Where did I get this set jaw, these insistent bones, these spikes on my spine? Where did I get my fury, my rigor, impatience, my need? Who made this impossible architecture, these teetering whims, my faulty thoroughfares of thought? Where is the origin of my clanking messes, my indelicate dancing, my incoherence? Where did I get these cluttered affections, this fumbling artlessness, this rickety seesaw of love?
And yet, who am I without my deficits? Who am I without my untimely malfunctions, my unavoidable catastrophes? Who would touch me without my chaos, my unwieldy mistakes? Who would hold me without my clumsiness, my imperfections, my sorrow? Who would love me without my rain, my dark fog, my perilous highways, the broken arrow of my wild, disastrous heart?
6 comments:
Great stuff. It's good to see some genuinely decent writing out here. Out there.
I particularly like the line: "Who made this impossible architecture, these teetering whims, my faulty thoroughfares of thought?"
So much so that I may steal the "thoroughfares of thought" bit and pass it off as my own.
Cheers!
nice. Its contradictory, but true. I agree the thoroughfares of thought is wonderful.
~gg
Another great one! Bravo! Or should I more correctly say Brava?
Maya,
Hey, It's been a while since we chatted on or off the court. Great blog. Keep up the good work.
best,
Kathleen S.
Oh god, I LOVE this.
"And yet, who am I without my deficits?"
It takes the best and the worst to make us who we are. Thank you for writing; I find myself in your words.
Post a Comment