Nowhere Girl becomes Everywhere Girl

TL;DR - a diary entry or confession to several crimes because I may very well be an exhibitionist.

Yesterday morning I found God in a patch of soft green grass beneath the early spring sun.

The days are getting a little warmer now and I’ve been behaving accordingly (except it gets progressively worse). Watching washed clothing billowing in the gentle breeze of my opened windows. French kissing the pretty girls and the dangerous boys 'cause the sun told me to. Taking off my clothing and slinking around back alleys real close to the ground like a feral cat, spitting and hissing at strangers with silver teeth and London accents and a harmonica in their back pocket. Writing poems about it all. Funny how the sun makes me do that.

I’ve been meaning to write to you. No, really, I have, but I’ve been a little preoccupied. Surviving the winter. Writing a novel. Launching a literary and arts collective. Hosting exhibitions. Ending a love that went on for much too long. I'm sure you'll understand.

Yesterday evening I stared into a mirror wondering if I was an awful person because I’ve moved on so fast until I learned my ex lover has made nightly habit of chasing drugs and fucking strangers and picking fights in bars (and then calling me over and over until I turn my phone off whilst I’m cradled in someone else’s arms). Listen, I know I said I like bad boys, ‘cause I’ve never been much good with the good ones, but I didn’t mean this bad. I’m too bad for the good ones, but too good for the bad ones. Go figure.

I could monologue incessantly around here about being pervasively amused by the intricacies of knowing somebody so intimately to the point of loving them unconditionally to not knowing them at all just months later.

I could delve deeply around here into my apathetic observations on everybody having different versions of themselves compartmentalised and neatly tucked away, stored for the person or moment they deem fit, going so far as to shape shift into an entirely different species - coming from the girl who without fail turns to a feral cat each time warmth dapples her skin as sunlight cascades through those damn London clouds that have been hanging extra low as of late.

I could even attempt to tug your heartstrings around here. Demand sympathy. Pretend to be hurt. Write something about first love and the poetics of drowning. Insert metaphor. Something like that.

The truth is,

I don't really care.

You see, it just doesn’t really matter.

None of it does.

The sun will keep rising and the girls will keep dancing.

How wonderful.

I’m grateful for my ability to, well, whatever the opposite of linger is. Leave. Run. Disappear for good. You’d think as a poet I’d be more inclined to ruminating, and sure, some nights it snakes up from the inside out. Moments. Glances. Conversations. Relentless, isn’t it? Remembering?

Ultimately, I can’t force myself to forget, but I can force myself to leave it all behind. I am always prepared to shape shift or run or a secret and perhaps more sinister third thing. It’s a learned behaviour. Disappearing is in my blood, Your Honour. Father taught me before I was even born.

Mother taught me things, too. Read good books. Drink bone broth. Speak often but listen more. Don't be afraid to get angry. Don't be afraid of blood. Leave when necessary. Lie when unnecessary. Chase what is ahead of you like an animal. Write until there’s no words left anywhere but the paper.

I crafted this blog all those years ago to do exactly that. The very core of this blog is that it is a record of my innermost thoughts and desires. I know I’m not around here very often these days, but I vow to maintain the crux of my little corner of the worldwide inter-webs all the same.

I am a girl who spawned from a perfect little pocket of the internet and now I exist in the public eye where I more or less detail my secrets and hypocrisies in the name of art. It's an act of becoming.

Nowhere Girl

becomes

Everywhere Girl.

Of course exhibitionism turns me on. My entire life is a performance.

I’m aware I’m saying a whole bunch of nothing. I just wanted to write to you, really. Pop in. Wave. Say hello. This is where I’ve been. Have been up to no good but have also been up to good. Cut my hair too short. Got saved by spring. Finished my first novel. Got an agent. Went back to ballet. Became friends with Mother again. Started writing second novel. Painting a lot. Dating again. More on that later. Ha. Was (am) slave to lust. Was (am) victim of limerence. Always writing more poetry but have to keep it secret for now. Gave up my best leather coat when it got warmer, donated it to charity like it could never get cold again, like the world would stop spinning just ‘cause I told it to. Got lost in the forever of it all. You know the rest.

Consider this a diary entry, or a confession to my crimes. I’ve been arrested twice, for what it’s worth, but I’m sure you’re not surprised by that. And, for the record (or lack thereof) I batted my lashes in the courtroom and was a good girl for long enough that they wiped my record squeaky clean.

Love always,

Lady Dakota

(formerly known as Nowhere Girl)