The clitoris.
Swollen. Anxious. Ready. At the center of womanhood it sets, begging to be touched. But at the very moment of ecstasy if shrinks and disappears. Like the female orgasm itself so close and then it fades away. Frustration. A perfect metaphor. For what I am not sure but there it is. We get so close to a goal, or think we do, and suddenly it is pulled away by fate. Or by fear. Fear of success, or of excess. Fear of being caught, of being found out. Or fear of getting caught up, of falling in love. Being venerable. Fear of getting trapped by our own emotional inadequacies.
We want it so bad we have to make it happen. We can't just let go, let it happen. And so we fail. Failure is brought about by fear of failing.
My writing is thus. I want so bad to make it right that I hold back. Parse very word. The flow doesn't. Less thinking more expressing.
OWL
March 10, 2007
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