I'm Not Sleeping
I'm not sleeping anymore. I'm wide awake. I see Roadrunner Park in front of me like I've never seen it before. The clouds in the sky have never looked so puffy and white - they're looking at me; I'm looking beyond them. The sky is so blue - cotton candy blue, safe blue, light blue, endless expanse of blue. What are you doing in that car blue. The sky is wondering about what I'm feeling - I can feel it. I can feel everything. I'm on my lunch hour and everything is changing - not for the first time but this time is different. I might blow up the car, but I don't care. I'm a ball of fire in this driver's seat anyway. There was no this morning. When I lay my head on the pillow tonight, on the childish lavender pillowcase, I'll be different. I'm different already. The sky is different already. It's a polaroid being burned open with a match - black holes eating their way through and distorting images. That's what's happening to me. I'm the polaroid; this moment is the match. We'll get smoothies after this and walk back into the ballroom still munching fries. Everyone will know and no one will say anything, but the sun is so hot today, the sky so endless and blue that just today, I don't care.
This came out when I gave my body a voice inside Body Writers, my somatic writing and healing circle. Learn to give your body a voice here.