learning to: be alone, be unwatched, disgust my minds eye.
I have nothing sensical for you to read, and have recently lost the compulsion or need to make much sense.
no immediate need to keep up an appearance or say acceptable sentences and no one here to tell me to.
so poetry and pictures, a simpler language:
1.
Stop watching me, except no one’s watching me.
But I can’t stop me, watching me being watched,
Or imagining being watched.
It makes me want to throw that glass at the wall, then at my
supposed watched,
Then perhaps it would hit Mr. Berger and meekly he would
apologise for acknowledging (and so rudely bringing to my attention) that I imagine
myself doing things when I’m doing them,
I’m doing everything twice.
I want to perpetually look constipated, for spites sake,
So my proposed audience, (that doesn’t exist, that is me,
that is who I wish it was)
Would turn away in disappointment
I must learn to disgust my mind’s eye
Blind her
My room is shrinking to push me out
I’m growing far too large for anything here
Small things look tiny
And all things look small.
I will live in, seek out, buy, and make, all things large in
an attempt to feel little,
In an attempt to feel safe.
To know I’m not where it ends, that I don’t have to look
after all these tiny things that I’m suddenly so much larger than.
It feels like I could touch my roof sitting down.
Words hide from me, hiding with my ambition,
Both things I once lay with.
There is too much of me and absolutely everything else,
The air is thick with it, with much of me,
I want to be a cupboard so I don’t have to choose what goes
inside me,
Someone would need to fill me up with knits and undies.
So I don’t have to choose which parts of me are visible from
the outside
There’s that, then there’s;
What to do, how to sit, who to sit with, who can touch, and
touch what parts, how to sleep and whether to do it at night.
How much should I move my legs? More than i should move my
mouth?
How big should I be? How do I make myself feel smaller? tiny.
Why do I want to? And whether to pretend I don’t know the
answer to that or admit I do
Or to even continue indulging my words.
3.
And it’s exactly like I said except not at all:
My head is the birds that walk on the ground,
And my thoughts are cats that sit on a wire,
Don’t ask how, I don’t know how
Don’t ask why, I do know why, I just won’t tell you
I’m waiting for you to hand me the things I’m dropping behind
me
But I’m covering your eyes to stop you from seeing my clumsy
hands that are dropping things behind me.
Still waiting.
I’ve asked the birds to go up and fish to come down,
I’ve asked myself to not sit like that, or that,
Not like that either.
I’ve requested favours when I don’t want them, collecting
coloured pencils one by one even though they come like that,
They come in a collection.
Accidentally squishing the box of smiles,
The birds and fish were in there too
They were secretly gathering,
And now they are more gathered than ever, some might say
squished
I like to say immensely gathered
I did it with my pink fingers
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