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Description
I sat in the shower for an eternity.
And all I said,
Over and over,
As the bathtub filled with water, was:
"Where is fancy bred? In the Heart, or in the Head?"
Over and Over and Over
"In the heart or In the Head?"
"Is it in the Heart or Is it in the Head?"
Screaming it.
Whispering it.
Sobbing it.
It was like drowning in a sea of filth.
The bathtub slowly filling with water.
Until I couldn't breathe
Until I wanted to just melt into the water
Until I wanted to bleed out like a river.
A Red River Of Filth
I couldn't die.
Because I don't exist.
I am a figment of my own imagination.
Isn't that odd?
I couldn't die.
Even if I'd really wanted to.
(Which I, looking back, didn't.)
No.
I did.
I wanted that me to die.
I wanted her to scream
and scream
and Scream.
Until her muffled cries of "Why me?"
Faded into the screams of me.
The real me.
Not Zack's me.
Or Maria's me.
Or Finn's me.
Or Father's me.
Looking up at my mother,
In a bathtub full of old water.
Her face...
Filled.
With genuine concern.
REAL CONCERN.
The kind you can't buy.
It doesn't come in a box.
You don't GET to beg for it...
Because it's much too precious for that.
PEOPLE DON'T HAVE THAT ANYMORE.
NO ONE CARES.
Except Mother.
Looking up at her, through my artificial raindrops,
And black ropes of hair.
And no tears, just the raw of my mind.
I looked at her like I did as a child.
"What's wrong?"
"Where is Fancy Bred, in the Heart or in the Head?"
"Oh, reciting your poem?"
"No."
"What's the matter Sweetheart?
Boy Troubles?"
"I always have boy troubles."
"Such is life."
"I have all kinds of troubles."
"Oh really, like what?"
"School, Daddy going away...."
"Yes..."
"And boy troubles."
"What's your boy trouble? Fighting again?"
"Yes."
"What about?"
"I don't remember."
"Oh you don't?"
"Of course I do, I just don't want to."
"Was it something you said, or something he said that made you mad?"
"It's always something I said."
"Mmm."
"I'm always so passive aggressive. It's how I deal with everything."
"And that's not very good for a relationship..."
"It's not good for anything. But I can't make myself stop."
"And he's just normal aggressive. All boys are. And He can't stop anymore than you can."
"I suppose."
Silence, with a wonderful accompaniment from my ragged shoulders shuddering against the cold porcelan.

"I don't like who I am with people. I don't act like myself."
"Oh yes? Who are you?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe you should find out."
"How do I do that?"
"Start with a clean slate. Wash away everything anyone has ever said about you. Let go of all the things that people want you to be."
"What if theres nothing left?"
"Theres always something. What do you like about yourself? Think hard, of something that YOU like about yourself, not something someone has once said. What's the first thing you like?"
"...My toes."
"Your toes?"
"Yes. I have all of them"
"Well that's good. For standing up and balance."
"Yes. And I like my feet."
"What about your nose?"
"No, I don't like that. It's got too many spots."
"Spots? Like blackheads, or pores, or freckles?"
"Blackheads. I don't have any freckles..."
"Yes you do."
"Not real ones."
"Hah."
"I dont like my knees, they've got too many scars. But I like my knees, because they have so many scars."
"Hahahaha."
"They're like little badges from all the times that I was stupid. Look, I have a new one!"
I extend me knee out from the shower curtain to show her the fresh bruise blossoming there.
"What's that from?"
"I don't remember."
"I don't think it can really be a badge then..."
"Yes, it is."

"What else do you like? Toe rings?"
"No."
"Purple eyeshadow?"
"Not really."
"Tattoos and bellyrings?"
"Tattoos, but not bellyrings, they look silly."
"What makes you the most happy. What's something pure that you completely enjoy."
And the words "The Ocean" crept to my open lips.
And then I thought.
It wasn't true.
I loved the ocean because my Father loves the ocean.

"Bare feet in green grass."

"Do you like pigtails or braids?"
"Neither, they remind me of Anne of Green Gables."
"Do you like Blue eyes or Brown eyes?"
"I like green eyes."
"Do you like fluffy Kittens?"
"Yes, but not Puppies. Unless they too are fluffy. And fat."
"Okay. Maybe you should get out of the shower."
"I always shiver like this."
"Yes. Because your body is struggling just like your soul. And I think that when you finally realize who you are, your body will stop shaking. And you will finally sleep well. And you'll stop getting migranes."
"Yes, that makes sense."
"Now come on and get out. Which towel is yours?"
"The big white one. I like big white fluffy towels."
And she wrapped my dripping body in the big towel, and I felt so small and young that I almost wept again.
"And I don't like Joci. That's not me anymore."
"Then what shall I call you? Yogi? Juice? Jade? Jinx?"

"Jocelyn. Thats my name."

