Without Knowing


Without knowing how to tie my shoes, before I was tall enough to ride the ride, I crept into the shadows barefoot, and found my hiding place.


Without knowing my own true name,  I blazed a brazen trail, all swagger and risk,  hard laughter and long brown cigarettes. Men and women found my bed. But  no one found my hiding place.


Without knowing what it was for, I carried my heart around in the world.  We learned to bodysurf in the rough waters  of Laguna Beach. We crawled around the empty  5am city after a night of love in New York. We sipped  espressos with my friends in Forte dei Marmi.  I still didn’t know what my heart was for,  But I knew how to look like I did,  so no one ever dreamed there  was a hiding place.


Without knowing the way, I asked and asked and asked  and asked and asked. I looked  for signs, tried to read them, read  them wrong. I got lost, and asked again.  Somebody else, somebody different. I followed  directions. I tried hard. I fell down. I got up.

Without knowing the way, I was at the  world’s mercy, and she showed me  everything. She showed me that  from my hiding place I could go  everywhere, but I  couldn’t  get  anywhere.


Without knowing what I was doing, I found my hiding place and stepped barefoot  out of the shadows

and into my life.

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© Tina Lear | Design by A Dying Art Company Ltd.

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