PJ Harvey - A Place Called Home. A Poem

 PJ stares at me, lets me know that I should know better. That, in some way I should not be doing what I am doing. She tells me that I am making moves that are unkind, without thought, nasty. That the feminine crap I whittle on about no longer washes, that I`m now facing real flesh & blood, women, not apparitions, & their bleeding. Would she believe me if I told her I was honest, that I was learning about others after a long silence, teaching myself. My actions are borne of naivety & innocence ?

 Those eyes, that look, staring intently at me into what only SHE sees when HE stops clarifying what SHE already knows. SHE knows this is the truth, & I`m lying. SHE knows.

 This is intimidating, she knows what I am doing, she sees it, & that is good enough for her. I have one chance here. One chance to grow up, be someone real, I see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, but can I ? She moves away, becomes ethereal. My fear envelopes my thoughts. The more I consider, rationalize, step out, the more she fades, I`m suddenly shown my fear, & its terrifying.