The kitchen no longer bears my signature
The kitchen is no longer mine. My voice has been lost. Drowned out. Daring to enter, I am struck by my absence. I have become a stranger here. And it, a stranger to me. My own colours have faded. Gone, flourishes that spoke of the woman who loved its spaces. Unavoidable others have left their mark. With clumsy, unconsciousness. Ugly. And I want to scream. GetoutGetoutGetoutGetout. But most of all, I want to weep.
posted by Adagio at 11:41 am
4 Comments:
I hope you have an outlet for your anger and feeling of helplessness. It must feel like a constant intrusion into your space and inner life. Good for you for at least writing some of it - I wish you could regain all that you have lost, but I see that you know how to transcend eventually. Good luck!
aaagh. how frustrating.
i think part of the reason why i'm good at not making my presence felt when staying in other peoples' spaces, is because when i have a space of my own, i cherish the placement of things, and a certain order and atmosphere which i've created.
Like being dispossessed? I hope this passes; that you regain the kitchen, but certainly the feeling of being truly at home.
Good thoughts coming your way.
Oh A, How bloody. Why is it not your own anymore?
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