Bed of Roses
I'm drowning and I blame it all on you. What to say about this? I'm drowning, skittering across the floor. I'm drowning, pouring this coffee in this styrofoam cup. I'm drowning in the cheap fragrance. I'm drowning and I blame it all on you, beautiful world. Illuminated world. Coming of age world. I'm drowning in sequins I could happily choke to death on. I'm drowning in sherbet orange ostrich feathers and your mouth and his frame and that song: delicate like you and me. I'm drowning in black suits and latin shoes. Control top pantyhose and fishnets. Assaults and loving sensations and hating people. And Kenn dying. And the Wolf staring at me with his lizard eyes. I'm drowning from the inside, holding all this in my body and absolutely no one sees. No one treats me like I am any different. I'm drowning and I blame it all on you, Phoenix lunch hours, ballroom, Ella Fitzgerald, Ralph Lauren, white hot morning light and spotlight light. Cup of coffee at 10pm with my journal in bed at the end of my ten hour day - Bed of Roses and amaretto creamer.
I'm drowning in how much that hurt and how much I loved it. Like having my extremities sewn onto my body with thread while I'm wide awake. I miss it. I miss that and the girl I used to be. The way I used to feel. The way my body was made of mirrors, holding all that beauty and reflecting it back to me everywhere I turned.
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.