That is what you waited for, and you don’t trust that anymore.
If I could hide myself right now, I would.
I made a piece of artwork, once, trying to explain a few things… How when we build boxes (buildings) around nature trying to contain it, and only manage to contain ourselves. How even when we try to hide, when we try to keep nature (or anything for that matter out) it pushes through and we’re still bare.
Nobody knows, but above the ceiling the stars show,
Outside the brick the wind blows,
Beneath the floors the grass grows.
Nobody knows.
It’s about the private being violated, and more, the private being a construct. An important construct because without it we feel exposed, and helpless. Food, water, shelter are the three things we say we need to survive. Without shelter, we are at the will of nature. I got called pretentious and told I was trying too hard for this piece of artwork… but I felt like it was worthwhile. What makes me think of this is something I’d rather not think of at all.
A good friend of mine, two years my junior, Destiny, was raped recently. This was not the first time. All those walls she put up, he pushed through, all her attempts to hide meant nothing because the wind still finds a way to get through.
All I can think is innocent, sweet, delicate Destiny. Frail little Destiny who we had to coax into eating… Beautiful, gentle, kind, trusting Destiny, at the whim of the wind and bare in the cold.
Tomorrow they’ll see the
crack
pester push
maybe not even wait.
But nobody’s home.
Nobody’s home.
Empty shell.
The princess prize taken.
Stolen by silence, by darkness, by ink.
Dust ruffles, wainscotting, sheers and an end table.
All useless. Waiting
for a mistress now
fled.
No clue, no evidence.
Where? Why abandoned?
Just one word
on parchment
one only,
“mercy.”
(From Getting in, by Andy Havens)
If I could find a way to put all my walls back up, today I would.