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This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Friday, June 20, 2008

On Reviving Myself

Adam instructed me to be a warrior. He said, "You want what isn't there. Start wanting what is." He doesn't mean settle he means work. Work for what you want. Figure out what you want to work for. At night, when I'm high, my pessimistic thoughts cave in on me. No one can be trusted, my muscles are all knotted. Rain has clogged the sewers and this city smells like shit. I tremble and it's 80 degrees out. I shake, not knowing why.
It's when my eyes dart mercilessly and my heart beat rises. My spine feels crooked, I swear I hear it creaking, thanking life for teaching me the difference between a gunshot and a bottle rocket isn't funny comforting any more. The irony drains out of me and I'm pale with negativity.
Adam, though, Adam instructed me to be a warrior. No one ever spoke to me like that. No one ever skipped over puffing me up about smarts and articulation before passing advice. No one ever cut through the bullshit quick enough to bypass my hard headed stubbornness. His equal opportunity insults spared no one and seeing his open heart took years.
I tell myself to breath normally. I tell myself to walk fucking tall. To lead with my tits. I tell myself to lead with my tits because they naturally stick out farther than any other part on my front and it makes sense to my spine and energy. I tell myself to teach the ways of my woman the way we taught preschoolers - gentle and positive. Leave the "no" out of it and give clear instructions. I lead with my tits and tell myself to focus my eyes. I need glasses and to stop medicating this drama with weed. My eyes become lazy, red, and half lidded by the end of these days and I tell myself. Breath regularly. Look straight ahead. Look with your third eye. Look into they eyes of passersby if you want to.

All the rules of society women are taught go against my nature. I look people in the eye at night in the city in a dress. I show off my curves because it makes me feel great. I use words like cunt, cock and pussy without batting an eye - no because I'm making a point. I say cunt because there is no other word in the English language so honest and concise. Cunt is a beautiful word. It's like hard powerful sounding German with a soft Latin NNNNNN keeping it real.

"At this age they lose confidence in themselves, they become very uncomfortable with their voices, often practicing alone at night in mirrors to find the voice that sounds sexy, but not too sexy. Strong, but not too strong because everybody knows that boys don't like girls that are bitches. Soon, their natural voices get lost behind the performance, the constant performance, the constant depersonalization mindfuck of the performance. It's exhausting and it leaves you empty and unsure."

When I was still a girl purple and pink were my favorite color. I sang at the top of my lungs, wore dresses with mud on them, ate mushrooms and followed the moon. I wrote stories about aliens, poems about boredom and wished on the first star at night. When I was twelve I started singing quietly so no one could hear. I decided my favorite color could be blue or maybe black. I stopped eating mushrooms and wondered how the moon still knew where I was every night. I got older, stopped wearing dresses, started memorizing booty shakes on MTV and wrote only about boys I liked and girls that spited me. The stars became secondary and I tried to forget Luna's name.

Davka's
words above remind me of all those times and point me in the direction I still travel. I've finally circled back. I'm 13 two times now and my voice is coming out of the closet. It brought gifts with it from the past. I sing as loud as I please, at bus stops, at home with my flimsy walls. Purple is the color of the dresses I wear and the color of my strap on harness. My girls, those I've known and those I'll meet are the base for me now and Adam knows my real name. He says "Kung Fu is all about practice. You do something everyday, do it enough times and you're going to be good at it. You've got to be a warrior."

1 comment:

davka said...

i can't believe i missed this post. i've been behind in my reading.

amazing, lovely prose. here's to getting the hurt out of us through writing and here's to being thirteen twice!