"That Girl" Has Just Ten Days Left....

It's very difficult
to find the way to articulate
how this all feels.

It's not that I hate change.
In fact, it's not that at all.
I love flux, shifting, moving from one thing into another.
Staying still scares me, so I'm always moving into a different something.

It is endings that I loathe.
The goodbyes, the finishing, the ending of a fantastic chapter,
with no way of knowing how the next one will start.
When things end, I find myself here.
In this sad little selfish place.

I don't want this year to end.
I want to get married, and see my beloved Apple...
And cuddle my sweet grey kitten.
But I don't want to lose the things I've found,
the life I wasn't sure I wanted until it found me in London.

I want to be an artist,
but not an actress that waits interminably on audition lines
for roles she, if she's honest, doesn't much care about,
and hope desperately for that one in a million chance.

I want to be an artist,
not shoving in stolen seconds of studio time around three part-time jobs
seeing the successful of the city sneer when I answer "what I do."

I want to be artist,
and pay my bills.
This shouldn't be so impossible.

Now that I've found all of this,
I'm afraid of losing it.
I have a heavy heart when I think of coming home
because I'm terrified that this will all disappear
in the haze of working and scrambling in the city.

I've been having a go at everyone who will listen
lately because of this terribly anxiety.
For that, I am sorry, but I just feel so inconsolably heavy.

I know I'm being incredibly unfair
to the people who love me at home
I sound ungrateful in this wanting to prolong
my time away.

I don't want to stay apart from you, no matter how it might sound.
I just don't want this past year to be the end
of this chapter of my life.
And I'm terrified that I don't know how to keep it carrying on.

I can already feel the weight of being a 'working artist' pressing into me.
The panic of not having enough 'real' work,
not being a commercial enough artist.
And it's dragging me down, making me heavy.

I want a space of my own, the chance to make work and write,
and the freedom to enjoy doing both.
This independence is precious, having had just a tease this year.

I'm already lonely
For this thing I wasn't sure I wanted,
and now can't bear to leave behind.