one of the reasons why orphans and their welfare are part of my personal crusade is because i. get. them.. their narrative is mine, in a way, too.
i know how maddening it is to wake up flailing and to not have roots to anchor you.
i tweeted recently that only a few truly know me, a handful, around five people. they’re an endangered bunch simply because they are also targeted because they, like me, are still in the process of knowing themselves and rediscovering the sheer joy of claiming who they really are.
a true friend recently said of me: “my baby is not like that, what those people are saying about her.”
i have always fought my fights (and stirred fights that are not my own), but seeing how she wanted to rage and rave and rant for me was endearing. we were drinking beer at 4PM, there were gold leaves dancing above our heads, and she was fighting my fight. it made me tear up, made me excuse myself to use the restroom.
it is strange and eerie how my life and hers have similar tangents. i thought, if i could make it, really make it past the devils cradling me, this is my future — a steady hand resting on the table, an honest voice, a defiant look, with a clutch of songs like an amulet seizing my days.