the well

Today, i'm going down a well. i just found it, lying there. probably it's been there for quite some time; i mean, i never saw it being dug out, so either it's always been there, or they dug it when i was very small. but i just found it recently.

i'd been rummaging around in the the long grass, you see, busying myself with the brambles and the weeds, tidying, clearing... busy.
i had to come out here, because i just couldn't be in the house anymore.
i don't know exactly what happened, but the walls were suddenly not so comforting: not so much protecting me from the outside, creating a cosy, warm place; but suddenly closing in on me, and getting in the way of my movements. and also, in a certain way, the walls seemed empty. the house seemed empty, unfamiliar, as if i didn't know how i got to be there at all: as if it was someone else's house. so i came out here, and now i'm going to have to go down the well.

to be honest, i'm a bit nervous. i don't know what's down there. i mean, it's been there a long time. and it sounds strange, but it seems to be pulling me in, like when you're a bit afraid of heights, and as you look over the edge of a high place, something seems to draw you down, your mind unstoppably imagining falling, as if, when you wouldn't keep very attentive, you would probably just slide over the edge. that's how it feels like by the well. it sucks me in, and i'm a little dizzy, my head spinning, as if control is slipping away. but i won't jump down. i'm going to climb down slowly.

i've got this rope, you see, which i wove myself, actually. for years, i've been weaving threads. i thought i'd use it for climbing high, up trees, and i did do a bit of that. so, you know, i'm alright at using it: knotting and climbing it. i didn't think i'd use it to go down, though. i'm going to tie it to my favorite tree, there - the huge apple tree, that's been there as long as i can remember - so that it, you know, holds me.

i'm a little nervous in case i can't climb back out again, but i have to go down, now that i've seen it. as preparation, i'm trying to remember the opposites: you know, how movements always contain their opposite, so that a push contains a pull, and the idea of lifting up is contained within the idea of moving down, since all movements come from the inside, rather than the outside. i'm trying to hold on to that idea: to hold on and to let go.

-

I'm part-way down the well, now. it's dark here. really dark. i did bring a little head torch, but it just makes a thin stripe-spot of light. it's dark and i don't know why, but i feel kind-of defenceless, and it's making a small panic prickle across my skin and catch in my throat.
it's dark, and it's very, very quiet, and i don't know why, but it makes me feel very small, as if i need to curl-crouch inside myself, as if there could be nothing else to do.
and, i know i came here myself, but it feels all of a sudden as if someone left me here. i can almost feel their absence, as if they bleed out of the air, drain the warmth of it away from my skin.
it's cold down here.
i know i chose to come down here, but for some reason this feeling of being left alone is making all the energy sink down in a slow collapse: a prickly, panicked collapse.
and, i don't know why, but my skin is becoming paper-thin, vanishing into the dark, empty quietness: no defences. and suddenly, it's as if my chest is too soft and open, as if something is flowing out of me from there, and as if things could too easily come in from the outside. painful things. it's too open. it's not normally like this. it's too soft, and it's spreading, and overwhelming sadness washing all over me, sadness so sharp it cuts from my chest down into my belly, and suddenly i'm crying in the well, unseen tears, that seem to spill out from long ago.

i'm not sure whether to go up or down. i shine my little torch light on the rope, look at the fine, strong threads. they'll hold me here, right? the answer flashes into my mind without any thought: of course they will. i made it well. as conscious thought catches up, i realise i must have some kind of instinctive trust in myself. and this gives me courage.
then i think further up the rope, to the tree and the knot securing it there. will they hold? i go through the actions of the knot in my memory, testing it out. i think of how i learned those knots, and times i've used them before. i think of the tree that i've known so long, how the apples taste, always slightly different each year, it seems. some minutes go by in a dazed swirl of thoughts and memories, until i realise that the soft-pain-fear feeling has gone.
i had thought it away. distracted it. reburied it.

but i came down this well, and the soft-pain-fear was what i met, so i should go on.
i climb down further, looping my feet around the rope. and soon it comes again: panic, defenceless, small, left alone, sad. i don't think this time. i know i have to keep climbing down.
the waves keep coming. sometimes the thoughts jump in and take me away, but always i come back, and keep climbing down.

down, until my feet meet the firm rungs of a ladder. why is there a ladder only half-way down the well?! why was there no ladder before? while my mind twists itself around the new information, my feet settle themselves down, and accept my weight, gladly letting my tired arms-shoulders-back have a rest. the weight through my feet sends a kind of calm through my body, and the panic-alone-pain begins to feel less threatening. the feeling seems to be circling round my body now, a light buzzing just under and just above the skin. it makes me feel bigger, more whole, less defenceless, and less afraid. it makes me feel fuller, and so not so crushed at being alone. and the sadness seems to become a kind of glow.

i continue down the ladder, moving slower, my whole body more at ease now, until, at some point, there is solid ground beneath my feet. i don't know how, but it's dry. i sit down and rest. the darkness holds me in place, presses gently on my edges so that they don't fall out. the quietness pulls my ears far into the space above me, as if i stretch much further than before, beams reaching to, or from, my head. i fall asleep for a little while.

air

Today, i'm the air,
clear and fresh,
empty to your eyes,
but full of particles
that you can't see,
but perhaps that you feel
through my light caress
of your face, your arms, your legs,
as i brush the hairs on your skin,
your outermost edge.

