Out of my rut and onto my life

Does anyone else remember this song? When It first came out I loved it, I had it on cassingle ( I was slow on the move to CD) and listened to it on endless angsty repeat in my second year of University, while in my first serious relationship, presumably thinking it excused all kinds of extremes of personality.

But I didn’t know.

Didn’t know who I was, the switches that were clicked on and off in my brain when really, they weren’t meant to be…

As far as memory goes this was another ‘me’ song and there have been hundreds…at least the chorus at any rate…

This last year has brought what everyone has promised, a definite simplification of life without drugs (of the nice doctor gives you a pill to make the non existant depression go away), a recovery of a kind from at least one of my little labels…

So this is me now…in my usual odd prose poetry style…because to write it out in sentence form would be too real right now..but its for Josie’s writing workshop and therefore must be done :)

I like to think of it as a well-known walk down a path in autumn,

the trees change as do I,

warm in black jumper, black midnight velvet skirt, black boots,

I can sometimes when it’s alone and very quiet,

in the hush of life,

see all of me. All I was

All I will be.

An unrolled map of burnt edged paper

for effect

the lines many coloured, moving, overlapping.

A pinpoint mark, today…

It started before I was old enough to attach an age to it, that green one, there

the one that makes me cling to you,

to love as much as I can in as short a time.

The one that curls round me and makes my pulse race and tears form for very little reason if any.

The red line, warning screaming, starts at nine,

And in the sometime grey and orange filtered light of today seems not so bad,

not as bad as others perhaps,

but bad enough to have filled a life thus far with screaming recollection,

with lost spaces,

lost people,

and scars.

The third line, blue, starts somewhere between here,

no, you need to look where I am pointing,

because I am never sure,

It is what can keep me afloat or drag me under, dependant on their mood,

My two sweetest saviours who will be the end of me some days…

what, those, the shorter scattered woven ones,

they hurt me for a time, loved me for a time, hurt me again and left…

some I have forgiven and left behind,

others you can see stretch far beyond their pale

growing thinner with age and overuse

Missed one,

this purple one,

this one that runs right through from eighteen,

that has hurt me most, loved me most, never left me most

and is still here,

names, no, I don’t do that.

The sickly yellow line?

the one that twists its way along and breaks and then returns?

why do you ask?

because it was always there -I see-

as long as you can see that it never coloured me?

that obligation to be daughter

the obligation to bear all and carry it

the obligation I am slowly laying down – see how it fades…

The pretty ones with ciricules?

Lets lay this down on the grass, this is too complex for walking and here

in between the shade you can see it more clearly,

they are my labels, see how they capture me for a time?

see how this one has finally let me go,

came back you say?

ah yes, but see that tiny dot of coming as opposed to the months of war..

their pretty words disguise their reality.

The line that stretches backwards from my future?

that green one, but darker?

haven’t I always said I was fifty aswell,

only that’s getting closer and I’m not quite sure what happens when I get there,

if it will stretch the other way as well…

Oh, yes, the palest line, the watered down pink one,

starting at sixteen…

that’s not going anywhere soon – on top of which it brings with it,

the most innuendo laden humour,

along with its pain and emptiness…

its worth it, really…

So there I am, a chart on theatrical paper

broken down, stretched out,

the lines make a pretty pattern you say

that seems to have tangled now you say

and I say – well it would

and you nod knowingly, because you do.

the pattern is coming back, slowly i say

I can see that you say

and we hug

and wander off into march…

what was that bright crimson line? you ask,

i forgot to…

Oh, just what I love I reply lightly,

you know – acting and stuff…

and the solid black one – I thought that was a timeline, but…

no it isn’t…thats me.

I might mesh with all of the others and make a pretty woven bracelet pattern when all is as it should be..

but there is always still a baseline of me…

somethings never change you joke

and I half smile, because well, no, they don’t.

And I’m just me.

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9 Comments

Filed under random bumph

9 responses to “Out of my rut and onto my life

  1. Wow.
    I’ve always thought that we’re all an amalgam of what we’re going to be as well as what we have already been… I still have the sixteen year old me inside myself, and I also have the seventy-year old me inside too, it’s just harder to see. I think you have encapsulated exactly that in your poem.
    I love it!

  2. Fantastic. Your world is so vibrant. I guess the moral is that if you have enough good threads woven through, the garment of your life will be strong. Here’s to march.

  3. I like the lines. I usually think of myself in pieces, but I like the lines because they can interact and weave around each other.

  4. When I think of you it is always with colours in my mind :)

    I love it when you write like this. It is so free, so unconstrained. You are beautiful. Every thread xx

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