All I gave you I want back. I died in the garden that night.
I feel as if I am sinking again sibling zebra, but you don’t
hold out your hand to save me. I’m not coming up for air.
No one cares anymore. No one loves the reflection in the
violent mirror. It is not desire. The charity shop porcelain teacups I
inherited from you are lying broken on the floor. Everything
is in pieces. I’m trying so hard to love someone who is already loved. There
came a day when she, my doppelganger no longer walked in
shadows. She told herself that she can have security, but
everything felt like vertigo. She blazed a map for me. The
truth is that honesty is such a lonely word. There’s a real
animal in my body. No erasing it. I am an insect. The feeding
begins beneath your skin. Deep inside of you. Water, don’t forget
all about me, don’t forgive the disappointed housewife who
is still my mother, don’t let my sister’s heart moved by a
young man’s charm. I am the authentic father. I am a mother,
but I am not in love, I am not in the mood for love. I need
something else besides all this bitterness. I need a mother. Not
this lack of identity. Lack of soul. I wish I was the one who
found the exit out of this dysfunctional childhood house. Out
of the chaos into the sun. Out of the fire, into an automatic
vocation. Never went to school. Never went anywhere, except
the little red book of institutionalisation. Every mistake. All I
know of is the history of the choices I’ve made. My father
made. There’s an animal inside my mind. Exorcise it. Father
makes me bleed from the inside out. Called it menopause on
the hour every hour. His set of false teeth keeps the clock
going. It keeps me up. It wakes me up. I am beautiful. I am
good, the doppelganger tells herself. All I have is this theory of
flight. They want to put me away for good this time. I don’t
know why. Please help. Please forgive me. Keep me away
from the world. I don’t want anything to do with it. Don’t
want anything from it. I wish I was dead. The doppelganger
said so. Told me so. Feel high. Feel so high. Low. Low and
numb. Low and then dead inside. They want me to cave in.
They want to me to give in. They are lying in the unmade bed,
and why do I have to pay for my father’s sins, and everyone
who wounded my mother? They leave me to cry. They see
my hurt, my tears, my despair, and hate me for it even more.
I am unafraid. All I have is the pain. I hold the knife in my hand.
I am the finch. The birthday cake belongs to my past for good.
I am tired of it. The doppelganger is exhausted by every trial.
Yet, she reaches out, within, and something seems younger
about her. Her universe is amplified. There’s birdsong in the
air. I can’t quite get a hold of anything. She wants to stay. She
wants to be good. All I am is fragments. All I am is flux. A void
where my brain should be, heart should be. There’s no happy
ending here. My life is frozen. It wasn’t always like this, you
know. It happened because of all the baggage from my past.
The sun in my doppelganger’s world wants to be live, and be
celebrated. They call me banshee. I no longer win at anything.
Too many brown eyes. Too many walls. Too many buildings.
Not even mother love. Only sin-eater. My grown-up heart is an ark.
No one wants the doppelganger. Her reflection doesn’t tell her
the truth anymore. I’m standing in the back. Scream in my mouth.
I am walking on lotus flowers growing in a season of pink mud.
The doppelganger visits everywhere. To the ends of
the earth, to hell, and back again. She makes anonymous
donations to charities. This makes her feel wonderful. To
do good. She thinks she’s well-liked for it. The doppelganger
thinks she’s so perfect. I can see straight through her,
especially in those ghost shoes. The destination is heaven.
I can’t seem to think anymore. In which direction am I going?
What is this hungry spirituality? All I can feel, see is this
strange emptiness. The damage is done. The damage is done.
The monsters have come out. They have each destroyed
me in their own way. I live for the nightfall. It covers me
like a wedding veil. The night is bride, and nature is its groom.
Once I wanted to be wife, activist, writer, mother, wife,
mother. People don’t like people like me. I have been dead
so many times. Brought to life this Eve, this Eve. Adam’s rib.
They say its over. The psychosis is just beginning. No difference
between family and society. The stigma sits breathing in
the stale air in the dining room. Ignoring the wisdom of the
kitchen table. The dirty dishes in the sink. I can’t sit through
this film. It feels like Hitchcock’s work. The monsters are coming.
Coming through the backdoor smoking a joint. Alcohol
on their breath. They’ve been drinking red wine out of paper
cups. They’ve got it made. They’ve got their buzz on like
they’re so innocent. They’re like sheep. Bring me down like
there’s no tomorrow. The key is a nun. It is in the ignition.
I’m going for a long drive. Got the radio on. A country song
is playing about a wedding between a poor girl and a rich man.
An afternoon drive on this healthy Sunday full of church
and roast and religion. My stockings are white. I am wearing a
hat. You won’t see me again in this town. I’ve got a ticket.
I’m going places. I’m standing at the back. With the scream in
my mouth. I’m going to stop at the shop. Bag me some groceries.
Smoke me a cigarette. Climb a mountain hugging the hills
in my car. Going through the valley with the wind in my hair.
Not think about the renal unit. Not give it one iota of thought.
Think of Elizabeth Wurtzel’s long journey into night. Her
voyage into eternity. I should have gone to a cousin’s wedding,
but I didn’t. I should have gone to the funeral of his mother, but I didn’t.
I am rosebuds splitting the atom. Illness in my heart’s heart.
