Storage

With the lights out, it's less dangerous. Why is that? It's like you're so pale in this dark room you're not even here. It's just me alone, taking all the responsibility for breaking myself apart. With the lights out, it's less dangerous. I have less of the responsibility to be a good girl. I can behave like the person I am behind my agreeing face and smile. I can be dominant, pushy, feely, unforgiving, so soft I might melt away. I can be truly me, but the one I haven't grown into yet. I can find her and tether myself to her tiny arm in this dark with you. I can pull myself forward in this dark room realm where everything is inexorable. I love that word. Languid, is another one. With the lights down, it's less dangerous to be languid. To lay down in all the danger. Like Morticia in her bed of nails. It's perfect perfect, just like this with you. Why is it that the danger doesn't feel so dangerous with the lights out? What is it about being able to slip out of normal time, and into a little hole where you won't be accountable for anything once the sun comes up? With the lights down, it's less dangerous. Down down down down down - all kinds of danger implied there. But I'm not low anywhere. I'm in a storage closet of a public ballroom. Well, not public, but public enough. 

I am the storage closet and you wouldn't believe what I hold.

You don't want to know and you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

This came out when I gave my body a voice inside Body Writers, my somatic writing and healing circle. Learn to give your body a voice here.