with a line from Florence Welch
One morning on the radio I hear a woman’s voice singing: woman is a changeling, always shifting shape. I am left to ponder a limitude of allowed selves. I was born two things at once, thought that made me rare. In turn, thought that made me important in some way. But here it is, clear over the air waves: my own thoughts in someone else’s mouth. So what’s left? I admit I am interested in my own thinking, obsessed with discovery and answers because: How devastating to be wrong about who you are. Did god give us all the same questions? The way I break a promise is to forget myself. How monstrous to be always so confused. How animal. Oh, there is more of me on the inside. Oh, it is eating me alive.
*
a woman is a
shape. a limitude of thought .
what’s left? I am
obsessed with
myself. How
monstrous . How
alive.
