Quiet. I have the voices in my head again, chirping like birds.
You think that I am someone who has it together, who dances across the stage of daily life with grace. Instead I tiptoe on elephantine feet. You think that my platter is silver and that gifts are bestowed from impeccably gracious hands. Instead, my platter is a collar made of rope and the only hands that I see are those that wish to grab me. You believe that my sunshine is cloudless and that what furrows my brow must only be thought. Instead, I live in rain and wind and fury. I have harpies circling for clouds and plant crops between my eyes.
Quiet. I am listening. What is it that you seek, my sailor of wind-tossed quests? You give me responsibilities, all wrapped up with titles, ties, and obligations. You give me shoulds and musts and needs. I gather them up and pull them inside. I will be your Mrs., I will be the mother to your children, I will be the scholar, I will be the worker, I will reap all that you sow in me. Your quest will be completed. You have succeeded in your duties and may take this burning spark back to your beginning.
Can you hear the cracking?
Let's start again. In the spring, the flowers will bloom. In the spring, the birds will sing. In the spring, I will succeed. And having made success, I will retreat back again and marshal my forces. You may burden me but I will not sink. You may doom me, but I will float. You may not know me, but I will thrive. And I will be legend. And I will be secret.