I miss me. The real me, the me I grew up with, the me I've always been. No one here knows me. They call me by another name. Candi, candi cane, candigyrl, miss candi, aunt candi. Whatever happened to me? Save me. Candi is a facade, a mask, a place to hide. For so long, no one has called me by the name I was given, the name I love. The name that MEANS love. Who am I? Not this candi. I don't want to hide behind it anymore. I want to be with people who know me as I am, who call me what I am. Ruby knew my name. He called me by my name. And I lost him. My family as well. Am I doomed to live in this candied life? Forever? Doesn't anyone realize how important it is to me to be ME?
They sleep. I sit here, hour upon hour, awake, aware, conscious. While they sleep and dream. A house full of people and I'm the only one living in it. If I appear in their dreams, it is, perhaps, as a sugar plum faerie, a sweet bite, a tasty morsel. I long for the days when I was me, allowed to be me, loved for me-ME and not what I could be, not what I could turn into given time and training. Me. But who am I? I don't even know. I believe what they tell me. Gullible, foolish, simple me.
The rain hits my face, stinging the tears right back to my eyes. I welcome the pain, I revel in the cleansing. The very nature of the droplets pouring down on me is purity in and of itself. But beauty is only skin deep. And the rain can only reach the outer layer. Inside is corrupt, blackened, bruised, empty. And vulnerable.
They've died. Those pieces of her heart she so freely gave away. They were irreparably separated from her and they cannot live apart from the source. The feeble, fragile source, now. Because they've left so many holes, the rest can never be whole again. But oh, how it yearns for its lost pieces. Oh, how it remembers the once upon a time.
Laters
They sleep. I sit here, hour upon hour, awake, aware, conscious. While they sleep and dream. A house full of people and I'm the only one living in it. If I appear in their dreams, it is, perhaps, as a sugar plum faerie, a sweet bite, a tasty morsel. I long for the days when I was me, allowed to be me, loved for me-ME and not what I could be, not what I could turn into given time and training. Me. But who am I? I don't even know. I believe what they tell me. Gullible, foolish, simple me.
The rain hits my face, stinging the tears right back to my eyes. I welcome the pain, I revel in the cleansing. The very nature of the droplets pouring down on me is purity in and of itself. But beauty is only skin deep. And the rain can only reach the outer layer. Inside is corrupt, blackened, bruised, empty. And vulnerable.
They've died. Those pieces of her heart she so freely gave away. They were irreparably separated from her and they cannot live apart from the source. The feeble, fragile source, now. Because they've left so many holes, the rest can never be whole again. But oh, how it yearns for its lost pieces. Oh, how it remembers the once upon a time.
Laters
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