Dreams of a Child:The woman
Dreams of a Child

When I was a child, i had dreams and aspirations. I loved to scratch among the weeds which became the wilds of bohemia, and create cities from cereal boxes where angels would live.
It’s surprising then that my dreams of what i wanted when i was an adult were relatively realistic;
i wanted to live on a boat
i wanted to be a heroin addict
i wanted to save the world
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She was afraid of her life, like germaphobes fear infection. Showers were avoided. Everything symbolized her history, even the dirt she wore. Even the stains on her clothes. She longed to be the princess she felt other girls aspired to be, with their armory of perfume and the latest hair care products. Every once in a while she was inspired to shave her legs, scrub the oil from her hair, and slather rose scented lotion in all the cracks and fissures of her skin. Staring at herself long and hard, while trying to avoid actually looking at anything was a feat she had almost mastered, but never quite. Too much of a glutton for punishment. Eventually her eyes would stray too far down the reflective surface of the mirror and she would recognize and reject the figure before her as ‘herself’ Legs would turn into wretched reminders of childhood teasing, breasts became flacid bags of unwanted attention, face became a slaughterhouse of lies. There were billboards of her past posted all along the highways of her body.
Plagued with questions of perspective and reality, she would carve lines down her legs testing her ownership. Testing her ability to disconnect when connection was demanded. Over and over again she would repeat,”you learn to fear what you love, you learn to love what you fear.”
Still she maintained an image of love, like an icon emblazed in her soul.