Sunday, September 27, 2009

I will be

Trust me.
But most importantly, trust yourself.
I pull a cigarette upon my lips to take a swift drag of its puffy, white smoke.
I am a child still, in as much as I obtain the worst of their traits.
Confusion, bewilderment;
stunned in a state of painful inability to control things.
When do I realize what I want? Tell me, father, does anybody ever figure it out?
Or is this life always a wind
of surging moments
that cannot be predicted or brought out of concealment?

I have this dream.

It is a place within green meadows. Where the sky is dark and heavy;
holding the oceans within them.
It is a place where I always look perfect in disorder; where I dress up
for the endearment of nobody;
I am fancy because I am fancy. With fur coats, and knitted sweaters,
and beautiful, silk shirts and dresses. In my home there are flowers,
tall stems and red petals which don’t wither for many weeks.
There are chandeliers and a room specially devote for writing.
Here, there exists no world other then this one. I am not
consumed with expectations and phone calls and errands.
The greatest task of my day is waking up before nine and
attending the garden before the rain hits.
Here I have sheep with fur a foot deep and they roam the wild frontier
that hasn’t been touched by modernization.
I peer far into the distance and can see the shore line,
and the endless horizon of dark blue. My fantasy consists
of action; focused action; writing and creating; designing and envisioning;
color and shape and form and the senses.
The rain washes over me and I hear it as I fall asleep.
It is a simple life.
It is a life of solitude and care,
femininity and devotion;
focus and beauty; creation and care.
Delight in the simple things;
awareness. It is a life of love and I love. Then I love.
Nothing is surrounding me. Nothing suffocates me.
It is a place of wide, open, vast space.

C.2009 Emily Clibourn

Designer Stolen Girlfriends Club.

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