23, Melbourne / Head PR + Marketing @ Maggie Journal of Live Art.
I get paper cuts too easily, and I enjoy red wine too much.
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I did not pray for you, or beg for time
to peel back like muscle from the bone.
I thought of our child who never was.
Her hair like mine, a blackberry bush of curls.
Your half moon eyes shining
from her face, always giving too much away.
It is my swan song. My final scream.
The cry of women, my good lord."
How much do you weigh? This is a thing I like to do with myself when I get lost and I get feeling funny. How much do you weigh? Think about how much each person here weighs and try to feel that weight in your seat right now, in your bottom right now. Parts in your feet and parts in your bum. Just try to feel your own weight, in your own seat, in your own feet. Okay? So if you can feel that weight in your body, if you can come back into the most personal identification, a very personal identification, which is: I am. This is me now. Here I am, right now. This is me now. Then you don’t feel like you have to leave, and be over there, or look over there. You don’t feel like you have to rush off and be somewhere. There’s just a wonderful sense of well-being that begins to circulate up and down, from your top to your bottom. Up and down from your top to your spine. And you feel something that makes you almost want to smile, that makes you want to feel good, that makes you want to feel like you could embrace yourself.
So what’s it like to be me? You can ask yourself, What’s it like to be me? You know, the only way we’ll ever know what it’s like to be you is if you work your best at being you as often as you can, and keep reminding yourself: That’s where home is."
a lot like your mouth opening.
Inside, every nightmare.
Inside, every soft thing.
A sign next to one of the displays
“Do Not Tap the Glass. Anger is sleeping.”
The one next door says:
“Do Not Feed the Loneliness.”
Baby, they want to know
if there is anything inside of you
that can be touched? Anything
that can be held, even for a second?
Baby, they want you to be a
walk in the park.
A place where they can ignore the cages
but still look inside of them.
They want good weather and
a hand to hold. They want the
tiger of your spite
to be awake, but they don’t
want it to touch them.
They want the jungle in you, but
they want a glass case around it.
Baby, you untamed, beautiful thing.
Your sadness has no teeth but
it could still swallow them whole.
Your happiness could deafen every
last one of them.
Baby, you uncharted home.
You were never a zoo.
You were never their place to
get lost in."