Strange to not have a mother
Just to see her in its emptiness.
Strange to see all the effigies
All the dust piled into those
tombs.
Strange to never see her again
Like she doesn't exist,
To me.
Light, to see the world
Sun, to see the light
World, to see the day
That was missing
When she was there
Overshadowing,
My life.
About Me
- Leila Rousseau
- Constant complainer, effervescent explainer, road rager, mostly moody, joke laugher, make believer, neverender, air breather and happy if you allow me. This is the incomplete scrapbook of Leila Rousseau's modernly artistic scrapings. Nothing is clear and nothing is really here. We can't all be inspired, and we can't all be interested. Be humble to knowledge, as it will always be greater and more fierce than ego and explanation. Everything here is my own, but I wonder whose I am. So I could pass on the credit, when I might make someone giggle, a little.
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