Afternoon.

 

Fuck. Slide deeper. Go.

She had decided a while ago that at this particular juncture in time she was just going to go by “she”.  It was easy to see how this happened.  Too much of everything, and not much of anything in particular.  She had trouble making the connections, putting the pieces together and adding them all up to one functioning soul  . . . she did far too much subtracting.  She went into dream mood some of the time, imagining grandiose situations where everything was limitless. She was injected with this semi permeable wholeness from the inside out.  Strange how she would be walking on air with ease all while coherently being Angelina Jolie in Mr and Mrs. Smith.  Barnes and Noble at 2 in the afternoon would never be the same.  She navigated her wholeness up and down the isles in Marc Jacobs aviators, she never wanted to be seen, it was hard.  She would go for noticed that was enough.  For years she was seen.  She checked her reflection to make sure that every strand was in place, fuck now who was she kidding . . . she smiled amused at her eventful afternoon. Satisfied with herself she applied some clear lipgloss, her lips were like the flesh of ripe peaches  . . . she smelled good, she knew that.

She in the wake of name change, unconsciously  she decided somewhere within and began subtracting the right and adding the wrong that it was time to just get back to the she that she only knows.  One the used to love to fuck.  The one that use to love to take the photos. The one that was so inappropriately funny.  The paralyzation of the mind was what was ruining the physical body as well as the mental spirit.  She was told to put her spirit into a box and hold it there and it will be blessed and renewed.  It was obvious even to the ones that were not close to her that she needed some serious dusting off.   Inprisonment of the mind was just one of the vast problems at hand.  She left the house less and less.  She had become overwhelmed with simple tasks like doing her banking, picking up the dry cleaning was like jury duty.  Life as she knew it, use to know it, or what she thought is was or was suppose to be . . .was not and it was too much.  Fucking brat.  She did not only imprison her mind but her body . . . the wild and carefree days were seemingly fewer and fewer.  More disconnected then ever, more yoga then ever and zero connection to her soul.  Buried deep she knew it was all there . . . somewhere  as she lay deeper in pigeon pose, her backbends became deeper and handstands became stronger.  Disconnected, scared, she struggled to let go of the past, that is what people are told to do right? Let it go  . . . move the fuck on.  But wait she could not let go because in her past lay part of her soul that she cut off in an attempt to let it all go.  In doing so she lost it all. The connection, the joy, the strength and the little light.  She was starting to understand the power of her own mind.  She unbeknownst to herself actively killed part of herself.  How does this happen? She thought when things needed to go they needed to go away forever.  It was easy, that shit is frightening, how does she manage  . . . plainly. . .she doesn’t anymore.  She holds on to the things that weren’t killed off with the iron fist, keeping them close, untarnished and pure.  They are safe  . . . her yoga practice being one.

-Applejaxe

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~ by applejaxe on July 21, 2013.

One Response to “Afternoon.”

  1. Intense

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