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2003-02-13 @ 12:53 p.m.
If you boiled me down, you'd find no steam, only sad love songs, and unhealthy cuticles. I do not care for appearances, though i spend quite some time in the mirror.
but i talk to myself, and pretend to be things i am not. a jazz singer, a scorned woman, a dominatrix, innocent.
life is just lies. and who i really am, can be described only as everything
i am whatever i shouldn't be, for whomever i feel like scorning. I try to walk slowly, sometimes, and shuffle my feet, for the apporopriate company. MAybe i want to appear like i am deep int hought, or that i have a secret, only seen on the sidewalk...
For others I walk briskly, and swing my keys - my life is important, and i am headed somewhere- a place you'll never go.
I wonder if i will ever be the bleary eyes mother, slowly pushing the cart along - as if she is in a trance, and motherhood and marriage has taken away her life.
I wonder if i will ever be the bag lady - that talks to buildings and has an abundance of dirt under her nails, on her skin...
and i do not fool myself that any of these things are an impossibility. Maybe that is what keeps me going.
it is not about paths in life, it is about journeys into the unknown.
Its lipstick and lies. fake smiles and sad goodbyes. Its beautiful and its tragic...
and not at all as romantic as i wish it was.