6/4/2016 Beautiful by Jane HunterBeautiful I see her. She sees me. The hem of the skirt. The crease of the trouser. One is not the other, but both are the same. Frustrated eyes and confused emotions permeate. Self-doubt. Yearning. Fear. Longing. I am not me: My inner demon declaration. Shame. I call out to her, the woman who waits. No voice answers. I call louder. There is just one word, one simple word. “Please.” The eyes. They stare and they see. Black trousers. Vest. White shirt. Cufflinks. Socks. Jacket. Tie. A closing of the eyes and a dream. Black tights. Black skirt. White bra. White blouse. Black jacket. I call her name. Silence. I shout her name. Silence. Despair. Dread. I am not me. Who is me? She sleeps within me. Lost and lonely. In the dream she wakes. In the living nightmare world she is he. I am he. Dreaming my life away. Living the lie away. Happiness. A dress and a blonde wig away. Sadness. Every breath of the here and now. Live or die. Sink or swim. Fight or fly. Quiet deliberation. Shaking fear. Assertion. Trembling suffocating fear. Out with the old and in with the new. You’re beautiful. No, I’m beautiful. Me. The answer lies there in the I. Fear and revelation both alive in the I. I is me. I am her. She is me. The unanswered call is to her and not me. Me. I. I am me. I call out to me. Red lipstick. Me. Stockings and suspenders. I. Blonde wig. False eyelashes. I know my name. Black velvet dress. I am me. She is me. I speak my name. And my name is beautiful. Bio: Jane Hunter is a lost soul, dancing through the challenges of life, looking for something that seems impossible to define. When she finds that illusive 'something' she'll scream, and shout, from the rooftops of the world. Until then you can usually find her somewhere, occasionally elsewhere, but never nowhere. Comments are closed.
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