It's been a while

I have been working at a cafe, along with other things... and I have made a commitment to perform at one open mic a week.... I am not sure where I am going for an open mic this up coming week. I am not sure I want to go to the same places... and I am feeling less motivated than before.

The first performance was great! It was a small crowd, but super supportive and they made me read two or three more than I planned to. Someone also compared me to Andrea Gibson! I was thrilled, and honored and had such a life high from it....

The second one was way bigger crowd, but since I got there late I was at the bottom of the list and was cut time wise. Beyond that I messed up certain stanzas (not that anyone noticed) and I guess I got a few "That was great!"s but ... nothing that made me leave feeling like WOW this is my life, like last time. I know I only really performed twice, and it is ridiculous to think that every single time is going to feel equally amazing. Just kind of a let down, I am not giving up, but I am feeling a little defeated. I will start posting more regularly and more coherently in the near future...

Sorry that my posting has been so sporadic.

Experiments with Trauma: Writing with memory

I hold my breath and count how long it takes for you to wipe me from conversations-- once I was brutally honest and clear-- it caused you to break down-- it caused you to progress in a direction far away from me. You stopped fighting to see me, stopped fighting to talk to me, stopped holding on to someday. It felt strange for me. I almost missed the attention. I never thought our relationship would disintegrate in to such fine dust particles. I never thought it would feel so cruel. You were so oblivious about how much you took from me. That it caused me to lose all respect that I once had. It morphed into hate for something I no longer knew. I tried to suppress such negative feelings, but something inside me built up like a smoke stack--it clogged the air I breathed, I choked up a fire at the sound of your name, even as I was the one saying it, especially when I was the one saying it.... you are a reoccurrance in my memory that makes me shiver with fear. Maybe this sort of thing isn't so violent for others, or maybe it is worse, more traumatic than I can imagine. I am numb, I still have trouble admitting what happened. Do all women have these sorts of secrets? Nipping at their ankles in the dark. Memories that are so abusive that they could fill a ten story mansion with fear.