china_dolls misstree it's an irrational hatred. i see these women, these souls in bodies smaller than mine, and i hate them, i want to take them in my two hands and crush them. they make me feel huge and unwieldy. all the power carried in swiveling hips suddenly turns from gold to lead, my chest aches and i want to slink back. i am eternally frumpy when cast in their light, i bulge in strange places and i will never be able to wear the clothes that they can, i will never be cute and i will never make a man feel big and strong. my hate is nuclear powered. i know that they are simply souls in different meat, that i can pounce and make their arms flail like reeds, dismissed, that they are wisps, overlooked, and that i am far from alone in my hatred, but it is not enough to shade the enormity of this glowing sun. they represent a youth i never had, the bodies of twelve year olds carried past adolescence into archetype, and they are my nemeses; myself all earth and fire and solid and strike, themselves all air and water and wisp and wind. even so, this hatred is not mere juxtaposition. it is for every time that i have lost some unspoken contest to their ephemeral grace, it is for every moment i spend trying to hide the extra weight hung from my navel, that i look into the mirror and i see frumpy even without clothes, that i feel the extra skin around me and where some tiny pixie would be, where things glitter brighter and boys rush in to snatch up and protect. i know their hatred is at least sometimes returned; i know that especially the young among these creatures despise me on sight, and i revel in it, knowing that they see my fullness and candor and assurance and strength and are confused and angry and envious. i am not comforted by my hatred. i carry it with me, rotting and real, and i wish that i could love all my sistern, but even in all the me that is extra when compared to their chickadee frames, i can't find a way to stop hating them. they can blame the last straw on the one that stole my mate. for the sins of one, none will ever be forgiven, and all of them will forever echo her face. 060131 ... Ouroboros ! 060207 ... LS If you were a china doll I would put you on my shelf until dust collected. Then i would wipe the dust off and hold you for a minute and then put you back, until the dust fell again. I would smash your pretty porcelin face with my bare hands. Real hands, strong hands, gentle hands. Hands covered in their own blood. The same blood smeared across the shards of your face. Or the blood that trailed from your lip. And like the shards of porcelin in my hand, the memory stings and will leave a scar. ************************* Oh, my sister...we are so trapped by ourselves...we both scream in our own prison, shake our own bars, and mutilate our own hearts... 060207 ... IGG misstree that was so...piercingly true. so succinctly put, there is nothing that i can say that will convey the impact that just had. thankyou. sending you a hug. 060207 what's it to you? who go blather from