I’m not sure
where I fit
where I’m going
what value I bring
to the world
or the kitchen
or the bedroom.
I don’t know how to dress
anymore.
I don’t know what parts of me
I perform
because that’s what society expects
of a middle-aged white woman like me
and what parts are
in and of my own nature.
I thought I’d like not doing the business of art.
I thought it would be a relief
to slow down and give me a chance to see who it is that I am.
But
like anything, the reality is more complex
than the abstract idea.
The lack of business busy-ness
has given me time
which is what I wanted and desperately needed
but that time has me
calling so much
into question.
Which is
of course
the point.
I thought I’d feel happy.
And sometimes I do.
There are moments.
But when you open yourself up
to feeling
you feel it all
not just the parts of yourself
you find acceptable.
It hurts.
To see so much of myself
I didn’t realise was there.
It hurts
not to be in familiar territory.
I feel exposed,
with nowhere to go
nowhere to hide.
I feel unmasked.
I’ve been crying lots.
I’m doubting everything.
I’m not sure if what I’ve got to say
is relevant or interesting or beautiful.
I’m not sure if I’m
relevant or interesting or beautiful.
I’m not sure.
I
feel
very very
vulnerable.
sitting naked with my tummy all on show.
I’m hoping
expecting
it to get better.
You know
it’s darkest before the dawn
and all that.
But right now
today,
hello my name is
fkced if I know.