I want to cry so much.
My throat hurts so much coz it so blocked, my eyes are tired of being tired, my heart is in an agony where words disappear to.
I still can’t cry.
I wanted to cry when Lauren Bacall died, for she was my protector when all my world was being thrown to the wolves.
I remember as a 14-year-old wanting to be Lauren Bacall, wanting her presence by my side.
I stood by the bar in a sex club, and try hard to make it into “The Big Sleep”, and make reality disappear.
I imagined the dive I was in was a sophisticated nightclub – where I was wisecracking and keeping men at a distance.
I refuse to see the truth, that I had no voice, no safety, no access to dignity – I refuse to know I was nothing as I imagine I was…
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