What it feels like.

I can not with absolute clarity describe to you the feeling,

but as I close my eyes I can paint for you, with experiences and things imaged

Something that you might liken it to.

Bare with me as I attempt to, without bleeding, separate meat from bone, queen from newly claimed throne.

It’s the feeling as a needle pricks your skin, sharp, seeminlg tiny but somehow all encompassing.

It’s the fourth  wave that beats down on your exsistence as you rise to breath only to take salt water in again.

It’s standing on your tippy-toes, naked, exposed unable to reach the deliciousness that you hid from yourself. We all know.

It’s sex and drowning, deep breaths that poduce no air.

It’s  a thirst, dry mouth and itching throat.

It’s bumping your hips into desks and chairs, door frames and walls, realising that you are growing.

It’s stubbing your toe in public, vacuuming naked, laughing alone then crying.

It’s spreading yourself so thin that the world can see in through your colour and observe your heart surviving.

It’s falling backwards onto concrete, being pushed aside by covered feet, it’s taking everything that you’ve got and asking someone to hold it.

It’s like being born, conscious , awake, aware and able to understand and communicate the happenings.

It’s like being buried alive and realising that you can breathe and that there are others here and  they have been waiting for you.

They have been waiting for you.

It’s standing up for the first time and acknowledging that you are the earth, the mountains and rocks and treasure.

It is warm and cold and ugly.

It is ice and fire and beauty.

It is



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