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“Nothing’s Wrong With Me” - a Blog written by Musical Artist, Actress & Writer SAMSERA. (®2008 - ©2023 @Samsera)
Don’t you call me Lady !
I am a creature of the wild
And in wilderness, I thrive.
There’s not a box I’d stand upon
Or one I’d ever fit within
That makes me difficult for some to dig
And dig with you, I did.
On the edge of your stability
balancing, whilst sometimes screaming
in delight, or crawling on a prayer
at the sight of all I never have to BE.
I AM who I AM
So DON’T you call Me Lady !
ENEMY and ENEMA. So close but so far apart.
(Origin - late Middle English: via late Latin from Greek, from enienai ‘send or put in’, from en- ‘in’ + hienai ‘send’.)
Based on the above definitions, I am sitting in my enemy’s enema. They have emana’d their enemy-ness on me.
The spewing toxicity of “I’m gonna tell it to you like it is because I love you”. Hard, upfront, blunt, brash in your face love.
The kind that stings each time the truth is delivered and hurts so much, by the time the world comes to meet us, if it doesn’t hurt we can’t recognize it to be any kind of love at all.
Still we’ll crave that deep and scorching honesty. Delivered like a hard slap so satisfying, without the “burn” it doesn’t add up - it’s not “caring” enough.
Wires crossed.
Bridges burnt.
Love is a 5 letter word.
These words are not for YOU.
They were never meant to find their way into YOUR hands.
YOU were never meant to receive THEM.
They were never meant to be revealed to ANYONE.
Because I was never meant to see another way to live MY life.
See the thing is, not you ‘nor I can figure it all out in our heads. WE have to get out there and live it.
Every person I’ve met, every experience, every moment has taken me to my next place.
So here WE are, starting at the place where this part of MY yellow brick road ends and YOURS begins.
If I had my own family, we would be a family of cooks. We would sit at the dinner table at least once a week and surprise each other with delights, concocted with love.
Often and in between. The dishes we’d exchange across houses and between families. The delicacies. The soul food of all kinds and all degrees of hot, cold, spicy and microwave ready.
We trade in tupperware. Boxes and pans and the odd ceramic dish. “Bring it back to me later”. This is the language we speak with each other.
In between childish wars, spats and giggles - food. We love our food, it brings us all together and when one of us takes too much too often, tears us apart.
I don’t like fighting over food. I hate it. I find it distasteful.
I have not created the kitchen, the table, the mini chefs. It feels weird and I’m still working my way towards a kitchen I consider optimal.
I do love to cook.
And I also like to eat what I’ve cooked.
I have plenty of tupperware to share.
Take out boxes falling out of everywhere. For one. To go. I eat alone.
Don’t make me fight you for my food you f$!&*!
