January 13th, 2013

My imagination is now limited to what I believe is attainable, and what can be acquired with little effort. Disappointment has left too great a mark on me. Even a mouse would feel claustrophobic in this space. They say that if there is enough repetition coupled with emotion, all thoughts will manifest into a solid reality. Then, I will wait by the water’s edge for the faerie folk. I will ready myself for my husband, born and belonging to the Otherworld. He will take me to a land where I belong.

Here, one will stand. I cannot be the one on my knees.

I fight these demons inside of me, as if they were external villains. I speak of them, as if they could be self-sustaining. Often, I am found swinging at the invisible. The alternative is to accept them for what they are. I have described their true nature before, so why is it that I go back to lending paper monsters a strength they could never have on their own? I look to a misshapen crucifix, purchased outside of a bakery, as if a ceramic Jesus hanging on alloy could hand me a miniature guidebook. But if I stay still, if I pray with fervor, I can almost hear him tell me to shut the fuck up.

Do not ever trample the blooming flower. That isn’t wise, and it isn’t kind, and it isn’t funny.

January 13th, 2013

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