this isn't wonderland

a cheshire moon grins through a tree into my window. i lay on my bed looking into the fragments of a life i wrote so long ago and wondering how i'll look back onto these words. so many words have passed through my fingers, so many thoughts and feelings riding their backs, and yet what did they mean? what are they worth? i am not those words and no longer am i those feelings. yet they belong to me, they waited for me for... what? the cat grins mocking and i curtly but briefly relieve my tongue of its mouth.

soon i'll be gone from the confines of this house. freed from the old man downstairs and his subtle arts of manipulation. shed from the skin of many selves past. it seems like forever since i first came back here but it's only been fivepointfive months. an eternity, actually. in this time i've fought to hold onto my dreams and i fight still for their manifestation. he won't understand this desire to bicycle across the country. he won't understand that strength in me that tells me i can do this. he won't see who i am and i fight his perceptions. i fight his destiny off from my own. he chose his. i'm choosing mine. fuck off. fuck off. FUCK OFF.

and so i hermit in my room lost in blogs of the vital women i've grown to adore. who i've adopted as sisters. who i shyly wish sat in the field behind this house, under this disappearing moon, with their stories of life and love and telling me i'm not loony for wanting my own kind of freedom, my own kind of life.

and still the moon sits above the pasture... a paradox of meaning.