I open like a rumour, slowly at first and then tumbling out and growing into something bigger than myself, something too wide to handle safely and soundly Take your silence for acceptance and I fill the gaps with me. But then I am not me, the person I believe myself to be or not, hot and cold most days. Tin foil hats and feral cats. Sharp edges and maws, claws I didn’t know I had. A rumour never leaves. It prefers to curl up in the bottom of a soul, folded and crushed but there. We girls know how to make kindling out of tales, origami out of gossip. We nest in our rumours. Crumpled edges pulled over our shoulders. Ball it up and use the wad to plug the hole in our chests.
2 Comments
Carole
7/25/2017 10:39:08 am
Beautiful, haunting
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12/17/2020 07:08:51 am
Myself is told and associated for the goals in the nearby life. All the skills to is assigned for the pages. The room is skilled for the triple of the turns for the voices for the modules for all people.
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JessicaA Mancunian lost in London. Singer, song writer, Archives
March 2017
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