Sometimes I am Ashke, the dreamer. I am wistful, or hopeful, get caught up in fantasy. I stare into space, my thoughts traveling spiral paths that don't always connect with one another or follow reason. Sometimes my dreams are mine alone, and other moments I'll find myself breathless with anticipation to share them.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the girlfriend. I tend to my love's desires, I smile at his friends as if they were my own, stand by his side. I forget his endless schedules and plans, infuriate him, hold my own in snarling squabbles and disagreements. I hold him when he needs it. I listen to him.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the freak. I have purple and green hair, my clothes can induce headaches. I wear fairy wings in public. I trip because I vastly enjoy a good case of temporary insanity. I have spontaneous gigglefits, scream aloud at frustrations. I dance naked in my room.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the addict. Confronted with lines of yellow or white, I must sometimes hide myself to tremble, or weep, or rage. I must compose myself and wash my face and come out smiling.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the wench. A boy's smooth hard stomach, or a white flash of feminine thighs will catch my eye and win from me a rich rumbled purr before I must remind myself of my darling boy who loves me so.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the child. I am consumed with thoughts of parties and bright things. I will cry too quickly, or huff, or stomp about over inconsequentials. I will throw away money on toys and neglect the phone bill.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the writer. I am obsessed with the way words fall together, the way they can be shuffled one way and make someone cringe, rearranged once more and spark laughter. I pick at my works, and can never silent the constant mental editor that criticizes every letter.
Sometimes I am none of these. Sometimes I think, I am Ashke, the... And I hear silence, I see blank canvas, I grasp air. And I am as lost and confused as ever.
~*~ Ashke ~*~
Sometimes I am Ashke, the girlfriend. I tend to my love's desires, I smile at his friends as if they were my own, stand by his side. I forget his endless schedules and plans, infuriate him, hold my own in snarling squabbles and disagreements. I hold him when he needs it. I listen to him.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the freak. I have purple and green hair, my clothes can induce headaches. I wear fairy wings in public. I trip because I vastly enjoy a good case of temporary insanity. I have spontaneous gigglefits, scream aloud at frustrations. I dance naked in my room.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the addict. Confronted with lines of yellow or white, I must sometimes hide myself to tremble, or weep, or rage. I must compose myself and wash my face and come out smiling.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the wench. A boy's smooth hard stomach, or a white flash of feminine thighs will catch my eye and win from me a rich rumbled purr before I must remind myself of my darling boy who loves me so.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the child. I am consumed with thoughts of parties and bright things. I will cry too quickly, or huff, or stomp about over inconsequentials. I will throw away money on toys and neglect the phone bill.
Sometimes I am Ashke, the writer. I am obsessed with the way words fall together, the way they can be shuffled one way and make someone cringe, rearranged once more and spark laughter. I pick at my works, and can never silent the constant mental editor that criticizes every letter.
Sometimes I am none of these. Sometimes I think, I am Ashke, the... And I hear silence, I see blank canvas, I grasp air. And I am as lost and confused as ever.
~*~ Ashke ~*~
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