I woke up feeling bereft. When all the words and music I cloak myself in where stripped, all I knew were those six little letters. I sat perfectly still as my coffee steamed and my cigarette burned while slowly being devoured by those words.
‘Mother, I get that when you feel unsafe you remove yourself from those who hurt you. I get it….but do you have any idea how traumatic it is to be left on the outside of your world?’ I was so busy I never could afford to give it thought….until now.
It’s strange when one realises there is no need to run, hide or make excuses. This is what I require, what I can give. And I will demand it with a whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other while my feet are caressed by strong hands.
Still, I feel bereft. I chose not to write music about this feeling. That would take away the edge and give it shine, make it palatable. And I do not want to be redeemed or purged of this feeling. Not yet. It needs to dry on my skin and chafe against everything I know first. And as it does my No’s will sound surer. My yes’ more convincing and the need to escape into music, just to breathe…disappear.
Or at least that is the hope. I can only deal with one fear at a time.