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Tenderness and extraordinary vertigo
by Abigail George
2017-12-11 11:03:25
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Tenderness and extraordinary vertigo
(for Ambronese)

    She reminds me of wild grass.
    They remind me of wild grass.
    Bone against bone. Flesh of
    my flesh a prize. From all of
this reeling emptiness. Whispers of
    silence and loneliness in the
    afternoon sunlight. Take me
    away from the nationality of
suns1_400this madness. I can see it when I look into their eyes.
    What exactly they think of me.
    There are so many levels of
    madness in my family. An obsessive,
    compulsive madness about
    cleanliness. Disorder. Bipolar.
    Substance abuse. I could say
my mother never loved me but all
    my life she was my shelter.
    My teacher. My driftwood,
    my potential, the windows to
    my soul. My Ingrid Jonker.
My Marilyn Monroe. Been a disgrace
    all my life, my mother said to
my face. Still, the wild grass comes to me.
    Like the magical and intelligent films of
    Stanley Kubrick. Jane Campion.
My Ingrid Jonker. My Marilyn Monroe.
    Red furious hearts beating away.
    Red little beasts. Wounded beasts. But also, blue and hurt and ill and
    feeling wounded. I want to be free
    and pain-less. I want freedom.
    Inside I feel an abundant hurt.
The pain of this everlasting. Still
    I feel this emptiness inside of
me. Can’t put it into words. Don’t
    think I’m trying hard enough.
    I’m feeling blue and cynical.  
    My heart is worn out. Out of
loving people who do not want to
    love me in return. My heart is

    cold. Don’t tell the snow witch.
Can’t fight this. Not so tough after all.

    Don’t have that instinct. This is
breaking my heart. Breaking the hurt

    I’ve carried inside of me, my womb
    for months. I want to tell people.

All I have ever wanted is to be loved.

Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!



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