My Broken Beauty.

I have to be serious about this. If I’m not then my threat is actually a bluff in disguise, waiting for someone to stumble upon its’ secret. I’ll be under valued, again. I need to prove this, prove I can survive without her to fall back to whenever something goes wrong because there are more people capable of being able to do that…and more. I have to prove it… to both of us.

The buzz from the cafe is starting to die down, the old converted loading bay used to be lucky if it got half this busy, we need double he number of milk crates now as we did his time last year. The walls are peeling off their layers apon layers of thick coats of paint, it looks like a snake shedding it’s skin in places. Stories and poems I’ve written cover the walls on pieces of thin lined paper. One of the girls i brought a coffee over to keeps looking at me, she’s eye catching I’ll give her that, I allow myself a few glance I’m allowed to do this. I have to remind myself. She only looks away to jot things down on her writing book. It’s a faded red leather thing, but it doesn’t look sad like old leather books sometimes do, it looks happy to have led a few adventures in its’ life. I wonder if she’s a writer, I wonder if she’s read my stories and poems on the wall. I wonder if she liked them.

I serve the last coffee at the bar to a women in her thirties, I blow her off as nicely as possible, I like older girls, not older women. i start to loiter over to the dark corner that holds my guitar. It took me a year and a bit to save up for it, putting a little aside from every paycheck, it’s one of the better decisions I’ve ever made in my life. It’s an acoustic guitar with a satin finish and cutaway, the neck is solid maple with a reinforcement beam down the neck because I love strange tunings, the body is red spruce, there’s no electrics in it, just pure acoustic. The strings have only been on since yesterday, long enough to stretch out but not long enough that they would have lost their shiny tone.

I walk onto the stage and pull a high cushioned bar stool, I switch on the small six track for the mic. I start playing and feel myself merge with the music, having the chords fit into my soul giving a welcome relief from it’s usual demi satisfaction. I start to sing and look at the girl, she isn’t hiding her interest anymore, she leans forward in her chair eager but not so much it’s creepy. Soon I’m playing and singing solely for her.

She’s short and has almost lost her last traces of baby fat, meaning she’s no older then twenty. her hair is brown with black and red streaks through it. I call her eyes sea green but others would call them grey. She’s far to intriguing to be rebounnd-esque proof to myself that I’m doomed to wander this world alone if not with Jade. She feels it to, pulling her under and me with her. She can’t take her eyes off me.

Before I know it, I’ve stopped playing as another rush of customers come in, my shift is finished and I’m walking over to her table. As I approach her Saul’s voice rings through my head.

“Love is essential for you Storm, but it will just as easily be your noose or poison you. It is what makes you, and I mean you personally not people as a generalization. You where made to love, it’s in your nature, the partner and the lover are your two main archetypes. You where never meant to travel this journey alone.” What he said remains totally relevant, like most things he ever said, to this very day. “Keep in mind that you cannot walk with just anyone, that is when it will poison you.”

Saul is my teacher in all things shamanistic and occult and my best friend, he taught me how to embrace my archetypes and my spirit guides, he trained my mind and body and helped me design the inky swirls of blackness that cover my torso and upper arms. His lessons vary from as mild as reading books in his study, to sparring in the padded room set off from the rest of his house to running at night through the bush near his house and being part of it.

“Move kitty, kitty, kitty move!” He’d taunt as he ducked and weaved around the blows I’d throw with my hands feet and elbows, not even bothering to block them. “We are mountain lions not tabby cats. You need to move like them and be like them not shame them!” I wasn’t moving at that time, so when his fist caught me in the sternum the force was pulled back and padded, if he hit me now it would be with full force and bare knuckles.

“Excuse me miss.” I start to walk towards her, she looks up and meets my eyes. “I couldn’t help but see you watching me, you seemed to be my only audience.” I grin gently and try and read her emotions.
“You play beautifully.” She answers simply, her voice matches her perfectly, touching the deepest most dormant parts of me.
“Thank you.” it’s not shakespeare but it’s the best i can manage and not sound years younger then I actually am. I find my voice again and walk closer, I drop my voice and lace it with some passive energy.
“Perhaps I could play for you some other time.” I look her straight in the eye, she looks so scared she must be so broken inside but she doesn’t let it ruin her life. “My broken beauty.”

My Broken Beauty.

A boy called Star

Melbourne, Australia

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Artist's Description

my first part in a collaborative done with emraldae

read her first part early morning wings here

Artwork Comments

  • Emraldae
  • A boy called Star
  • Lisa  Jewell
  • A boy called Star
  • A boy called Star
  • Lisa  Jewell
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