this is not my story.

it's not just that
i am bruised and beaten.

my story does involve
wounds, bruises, losses and terror.

but in my story there is a large
st. bernard to lie under
when life gets tough
and everything hurts.

my story involves art and colour,
great love and good sex,
daniel craig's bottom and
harry freaking potter.

it involves a jeep to drive
my huge dog and me
through craggy mountain passes.
and standing under a thousand
buddhist prayer flags
at the edge of a cliff
where there is nothing but me,
the silence and my dog.

my story is about
crazy rides in the middle of the night
and songs about existential angst.
and random runaways and lasagna.
and a month of cooking and sharing food.
and yummy chocolate almond desserts
with no thoughts of
carbohydrates, waistlines or cancer.

my story is about connecting
through my being
and living with those
empty spaces within me,
which because i live with them
will be empty no more.

my story is about
being happy and without guilt or shame
for wanting and needing.

this isn't it.

there is a story i'm writing,
about vulnerability without destruction
and love without shame -
- and this isn't it.