I know I promised to update the blog when the show was over, but then it was Christmas and illness, life, etc... Before I post about my last Jedi training session I came across a poem which I think I had intended for the open mic night I just missed (illness and obligations). Enjoy or not...
I am raw, damaged in a way I'm not accustomed.
Everything is different, my every cell reminds me.
How? How is everyone else speaking in normal volume with ALL THE SCREAMING?
I may prefer the screaming to the silence which is a barrage or varying sensation.
I am inundated with twinges, tickles, itches, pains and all manner of other uninvited guests.
This is MY tea party, however mad.
Why do they all look at me like I'm the same?
I love and loathe the changing.
I grin at the far off place where this is behind me, but this is the starting line.
Before wasn't working, but it was consistently shit.
This is a mad, spinning, loud, sparkling, warm, full, awful, exhilarating existence.
They don't see me in a different way than before.
They ignore a different part of me now.
How? How when there's so much more of me now?
I don't really understand the how, I try, but it's fucking confusing here.
First it isn't there.
Next it is taffy sticky, stiff, stretching with effort.
Soon it is a rock: solid, heavy, smooth.
Then it is a spotlight glaring up at me until I learn to guide it...
And shine it forth
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