v u l v a l i c i o u s
Voices in Peaces
Do you miss me at all, do you turn off the lights when you dream? I always leave the light on.
The country is shrinking. Everyone's breeding. We're caught in a cage. Strangled and scared. Can we just take care of each other? Can we just take care?
There are a thousand things swimming in my head. One thousand not good enoughs, you didn't try hard enoughs. The language of failure.
And somewhere between activism and theory, something fell down. Stopped working. There was a crack, and time has brought about its growth. We fall in as we attempt to jump over it, and I am slammed into kindergarten reality of "going on a bear hunt" where all boundaries meet with "can't go under it, can't go over it, can't go around it, guess we'll have to go through it."
Is there any going through this? How do I find my footing with my eyes closed, and with nobody holding my hand?
And that's precisely the point: Nobody's holding my hand. The kind voices of mothers have faded behind the screams of motherless children. There is something terrible swirling in the air around me, an ill wind that blows no good.
And last night, the people around me said, almost in unison, that they were frightened by the image of a crone that was before them. Her wisdom fades behind the cries of youth without history. And I am frightened.
I want the loggers to be cast away. I want to let the mantises pray. I just wanna play. Can we just take care of each other? Can we just take care?
There is something inside that will hold me; there is the voice of my cunt speaking the eternal language of peace.