Gypsy Tapestries

I have diamonds in the crevasses of my mind. They're hidden deep within the folds, capturing the light of each new idea and refracting it onto a million surfaces. I have gold within my heart. Small flakes that you could pan out of the blood coursing through the arteries and veins. I have emeralds and pearls in each tear that falls from the corners of my eyes, the sadness I carry is worth more than the possessions of the world. I have rubies at the meeting of my thighs and moonstone in my touch. My love, my thoughts, myself is worth more than the gifts you deign to toss at me. Sprawling glances and half-hearted whistles. Your package of paper and string is nothing next to the precious stones I carry within. But you, your diamond thoughts and stories of pearl, that's why my tastes crave. Your heart of gold and your rubies, these are gifts worthy of my praise, and of the unveiling of my own precious parts. If you want to make a trade with me, be fair. I won't trade diamond for stone, I won't give gold for steel, and I certainly won't give pearl for ice. So open up your arteries. Show me the gold beneath and use the light of your ideas to prove to me you've diamonds to spare, and maybe just maybe you could mine my rubies for your moonstone.

I was raised by a television

Can a person be so abstract as to lose themselves? The days drift by in a hazy lull, and each second I can feel my veins losing not blood but passion and purpose. Someone once said to me that purpose is what humans need in life, a reason to live. Work is simply a filler. But somehow I've got neither and it feels as though my mind is drifting further and further from myself- my soul is already gone. I have become an illusion. Simply a mirror image of myself repeating daily patterns and an impressionist'a print of my true self. When will this painting smudge into realism?

"It's all blood and sweat, and life is what you manage in between."

Is it stupid? Ignorant? Naive? To wish for a false reality? To want to be loved, and supported? Because my friends seem to prove it so, and my aching brain is tired from twisting into mazes without ends. My mother used to say it was okay to be average. But thats just it isn't it? okay is average in and of itself. Is it wrong to want more? As I gather my strength I'm throwing my dreams into the fates, and my friends seem to throw them back, laughing in my face. Beyond that my mind feels dull. Like a blade that's been left unsharpened for too long every thought and sentence, usually beautifully crafted down to the last wit, has become jello far too slippery to cut or even grasp, dancing blithely out of reach. I struggle with the tiniest detail and, feeling shame for my own struggle, these details each transform into pins and needles stabbing the voodoo doll I've had tucked away in place of my heart since I was 12 years old. Then on top of that she mentioned I've gained weight. That awful phrase, those awful chains. I'd only just managed to chisel through half my other pair of cuffs with another dull object constructed of my brain. And so now, I'm shackling myself back up because I hadn't yet learned how to cope with an ED and lose weight at the same time. The thought itself seems so horrifyingly oxymoronic that it has thrown yet another chink in my maze of a mind. As if They weren't enough, there's a Her to deal with too and I'm still weak. Change is what humans are psychologically programmed to fear, yet I've dealt with more change in one half a year than I thought I could ever deal with in one life time and it's hard. I'm just not sure what to do, and my own mediocrity in every way is killing me with shame. I'm hungry but yet I won't allow myself to eat because that wouldn't be "following the plan". Why does that sound so familiar?