I Need a Room

I need a room. This is what I’ve decided.

I’ve been upside down and inside out and underfoot and shoved around and torn apart and I’ve flapped my arms around ineffectually and jogged in place at breakneck speeds and I’m now stalked and watched and the only thing I’ve figured out is that I want a room.

I want every inch of it to be mine without question. I want to demand respect with a knock order on the door and a doormat that isn’t my heart.

I want sound proof walls so I can scream-tantrum without explaining myself. I would cover the surfaces with my thoughts - a giant word web of want and conviction and passion that wouldn’t allow anyone else’s suck to whisper weave it’s way in.

An invitation only bed with too many pillows and blankets that remain the cocoon I crawled out of when I crawl back in. I want to slide in cool and create my own heat without being pinned down or sweated on.  I want to open up and be filled without the inevitable used up empty that follows.

I know the room should be my skin. Or at least my skull. I’ve been that able before. I had glorious walls, a magnificent moat, the fire breathing dragon, the big empty cold rooms of a castle. I had everything except a key to my own fucking door. Jumping out the window may not have been the best course of action but I swear to you that when I’m not tasting my stomach and I remember to breathe I like hearing my heart pound again. 

August 21, 2009