Fragments
Burnt Red
Tortoise
Autumn
Sea water.
1985 zippy Jazz off the shoulder backwinged red top,
Bananarama, Backcombed Hair, Ban the Bomb and CND
I remember when I was too scared to cross the road.
Once I could lie stretched out for hours on Greek, sun baked white rocks roasting my body and chasing an all over tan.
Winding bubble gum round and round my tongue.
Cut me open and you will find ambivalence hiding my fears
A roar of outraged indigence.
A Brave Heart.
I want the Freedom to speak so that my throat will stop hurting
I want to drag things out into the light — everything that’s hidden
I want to dissect, unpick, allow, permit, acknowledge.
I looked directly into your eyes and I could see your beauty and courage.
I thought I knew you for a moment.
We felt close.
The tears came
Recognition.
Something flickered in the space between the two of us sitting there crossed legged.
I believe I can be careful with myself.
I can take care.
I remember lying in a damp tent the patter of rain above my head and I was happy there.
Reading my Angela Brazil and sucking on a sherbert lemon as it cut into the roof of my mouth.
I am Peggy’s First Term. The Leader of the Upper 6th. Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow, The Shipping News.
Translating Foucault line by line until something becomes decipherable and can start to be understood.
I know the smell of a baby goat sitting beside me on the sofa watching East Enders and the drying clothes balanced high on top of the fire dangerously close to falling over.
I don’t know how to be in the present moment long enough, to feel the joy
I sometimes wonder if Joy is a privilege?
I don’t know what I want to do with my Life
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drink red wine and smoke rollups again without feeling like I am going to die for the whole day after
I can taste the liquorice, the fizz bomb and the dusting of sadness on a Christmas Cake
I believe the mind is scared of the body
I believe in staying close to the floor and more rest. Doing nothing.
Please rest some more.
I believe I need you.
I am vulnerability and pain
The dirt. The sand.
The crunch of charcoal between my teeth.
The smell of paint thinners soothes me.
I want to stay with the unknown and ride the wave of the charming unresolved
Fizz.
Zoom.
Athena Postcards.
Que Bueno, Que Rico, Que Lindo, Paris Latino.
I am the band saw cutting through perspex, cockrell crowing early morning
Shrieking like a distressed baby creeping into my dreams
Throttled silence of a tightly held breath
Crunch.
If you had really loved me you would have been kinder.
I know how to keep a conversation going with a 14 year old long enough to get to what’s really going on.
I know how to say I am scared at the same time as actually feeling it
I know how to dissipate my anger and frustration through vigorous hoovering.
I am freckles, frizzy, dried out sandy curls
I am unshaved legs and armpits and silent revolution
I am so short sighted that I cannot find my way home without my specs
Glasses wearers have a quite specific sexuality.
I am the scars that bare witness to the decisions of a younger self
I am passion and fear
Strong legs that ache from standing up to life
I know being an Outsider and I Know wanting to belong.
I know saying yes when I really mean no fuck off
And I understand how much you want to be seen.
I see you.
I see me.