This is an introduction from me, a woman, to you, the world.
I tell the truth too much, and I seem blunt and obnoxious because I don’t know how to be anything else. I am a small town girl in a big city world, with dreams in the farthest reaches of space. I’m an orphan with parents, and my grandmother‘s housemate. I’ve loved and I’ve lost it, only to find myself in all the little cracks. I’ve grown and I’ve changed, I’m the strongest woman in the world, and I’m the most frightened little girl you’ll ever meet. I really don’t sleep much. And even though I’m walking forward blind, I’ve never felt lost.
Grandma is strong, but Grandma is failing. She’s a woman who is dying to live almost as much as she’s living to die. She’s a gambler, bingo, lottery tickets, but why she needs the money, I’ll never know, because our house is a little mansion. And in the upstairs of this mansion, is a long and wide room, with sloped walls and skylights. My green attic bedroom, my sanctuary, even though I’m never there.
I have better places to be.
My boyfriend is my Mirror, always showing me the parts of myself that I can’t see, reflecting back a beauty that I don’t know. I’m trying to learn who she is, and I’m trying to believe she isn’t imagined, to believe that I have the capacity to be that great. His expectations of me are so high that I feel suffocated under the weight of them, terrified to take one wrong step and shatter him and destroy what we‘ve built.
With my Mirror comes a small assorted cast of characters, a family. The Sister, quick as a whip, always ready to learn and love. The Brother, spacey and gentle, like a soft breeze. The Baby, too fiendish for his own good, but in moments of silence and peace, a beautiful child. The Music Man, a father, moody, strong-willed, and intellectual.
But the core, the pillar of the family, resides in a woman. A person who cannot be summed up in a word like “mother”, or “mom”, but simply ‘Mama’. This is a woman, who like Mirror, shows me every day who I am. Her strength comes in the way that she shows me everything, and opens me up to a new way of thinking. She inspires my heart to race, and inspires me to confront myself. She teaches me that no matter what has happened in my life, I am strong, I am empowered, that I don‘t have to be anything but me. She is my light on the dark days.
She told me I ought to do a photo blog. Though I considered it, I realized it was not who I am. I am not a photographer, and in truth, I am not a writer either. There was this sensation, though, that came over me. I want to write. I want to express my life. From the simplest things, to the most trying, in the most beautiful hand-picked words. Be they scrawled on napkins, hammered from a strong typewriter, or laid out in the perfect shape of computer documents, they need to come out. And now you know why I’m here.
This is Duckie, a girl, to you, my friend.
I have brown eyes.
I tell the truth too much, and I seem blunt and obnoxious because I don’t know how to be anything else. I am a small town girl in a big city world, with dreams in the farthest reaches of space. I’m an orphan with parents, and my grandmother‘s housemate. I’ve loved and I’ve lost it, only to find myself in all the little cracks. I’ve grown and I’ve changed, I’m the strongest woman in the world, and I’m the most frightened little girl you’ll ever meet. I really don’t sleep much. And even though I’m walking forward blind, I’ve never felt lost.
Grandma is strong, but Grandma is failing. She’s a woman who is dying to live almost as much as she’s living to die. She’s a gambler, bingo, lottery tickets, but why she needs the money, I’ll never know, because our house is a little mansion. And in the upstairs of this mansion, is a long and wide room, with sloped walls and skylights. My green attic bedroom, my sanctuary, even though I’m never there.
I have better places to be.
My boyfriend is my Mirror, always showing me the parts of myself that I can’t see, reflecting back a beauty that I don’t know. I’m trying to learn who she is, and I’m trying to believe she isn’t imagined, to believe that I have the capacity to be that great. His expectations of me are so high that I feel suffocated under the weight of them, terrified to take one wrong step and shatter him and destroy what we‘ve built.
With my Mirror comes a small assorted cast of characters, a family. The Sister, quick as a whip, always ready to learn and love. The Brother, spacey and gentle, like a soft breeze. The Baby, too fiendish for his own good, but in moments of silence and peace, a beautiful child. The Music Man, a father, moody, strong-willed, and intellectual.
But the core, the pillar of the family, resides in a woman. A person who cannot be summed up in a word like “mother”, or “mom”, but simply ‘Mama’. This is a woman, who like Mirror, shows me every day who I am. Her strength comes in the way that she shows me everything, and opens me up to a new way of thinking. She inspires my heart to race, and inspires me to confront myself. She teaches me that no matter what has happened in my life, I am strong, I am empowered, that I don‘t have to be anything but me. She is my light on the dark days.
She told me I ought to do a photo blog. Though I considered it, I realized it was not who I am. I am not a photographer, and in truth, I am not a writer either. There was this sensation, though, that came over me. I want to write. I want to express my life. From the simplest things, to the most trying, in the most beautiful hand-picked words. Be they scrawled on napkins, hammered from a strong typewriter, or laid out in the perfect shape of computer documents, they need to come out. And now you know why I’m here.
This is Duckie, a girl, to you, my friend.
I have brown eyes.
