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
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,
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
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.