Lady Pourpre

Diary entry, April 15, 1981

It’s been bad for me because my mom and dad are getting divorced.  We did a school play yesterday.  We were the Spanish dancers.

Special, 2015

Did you tell me I would be broken

when you called me special

Did you call me hopeless

when I begged for forgiveness

Because now I am crawling

waiting for tomorrow

With a today so very desperate

that yesterday is hiding

There is no more point here

I shout into the echo

But I can feel nothing

other than I am special

Special for your weakness

Special for my survival

Special is what kills me

I cannot defy it

But I am sane and you are not

and here we are and there I was

when I cannot breathe out loud

lest you hear me moving

Far out of your orbit

spinning in slow motion

Trying to shout louder

than a kitten’s mewling

Will the planets find me

all my silent crying

Now I can feel nothing

only my plates shifting

Into old arrangements

nothing ever changes

If you could have loved me

let me be ordinary

The world would have opened

the stars would have held me

But now I am so special

the goddess of your nothing

What you poured inside of me

it was not for growing

It was all for killing

what was only dying

to be loved at all...

Diary entry, May 24, 2013

Today was the last day of the move.  I cried a little.  If only I could blame someone other than myself.

There is nothing else to say.  I’m pretty sure now it’s all crap, that I’m just sort of winging it and confusing myself.  I wish someone could unscrew my head, have a look inside, and say, “Yep, I see the problem.  Just need to replace a few parts and it will all work fine again.”

The missing fifth

There once was a girl.  The saddest girl in the world, because she kept believing.  She thought she was so clever and strong.  She thought she was different.  She thought all of the red lines would lead to one circle that would form a barrier around her forever.  But the red lines didn't.  They just lead to more red lines.  She can no longer remember the red line she started from.  When she tries to walk backwards nothing looks familiar—all she can see is what is in front of her.  The boy laying down the red straws does not help her.  He pays no attention to anything other than the red straws, and to placing them on the large, white sheet spread across the middle of the open market.  No one cares about him being there and he doesn't care about them.  He does not see the girl standing in the middle of all of the red straws, trying to remember where she came from.  Soon there are so many straws leading in so many different directions that she loses hope.  She does not understand the pattern.  Only the boy does.  He is the one who keeps us all wandering down different lines, so that we never meet.  We must never meet.  We must never speak to each other.  The boy’s job is to keep us all walking, but never at the same place together.   We must always remain lost and alone.  

There is a solution but the boy genius will never open his mouth.  He talks with the red straws.  They tell his story for him.  And it is a beautiful story, in its own way.  A beautiful story of loneliness and loss and of being lost until all wandering ends.

Diary entry, January 1, 1983

Dear Diary,

Yesterday my mom went to the hospital for 2 weeks.  My dad came to stay with us.  He’s a little too organized and clean.  I love him a lot though.  I miss Mom already.  Today me, Steve, and Dad went to get Dad’s stuff.  Grandpa was a little grouchy.  I haven’t seen Joan since last night.  She’s always with Brian.  I like Brian, though.  I called Mom today.  She made 2 friends and is doing better.

The prison within

Whisper it to me while no one is listening

tell me I am a fool

tell me I am not

tell me something that makes sense

and then prove it