Quzzical. Questioning. Eccentric. Evolving.
Charlotte Bronte
If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. – Charlotte Bronte, Shirley.
I think I found someone who gets exactly what I feel when I think about writing too.
For too long I’ve revelled in my ability to write. I seem like I can. Speak like I can. Am educated to a level that implies that I can. In my head, I am weaving stories that amuse, shock and titillate me to no end. There’s a mythical world somewhere inside of me with many characters living extra ordinary lives. Ironically, whilst these people that do not exist go forward and live all the excitement I can only dream of, I am stuck in a room, staring at a wall, a book, a screen doing nothing.
I know that I can write, but that means nothing if I do not take pen to paper and actively do it. My writing stays stagnant in my head, never to be edited or critiqued because as soon as the story happens, poof it’s gone and these characters and scenarios often are lost never…
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ABSOLUTELY PERFECT!
My life is a Morse code of
scars and happenstance.
Do you want to know me?
I’ll sing you my blue notes.
Let you lick salt and sugar
in equal measure from my
skin. Give me your hands.
Under this silk dress lies
the vernacular of a heart
scarred and crisscrossed
into meaning.
-Tosha Michelle
