Just Another Little Girl in a Pornstar World

I am not a doormat.

I am not a leader – I have the capabilities but I’m uncomfortable in a leadership role.

I am not an addict.

I’m not always motivated, but I try.

I’m not a cheater.

I am not trash.

I’m not who I thought I would be.

I am not a conformist.

I am not a trendsetter.

I am not confrontational.

I am not an alpha female.

I’m not stupid – it’s very important for you to keep this in mind. I *will* let you forget, just to surprise you.

I’m not always sure of myself, but I know what I want.

I’m not undisciplined – just because I don’t do something doesn’t mean I can’t.

I’m not depressed.

I’m not graceful.

I’m not hopeless.

I’m not plain.

I’m not stunning.

I’m not transparent. Never think you know everything about me.

I’m not angry.

I’m not apathetic.

I’m not disloyal.

I am not a bad friend.

I do not love easily.

I am not ungrateful.

I’m not boring.

I’m not bored.

I’m not finished learning.

I’m not finished dreaming.

I’m not finished growing.

I

am

not

dead.

Words seem scarce these days. A lot of distractions filling my head, my hands.  This is fun and that is rich, this is new and that is new again.
Sometimes I don’t talk enough and sometimes I find I am talking too much, saying nothing, filling empty space with the shape of a sound.
I’m wandering down the streets, finding nothing but dead-ends, crossroads, side streets that curve upon themselves, nothing productive, end in water.
Nothing in the water, I see my own reflection and as I watch – I see thoughts dart to the surface, tiny bubbles pop, but they are the kind you throw back anyway.
So instead I look at myself, the ripples distorting my features and I see everything ugly about myself, and I see beauty. I see them clashing.
I watch the battle in the waves, I want to wash it all away, good and bad, but as long as I am looking I will appear before me.
So I tear my sight away – I can no longer bear the sight of myself, not the bad, and not the good. I will save that for another day. I know enough for now.
I turn my eyes upwards instead, to branches waving in the breeze, and this I will watch, what mysteries will be unraveled here?
The leaves make patterns of the light, letting it in here, shielding it out there, ever shifting, nothing static, nothing ever static.
I see broken promises here, the ones I have made and the ones I have heard, I see mistakes and I do not want to look and I cannot look away.
The wind blows and there is a new pattern and I watch, but there is no more mystery here.
Another road ended. Where do I go from here? There is no map to my madness, no cryptic clues alongside the road for weary travelers.
I keep searching, for what I can not tell, for anything or maybe just contentment in the nothing.
This I have found along the path, this I have found as I was lost: all or none, and this I must not forget. All or none my love.
Gnothi Seauton inscribed on the entrance to my labyrinth, my temple. Know Thyself, said the Oracle, the crone, and so I shall continue.