Description
I sat in the shower for an eternity.
And all I said,
Over and over,
As the bathtub filled with water, was:
"Where is fancy bred? In the Heart, or in the Head?"
Over and Over and Over
"In the heart or In the Head?"
"Is it in the Heart or Is it in the Head?"
Screaming it.
Whispering it.
Sobbing it.
It was like drowning in a sea of filth.
The bathtub slowly filling with water.
Until I couldn't breathe
Until I wanted to just melt into the water
Until I wanted to bleed out like a river.
A Red River Of Filth
I couldn't die.
Because I don't exist.
I am a figment of my own imagination.
Isn't that odd?
I couldn't die.
Even if I'd really wanted to.
(Which I, looking back, didn't.)
No.
I did.
I wanted that me to die.
I wanted her to scream
and scream
and Scream.
Until her muffled cries of "Why me?"
Faded into the screams of me.
The real me.
Not Zack's me.
Or Maria's me.
Or Finn's me.
Or Father's me.
Looking up at my mother,
In a bathtub full of old water.
Her face...
Filled.
With genuine concern.
REAL CONCERN.
The kind you can't buy.
It doesn't come in a box.
You don't GET to beg for it...
Because it's much too precious for that.
PEOPLE DON'T HAVE THAT ANYMORE.
NO ONE CARES.
Except Mother.
Looking up at her, through my artificial raindrops,
And black ropes of hair.
And no tears, just the raw of my mind.
I looked at her like I did as a child.
"What's wrong?"
"Where is Fancy Bred, in the Heart or in the Head?"
"Oh, reciting your poem?"
"No."
"What's the matter Sweetheart?
Boy Troubles?"
"I always have boy troubles."
"Such is life."
"I have all kinds of troubles."
"Oh really, like what?"
"School, Daddy going away...."
"Yes..."
"And boy troubles."
"What's your boy trouble? Fighting again?"
"Yes."
"What about?"
"I don't remember."
"Oh you don't?"
"Of course I do, I just don't want to."
"Was it something you said, or something he said that made you mad?"
"It's always something I said."
"Mmm."
"I'm always so passive aggressive. It's how I deal with everything."
"And that's not very good for a relationship..."
"It's not good for anything. But I can't make myself stop."
"And he's just normal aggressive. All boys are. And He can't stop anymore than you can."
"I suppose."
Silence, with a wonderful accompaniment from my ragged shoulders shuddering against the cold porcelan.

"I don't like who I am with people. I don't act like myself."
"Oh yes? Who are you?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe you should find out."
"How do I do that?"
"Start with a clean slate. Wash away everything anyone has ever said about you. Let go of all the things that people want you to be."
"What if theres nothing left?"
"Theres always something. What do you like about yourself? Think hard, of something that YOU like about yourself, not something someone has once said. What's the first thing you like?"
"...My toes."
"Your toes?"
"Yes. I have all of them"
"Well that's good. For standing up and balance."
"Yes. And I like my feet."
"What about your nose?"
"No, I don't like that. It's got too many spots."
"Spots? Like blackheads, or pores, or freckles?"
"Blackheads. I don't have any freckles..."
"Yes you do."
"Not real ones."
"Hah."
"I dont like my knees, they've got too many scars. But I like my knees, because they have so many scars."
"Hahahaha."
"They're like little badges from all the times that I was stupid. Look, I have a new one!"
I extend me knee out from the shower curtain to show her the fresh bruise blossoming there.
"What's that from?"
"I don't remember."
"I don't think it can really be a badge then..."
"Yes, it is."

"What else do you like? Toe rings?"
"No."
"Purple eyeshadow?"
"Not really."
"Tattoos and bellyrings?"
"Tattoos, but not bellyrings, they look silly."
"What makes you the most happy. What's something pure that you completely enjoy."
And the words "The Ocean" crept to my open lips.
And then I thought.
It wasn't true.
I loved the ocean because my Father loves the ocean.

"Bare feet in green grass."

"Do you like pigtails or braids?"
"Neither, they remind me of Anne of Green Gables."
"Do you like Blue eyes or Brown eyes?"
"I like green eyes."
"Do you like fluffy Kittens?"
"Yes, but not Puppies. Unless they too are fluffy. And fat."
"Okay. Maybe you should get out of the shower."
"I always shiver like this."
"Yes. Because your body is struggling just like your soul. And I think that when you finally realize who you are, your body will stop shaking. And you will finally sleep well. And you'll stop getting migranes."
"Yes, that makes sense."
"Now come on and get out. Which towel is yours?"
"The big white one. I like big white fluffy towels."
And she wrapped my dripping body in the big towel, and I felt so small and young that I almost wept again.
"And I don't like Joci. That's not me anymore."
"Then what shall I call you? Yogi? Juice? Jade? Jinx?"

"Jocelyn. Thats my name."