Perhaps i look empty to you,
but consider:
you're sitting, standing
at the bottom of an ocean of me,
held down there only by
the unseen tug of gravity,
and, unseen, my little particles and i
refract the light
that bleeds from the sun,
allowing you those blue hues
that you love,
that close your world in from above.

water

Today, i'm the ocean,
ebbs and flows,
against the shore
of what you know,
but reaching much further away
than your eyes can take,
much deeper than those ripples
and waves that break on the edge
of your little boat,
with unimaginable things
moving in the dark depths
where light can't penetrate.

a thousand lovers

( note: to be read in a broad, yorkshire (northern english) accent )

i've loved you all, she said.
with some of you, i've been to bed;
with others, we barely touched at all,
but those were sometimes more intense,
the way you did enthrall me.
we touched in ways beyond the sense.

i've loved you all, she said:
the days and nights we spent;
or others, just coffee and a stroll,
but oh, how i remember when,
that thing you said, i'll never forget,
and the way you tilted back your head,
that look you'd sometimes give me when,
and how you'd stand, and sit, and then.

i've loved you all, she said.
a thousand lovers strewn across
a life of curiosity,
of learning how you think-feel-see
the world in ways i'd never have known,
if you hadn't come along and shown
the contents of your heart and head,
and all that lies between.

you asked me questions so direct
they shocked me into seeing clear
what was before so out of reach.
you jumped right off your chair that time,
angry, where i couldn't be,
at things that i'd let happen to me,
and finally, i got it.
you taught me how to meditate,
and you, i love your logic.
you taught me how to fantasize,
explore what lies beyond closed eyes.
you taught me vulnerability,
with your insecure, sheer brilliance:
you taught me to unravel a text,
it's layers of significance.

from you, i learned history,
of sufis and prophets: your family.
you showed me the power of tradition,
which you couldn't pass-over so lightly.
you showed me what it is to sense
with such penetrating empathy.
and you, i love your openness
to explore, continually.
in you, i loved your unbound, enthusiastic energy.
and you, i loved how much of you
was hidden from me.
you taught me how to skate and play
creatively with the streets.
you taught me how to dominate you
oh so lustfully.

i've loved you all, she said.
i've been in love so many times,
filled me with fascination,
letting your life brush against mine,
standing, tip-toed on the edge,
leaning as close as i could get,
sparked with inspiration.

i've loved you all, she said.
the days and nights we spent.
something touched between us:
we didn't have to go to bed,
although, sometimes we did.
maybe i wasn't there so long.
maybe you weren't either.

i don't know who i am today,
apart from every one of you.
i don't know who'll be coming next,
but i know i'll give them oh so much,
like i always do.
i'll give them everything of me,
and, i guess, by logical extent: every one of you.
so at least you can relax and know
that they will love you too.

waiting place

this is a place where you can wait.
put down your phone, just put it away.
put out your smoke, you don't need it today.
this is a place where you can wait.
you don't know what for,
of course you don't.
you haven't stopped in weeks or months.
you haven't looked up, you've tumbled and spun,
you know what i mean, that stumbling run from
point to point blank space, always moving on
quick shift to the next face, walking like a car chase,
stop for a minute:
this is a place where you can wait.

this is the time that it takes.
a moment so long you could hold it in your hand,
take it to the river and dream as you stand there,
counting the ripples and shifts in the air.
this is the time that it takes.
you don't know how long,
of course you don't.
this isn't gonna be an instantaneous fix for you,
a quick-step, shuffle-up, shake it and mix it new
no, not this time.
this is the time that it takes.

this is a place where you can wait.
you can stay here, breathe here, face up to your own fear,
you've no fucking clue what's coming round the corner,
you don't know what to do,
there's a brewing storm here,
chaos, unknown, where should you turn?
you've so many questions, you're so confused,
you're lost and it's making you so ashamed,
but this is a time when you will change.
this is a place where you can wait.
stay in this place and it's unclear shapes.
you have to get lost to find your way.

this is the time that it takes.
a moment so fine it could crumble and break
if you take it by the hand,
so handle it with care,
you could take it anywhere,
stop and stare,
count the moving shifts in the air,
listen to the layers of sense unfold,
listen to your heart, its tales untold.
give it some time, the time that it takes.
don't be afraid to stay in this place.
this chaos is your only safe.

this is a place where you can wait.
this is the time that it takes.

neither and both: boyed_girl, girled_boy

i was born into a pattern:
a perfect order
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
all two years apart,
patterns of colours, clothes, talk, and toys,
a neat system of clits and cocks,
spread out between my siblings and i.

