always, they say to me, you can be anything you want to be, but they never say why. it was never about me at all.
always, they say to me, you can be anything you want to be, but they never say why. it was never about me at all.
they pushed this on me, and i believed them because i wanted to believe in their body reality, their life… but, what they were doing is being something to me, defining themselves, not the concept, by putting it all into a form my body could understand — “go out and make yourself part of my world,” without wanting me to get into their bed… and, they were forced to act grown-up because i asked them like a child: what am i??? and, that brilliant teacher whom i never had could have, should have said, ‘let’s pretend to paint a painting!’ — and, i would have learned what a painter was and wasn’t. and, isn’t that the fun of friends, that you get to pretend together to be what you’d like to be?
let’s pretend to write a poem — and, you start with something, some words which are shaped into whatever little you can remember about poetry… and, you play off each other and the poem shapes and changes like a dolphin in and out of water changing from fish to wave to animal sliding next to you. be simple. that’s really all you are anyway.