Transparent Put your brush down woman leave your transparency exposed pause your paints of uncertainty just for this day welcome the sun through this open face to cast rainbows against the wall you look to fall in love with another like you, seeking to love yourself through another lens
Song of Wet Stone When the rain comes to the shore, watch the rocks they transform revealing their shy colors rust reds and treasure map browns sea teals and leaf greens watch the rocks watch the girl stumbling slowly along the shore eyes seeking picking up, greeting loving each stone in turn slick stones, slipping into her pocket treasure her hands roll the new precious things round and around blessing the seeker And then! one large stone twisting blue of the sea dancing kelp green this is a mermaid's heart, it sings from the deepest deep mine! Thinks the girl, rolling it between cold pale hands and then she notices between her fingertips, sheltered from the rain the wet skin of this mermaid gem begins to dry the wild life evaporating away leaving grey blue grey green grey stone shock and bewilderment out come the rest from her pockets all warm and dry their magic gone Watch, as this child sullenly
I bet you knew which song I was implying there. The forlorn vocals and searching lyrics filling your mind for a moment, turning your head into a radio. Or not. Makes things easier in this post if you just go along with whatever I say. :) It's been a while. Pull up a chair. I'll catch you up: If you missed the reference, I'm the small town girl who has jumped in the huge pond of Seattle. Headfirst, it feels like. Off of the really high diving board. I love it! Most of the time. I'm surrounded by very talented people, who are very kind to me. I'm pretty damn lucky, actually. But what followed me to the city is this sense of ineptitude. The talent pool is stunning around here! And so intricate, with the many social tide pools and gossip eddies. (had to continue that analogy). And people are BEAUTIFUL around here. Tall, and chiseled, and well-groomed (most of the time). Even the women. This is not hyperbole, there must be something in the water, I swear.
Comments
Post a Comment