“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. But to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treachery, and the sacrifice of wealth and chastity which used to be said to be the greatest of human disasters, a mere flea-bite in comparison.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
– holding my heart in my head in my hand
staring
saying
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not tonight
not
this is the mad man rampaging near the window
pressing himself against the glass
(maybe it’s a ceiling)
for you all to see
only way is up
the rest is nonsense words
and indiscernible faces
but important nonetheless
come and meet me in the middle
come and see me at my table
hold my hand and we will walk together
otherwise
we just
walk
incomplete(ly)
ENDS
PHILIPPA MANNION 