I have a story to tell.
Though it burns in me, hoping it will help when it escapes, I wonder aloud whether this is my new addiction? In sharing the coffered remains of patterns, pot parties and cunnilingus, what do I hope to achieve? Is my ego haunting me again, for a puritanical purging of my ways. I am thinking of the sense printing this book makes. Even at this last stage, do I really want to divulge myself…leave my scars, wounds and other sacrifices open for public viewing and scrutiny, knowing that humanity is weak and contradictory. The forward brought me to tears, I am spared this, no?
The forward brought me to tears…a confirmation of purpose. Why are you doing this Janessa…? Navel gazing has never brought about anything but your self-absorbed poetry. Why would this be any different? But, the forward, unprompted, brought me to tears, a ‘picture of purpose’…because of its truth.
I am limited in my response to the response. My purpose is so blazingly evident that conviction is surpassed in description…and I surrender in the hope that my weakness is being used. If it isn’t, and this is all folly, I will it all the same, for nothing has yet proven more comforting and motivating.
I have a story to tell, and it feels infinitely more powerful than me or my efforts to delay. I’ll just continue to hope and pray that somewhere, someday, it helps.