/ tell me, do you see my clit? do you see my cock? /

i grew into patterns
of fights, football, bikes and trees,
of primary school boy-gangs and girl-gangs,
of all-year-round shorts and t-shirts,
bare feet on the grass and stones,
and stony silence when there was anger
and violence in the kitchen, on the stairs,
and closing inside to find small spaces of safety,
where there was quiet.

/ tell me, do you hear my quiet? /

i grew into patterns
of girl-boy-girl-boy,
now here, now there,
now short-long hair,
now boy-talk about girls
and menstrual blood and masturbation,
with six-pack competitions and
making fun of each other,
proving our place;
now girl-talk about boys
and bras, shaving and lotion,
me desperately trying to work out their rules,
and taking showers together after high-school sport,
where we all kept our underwear on,
because this was England.

i grew into dancing with my hips
for the constant male gaze,
into skating and breakdance in baggy pants,
taking on the male gaze,
into jumps and splits in a growing maze
of inside-outside, this side, that side,
not sure where i belong,
trying to decide,
and a tendency to drift
into corners and distance
when i wasn't sure.

/ tell me, do you see my gaze? /

i grew into other peoples' patterns,
their rules, their desires, my second guesses,
falling
into their ways
of girl-boy-girl-boy:
now 'masculine' and proud of it,
but not too much, not too butch,
stay soft around the edges;
now 'feminine': just try it on,
this side that's been neglected.
so despite trying to dare, trying not to care,
falling
from one person to another,
never landing in between,
shifting out of myself
to fit something safe,
falling into social patterns
that keep the genders clean.
you see, the idea of rejection or disapproval
still made those small parts of me afraid.

/ but tell me, is falling safe? /

i grew into falling,
until i couldn't stand
the twists and splits in my only me,
couldn't think or feel or breathe:
lost in other people's space.

i grew into my clit-cock-muscles-tits,
my butch-fem, sub-dom,
to and from the other side,
where there is no other, no side,
no pride, no shame,
just a human, being, moving, breathing,
with words on my lips and unsaid,
with short-long hair on my head,
with hair in my pits and on my legs,
with the muscles i always wanted,
arms packed, abs tight,
not trying to be nice,
with my deeper, relaxed voice,
not trying to be liked,
with a wide stance, leaning back as i talk,
and a definite swagger, eyes high as i walk,
without any bra confusing my chest,
with men's underwear and shower gel -
which after all is just a smell -
and with clothing picked from both sides
of your precious gender divide.

/ and you can say: these acts are just surface,
just a redefining of femininity.
and i can say: no; that's not what i mean. /

i grew out of your patterns,
a silent blaze of fuck your rules, i don't want to play.
this girl-boy split doesn't fit my skin,
doesn't fit the subtlety of a human, being,
who isn't a computer code, a set of binaries,
of ones and zeros, zero, one, zero, one, out to infinity. please.
the one is the zero, is neither, and both.
the patterns are see-though and solid, are split and whole.
i know, it might be unsettling for you,
but just drop this he-she shit: you can call me my name.

i'll keep growing, into a human: being, doing, dreaming,
with my own desires, my own calm,
my ideas, perception, imagination,
my own power on my own fucking feet.

/ i tell you, i see your patterns, but don't put them on me. /

voices, circling

so you're here again.
you seem to be here all the time these days,
hovering just out of sight
with your perfect presence,
drawing me out of whatever present moment
i find myself in.
you're here and i wish i could dive into you,
soak into your skin, submerge myself
in your thoughts, your movements,
your words, your pauses, your world.
i wish you'd fall into me,
that i could you suck you in,
drown us both
in a flood of wonder.
-
i don't want any of this,
get out of my head.
i wish i could just exist on my own,
without the nose-dive, arms out, tail high, full flight
into someone else's life.
-
but in the old parts of me that you cover up,
there's a roaring, thunderous gush
of free-floating nothingness,
a deafening, crushing no place in the world to hold onto,
where all my feelings count for shit,
all my ideas cease to exist,
where i'm left alone and small,
curled into a terrified ball,
lest my insides spill outside
and slip through gaps in the air,
and there's no knowing what someone
might do with them there.
-
i want to sink into that loud silence,
to float
on the nothingness,
find myself
new
in every moment,
never holding on,
made only through each act, each word, each touch,
made of endless space and possibility.
and you can't give that to me.
i don't want to need you and your love.
i don't want to dive, to drown,
and then have to explode out later,
when it's suddenly too much to bear.
-
but you're here again.
you seem to be here all the time these days.