M:

I’m heading ahead and I never stop. I know the path so well as I always do. Yet I can’t remember where I’m going to. I plead, in front of the computer, for concentration and
composure. Which I believe were lost somewhere between my blue stripe shirt and the sexy pink top I dare not wear to work. The autumn breeze boosts me up and keeps me from fainting. But the hole I dig keeps growing and now it’s dragging me down. I laugh so hard it breaks me into little pieces. I want so much to go to the cinema where I save my tears. Pathetic is the one on the screen, not me. Craving. The woman said on TV. For that big wild shoulder. And the smell of sweat, disturb me. What do you mean? My boss demands. Lack of analytic ability, said the appraisal. Lack of love, said the high self. The idea of imperfection, poverty, insufficiency annoy me. 20 pages of liberal feminism didn’t tell me how to liberate from desire and want. The pain on my toes which are cramped in the heels wakes me up in sleep. I’m heading ahead and I never stop.