Pretty Pipe
Me, definition: that surging feeling released from a drainpipe connecting all parts of me funnelling out my mouth.
Perhaps that's why my first reaction after waking up after twelve hours of surgery was a heartfelt howl. The me needed to come up, come out...to be heard. I needed to bawl in my own way, to say: "I'm here! I'm back, and I'm glad to be back in whatever capacity I'm at. Listen to me!"
It is now totally clear to me why I spent so long crafting my voice and still do everyday. Even when it's dormant my voice runs through my body. My mission is to make my inner-workings gild and glide so that I can express any nuance I find there.
Now that I have to wait for a bolt to be released before I can sing, I realize that non-usage doesn't necessarily mean permanently turned off...it just may be crusted and coated. Sometimes it's a no-can-go. Other times, it may just need patience for a good, long gushing.
Sometimes the stop equates to the need for silence, maybe a much needed looking down a tube of reflection. Mine was indeed a long reflection down a series of crossing tubes. And what I saw there when I dared were how many emotions were crashing, running into each other...some terrible, some delightful. A whirlwind of sounds.
That's me: a whirlwind of sounds and emotions. All this stuff bubbling, overflowing, keeping a tap on, coming out from the drudges, gargoyling, slugging, coming out from the sewage, through this ink...it's all me in some form, past or present.
And when all the gook gets cleaned up, there will be more fluid flowing. My hope is that the pipes will stay as pristine and steel as possible. There will be clogged pipes in the future from the crossovers of life. I just hope I can always look down them long enough to see to the other side.
Text: Kristen Mastromarchi
Photo: "Star Burst Pipe" by darkday. is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
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