figs and labyrinths

See that girl with the diamond ring? She knows how to shake that thing.

See that girl with the fog and pearls? She knows how to be sooo melodramatic.

Cool! And here I go!

I get very uneasy when I feel like others are "tip-toeing" around me, perhaps because they are worried I will "snap" or be a grouchy doo doo head fucktard. And they are probably right. I need to be less of an asshole. Still, I feel like some may see me as "broken" and that I need to be "handled with care" just because once upon a time some doctor somewhere labeled me as "depressed." The label sticks. The label has kept me perpetually an adolescent. There's an imbalance; the overprotective married to the distant. Where is the balance within myself? Is it there? Can I unearth it?

And there is another thing, closely related to what I just described, that I need to unearth and resurrect. The feminine. For so long I have silenced what is inherent. I have shaved curves into angles and turned softness into hard, factual edges. Intuition fled. My cycle disappeared. I'm outside of a labyrinth, wishing to be inside, but not trusting the moon's glow. My shadows keep tricking me. I keep waiting for someone to point out the sky to me instead of simply looking up (and in) myself.

Loopy. I'm feeling loopy and lopsided and two-dimensional.

He didn't get it. I thought he understood me being away and needing space and I was kind of excited. But I was just a two-dimensional figment. Figs: they connote abundance and initiation. I remember a week after my biopsy, my body's tissue clumped together and escaped. It resembled a fig. My body rejects abundance; my body is waiting to be invited into itself.

This is highly imperfect and unfinished.