You know, I've come to think of myself as both a dear, familiar friend and a slightly unsettling stranger. By the time I was halfway into the collection of poetry I now tentatively consider complete, there was this overwhelming sense of being at sea. I felt reduced to a pair of wide eyes and raw senses. There were these levels of internal dialogue happening, to the point where it was difficult to speak or to interact with others. I am beginning to think I will never quite get beyond this feeling of being unable to speak aloud. But it's okay. I'd always thought that understanding myself would come in a concrete and discernible way, but instead, it has come slowly, strangely, and without words or explanation. I think this shows in the things I make as well. Half-past twenty five, I am realizing how much of myself is bound up in my art and poetry, and I am so grateful for the ability to speak without saying.
Working on these two, now. They're almost done... scans to come soon.