simple, faded tee. Over the firm slimness of gorgeous, young male.

A cushion- cut sapphire- wrapped in mouldy newspaper. I think his eyes were pale sapphire.

I saw the book clenched in his hands- a slab of a book. The coarse hunch of his back and awkward placement of his feet- bent funny, bent awkwardly- he never really learned the stance of the 'cool' person.

He was intent on his reading- never knowing he was perfect- never knowing that he was hardly flawed... I guess that was his flaw.

A Reason for the Insanity

There's a reason I want some diagnoses: if you don't know where the cliff is, how do you know where to jump off from?