Steve Harrison
False Identity.
My skin hung like an uncomfortable coat, buttoned up with unimaginative, beige indifference. A trick of nature had trapped me inside, sealed me up and confined me to my lineage. I needed someone to sit by me and feed me with the ambrosia from books, surfeit my appetite and glut me with words.
Five years of …
My skin hung like an uncomfortable coat, buttoned up with unimaginative, beige indifference. A trick of nature had trapped me inside, sealed me up and confined me to my lineage. I needed someone to sit by me and feed me with the ambrosia from books, surfeit my appetite and glut me with words.
Five years of forcing my fingerprints on steel lie ahead. The clink and clank of metal on metal beckoned me from afar. I had already beaten out my second rate, secondary school mask ready for my five year betrothal.
Three years into my marriage of convenience, I had forged a ship strength chain that held me fast, docked me in a foreign harbour and forced me to feed on steel. Fodder for the factory. These shackles defined who I was, my strain, my brand; graded the perception of myself and ranked me to fit the shape of my breed. I felt emasculated by a poverty of words.
My identity was false. I lived with fake documents and became an imposter in my skin. I had been pre-cut, shaped and structured to fit neatly in-line. No freedom to roam. I stalled and stuttered, lapsed into inertia and froze until an epiphany blew in on a warm south westerly, high up on the White Horse Downs along a road running through time. The Ridgeway air was cleansing, full of integrity as it scoured out my doubts, emptied me of fear and blew away the now fragile husk that trapped my aspirations. I walked out of myself; the imago that first trembled at the thought of change now flooded with a clarity that seeped into my blood and awakened the sleeping poet within.
Steve, this is so powerful. Blown away by it. How every word hammers home that early confinement and pressure; how the last paragraph is a blast of wide horizons and air. Just extraordinary. Here is your link and I've shared it on Twitter too. Tan
Thanks for your comments Tanya, I'm pleased the words resonated with you. It's a kind of healing with words for me, exploring self and taking ownership of shadows that have darkened over the years and refused to come out of hiding.
Steve Harrison
False Identity.
My skin hung like an uncomfortable coat, buttoned up with unimaginative, beige indifference. A trick of nature had trapped me inside, sealed me up and confined me to my lineage. I needed someone to sit by me and feed me with the ambrosia from books, surfeit my appetite and glut me with words.
Five years of forcing my fingerprints on steel lie ahead. The clink and clank of metal on metal beckoned me from afar. I had already beaten out my second rate, secondary school mask ready for my five year betrothal.
Three years into my marriage of convenience, I had forged a ship strength chain that held me fast, docked me in a foreign harbour and forced me to feed on steel. Fodder for the factory. These shackles defined who I was, my strain, my brand; graded the perception of myself and ranked me to fit the shape of my breed. I felt emasculated by a poverty of words.
My identity was false. I lived with fake documents and became an imposter in my skin. I had been pre-cut, shaped and structured to fit neatly in-line. No freedom to roam. I stalled and stuttered, lapsed into inertia and froze until an epiphany blew in on a warm south westerly, high up on the White Horse Downs along a road running through time. The Ridgeway air was cleansing, full of integrity as it scoured out my doubts, emptied me of fear and blew away the now fragile husk that trapped my aspirations. I walked out of myself; the imago that first trembled at the thought of change now flooded with a clarity that seeped into my blood and awakened the sleeping poet within.
Steve, this is so powerful. Blown away by it. How every word hammers home that early confinement and pressure; how the last paragraph is a blast of wide horizons and air. Just extraordinary. Here is your link and I've shared it on Twitter too. Tan
https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-sizeshape/#steveharrison
Thanks for your comments Tanya, I'm pleased the words resonated with you. It's a kind of healing with words for me, exploring self and taking ownership of shadows that have darkened over the years and refused to come out of hiding.
Steve.