Saturday, September 27, 2008

The Naked Angel in My Closet-Suzen JueL

The Bones were the simple words, scratched in pencil across a blank page.
Picking up the guitar awkwardly, so unfamiliar with this instrument I forced myself to love and to become familiar with...whispering out a melody,
afraid the dark would hear me,
hoping to keep silent and secluded...
it was as if I were watching something manifest from these bare lyrical bones,
as I plucked one string at a time, finding a melody, a skin to cover the lyrics with, something of substance, something just would become, like that.
Lyrics seemed empty for too long and the music was like the beautiful chestnut hair that covered the face of what I was beginning to see.
It had a voice...
barely awkward anymore,
the whole beauty of it all came together one little stitch at a time.
Passing in a slow movement,
blending with everything around it, not knowing the identity in which to tie itself to,
it could change with the tip of my eraser,
or the black thick line of my pen,
scratching through it.
It could change simply when I tore the paper in it fell to the ground, it's long legs broken.
I could write it's future,
I could write it's fate,
I could not change it's fate...
I could not even erase it's fate.
What i wrote, was nothing but the truth, as it stood before me,
waiting for me to color it in with the edges of my lips,
the push of my tongue toward the entrance of the world that let the words fall out of me,
as if someone were pouring me forward...fingers scratching on the 6 brass strings,
sliding along it's long and dark wooden neck,
pushing out whatever was inside...
losing it to the surface of the paper
I quickly scratched the surface of,
scratching with my ink, my pencil....
my finger rapidly moving in the dark across my pillow,
just so I could write the words somewhere...visually that is how I would remember them.
On the steering wheel of my car
writing the words
That first leaf that fell from the tree
scared me
it was like a paper bird, thin and burnt red
falling and fluttering
across the window of my car
and the voice that spoke quietly
she was pushed into the mattress
her words forgotten as I dreamt instead
trying to push all those words away
because they sometimes did not stop, the words didn't sleep
nor does the world sleep
only the people inside it do.
Writing in flight like, strayed and pale writing
that no one could understand...this is how I wanted it to be
people staring over my shoulder at what I wrote
my arm covering the words
as if protecting the naked angel before me
from being seen
she wasn't ready yet
the words were too vulnerable
she wasn't loud enough yet
her voice still hushed in the dark, afraid that the very thickness of night
would hear her
You can't keep naked angels in your closet forever
mine wasn't going to stay hidden forever either
there had to come a time when I would take her by the hand...right?
Lead her to my image, let her identify, teach her to speak
the voice could no longer be pushed
the words became tangible and eyes looked at the words
like they were looking at a naked body exposed before them
it made me made me want to hide.
her wings were amazing and worn
she had already been thru the sky
she had already fallen across my window in brilliant blazing red
she had already known that she would be looked at
the same way you stare at what you are not used to seeing with your eyes
the way you listen to what you are not familiar with in your ears
the way you touch someone that you have never been to before
and she was willing...because her arms were wrapped around everyone who came near her
anyone who had been exposed to her.
She was every song that I scratched down on paper napkins and bathroom walls
she was every word I traced on my pillow at night so I would not forget
she was every blackbird that circled around my head as I moved, wings brushing my soul with words
and colors and sound....

Self Portrait

Self Portrait
This is Not a Drawing