I have been experimenting with so many new things in the last week and I need to get some pictures up and start explaining what the hell I am doing.
It has taken me a very long time being angry at the world and jealous. I have been so jealous of the happiness of others, that I started doing all of this. The funny thing about art and writing, the things that I was not smart enough to do, it that the tables turned. I have been smacked in the face by my own injured pride, sadness, and fear of what others hold dear (creating, moments, family, small things). I have had concrete change in my life.
I am no longer the lingering shadow. I walk into places with my writing and it is solidly accepted. I talk to artists in words that they understand. I was told over the weekend that one could see it in me. Me?
Not me. I am the cold girl. I am in black. I am cooler than you and I am stealing your boyfriend. I am cigarettes, I am in that bar that you would never be near, I am in dangerous countries, I am taking risks and abuse with my body. I do not care for life or the living.
But today, there is shimmering copper, there are words tumbling, there is the most beautiful dress from Africa on the little girl that I am proud to give a life I would have died for, there is a tween son that is NOT afraid to do school tv, there is the solid husband that holds the floor down and keeps the noise away. There is me.
I never thought I would be here.