She wondered which agency would fine her for violating
Coat Rack Compliance
Cause she took everything down
Every Curtain Road
Every Curtain
Every Dream Catcher
Every Nail
She was surprised that even with so little on the walls
There were shadows left behind

She wondered what her homeless mother thought of her
Really thought of her
When she told her she couldn’t visit anymore
Because she needed to visit nature on those days

She wondered what her homeless ex thought of her
Really thought of her
When she told him she couldn’t do anymore
Because she needed to do more for them and her

She wondered what he thought of her
Really thought of her
When she let everyone’s coat pile on top of her
Then just stood there praying she was
A good and purposeful Coat Rack

She wondered what the children think of her
Really think of her
When she screamed at them to shut and lock her door
Because she needed time alone

She wondered what she thought of herself most
Really thought of herself
When she lies about her work
Why she doesn’t bill those clients
Why she feels safer that they have her money
Because she feels everyone will find a way
To take

She doesn’t wonder about any of it anymore
Cause she took everything down
Every Curtain Road
Every Curtain
Every Dream Catcher
Every Nail
Still surprised with so little on the walls
Shadows were left behind

This was prompted by a vision of trees and washing machines as I thought of a man enamored with nakedness, a man whose nature I became enamored by.

My own nakedness and nature had been lost and though I wasn’t looking, his soul asked me to find it. He reminded me that when we walk in nature we don’t avert our eyes to her beauty nor do we look away with a shy smile at the imperfect hollow of a tree, the twisted tendrils of berry vines, the sunflower standing out, yet bright and bold, the imperfect clover or the butterfly missing a portion of her wing. No, we instead stare enamored. We take pictures with our memories, our hearts and cameras because we don’t want to forget how perfect nature always is.

Even the duck that limps her way back to the lake, with one leg permanently injured in a fisherman’s rush to win, not even for dinner but for first place, she too is nature perfected. She gets in last, behind the others. Still she doesn’t live in fear, only the fisherman does.

I don’t know how long my fight will last, the one against mind and body, only know it began when I started wearing other people’s clothes and so seems like forever. Even if not always welcomed, my perspective keeps changing, because it must. I will be better and every day there is a lesson to be found if with my heart I believe it worthy to seek. The ego must on occasion be slapped into the submission of its own self-limitations. Bruised but ultimately unimportant in the scheme of things.

Recently I’ve considered that it’s not my body I hate so much as carrying the weight of everyone’s laundry for so long, perhaps not admitting it’s grown more comfortable than battling to determine whose laundry is whose, where mine starts and ends. It makes for an easier wash to throw everything in without separation but most certainly means all will dye in the process.

When I considered that us was ‘We’, I’d had this idea that we were

Once Upon A Timer’s.
Two souls that once upon a time knew the tremendous power and impact held in natural expression yet over the course of decorating their homes with someone else’s walls and securing their mirrors with the nails of blind youthful enthusiasm, eventually met with their own uneven faces, discordant with their soul song, seemingly repugnant, undesirable and unrecognizable.

This was not really our reflection but rather the plaster of false security, not properly secured, not receiving a look of admiration reflected back. Not for all we’d held.

Their sorrow, dreams, wishes, unfulfilled desires, unhealed pain, selfish inclinations, dismissiveness, self-righteousness, thoughtlessness, entitlement, insults and incessant mocking. We held it. We held the doors open too and like everything else, never heard thank you.

We held them when they were sick and stood up to dance in hope, giving encouragement. When they felt they couldn’t go on we held up words of love and reminded them of their potential. We stood in their corner with a rag and water every time the bell ring and every time it didn’t. We carried them on our backs and when we put them down not once looked for thank you, nor did we express our own pain. We just kept walking, cause somewhere someone in our life just kept walking.

At some point we knew the tomatoes being thrown at the backs of our life play weren’t tomatoes but blood. Our blood. They were throwing our blood at us because of the way we walked. Though it may not have been stronger than theirs it certainly looked stronger and appearances were important.
To them.

It takes a long time to clean up blood born in the path pummeled by a hundred stones. Each stone asks to be picked up, washed even though we were still holding. Everything.

The ocean between us has slowly taken the red rage in our eyes away. They are becoming a peaceful turquoise and she has been kind to carry and wash the stones for us which has allowed their clothes and ours to fall naturally away.

Each day I pray we become lighter, less dyed, more accurately reflected in our own eyes, in each others and in the end, knowingly Loved and Less Alone.