Moth girl full of Mercury
2005-02-10 - 6:08 a.m.

My heart holds so much more then I could ever say. It's the curse of the writer, the artist. It sounds pretentious as all hell, but it is the absolute truth. No one can ever trap their essence on a page, on a canvas, in a song, in a dance)

:Moth Girl full of Mercury:

Some girls become women who are butterflies. Some girls become women who are moths pressed against window screens, filled with a longing they cannot comprehend, an urge to seek the light that will scorch the inertia out of them.

Can you guess who I am? Who is writing to you here?

moth.girl

I live plain, like someone has kicked me into the gutter.

If I could scrape the grime from my bones--Oh, how I could shine!

If my stars were less earth and more fire, more water, some sparkling air--would I be the goddess I dream of? My viens are hot with mercury, I have no time, no time for beauty. I have to speak--type,write. I have to translate the beauty of the world into something the brain can comprehend better then pure beauty. Because pure beauty is blinding and incomprehensible. In doing this, I am a sort of shaman--on the outside--never dancing ecstatically in the circle, having my own visions.

I am hiding from you just as I always have. Like I sometimes am unsure of my right to breathe. I have this sickness in my pores. this low sickness. I am like a ghost. What became of all my illusions?

Shoot me through and through with lightning. please. i want to glow and flash.

until then, I am beating my frail paper wings against the window, kissing moonlight, never really touching it.

yesterday - tomorrow