Ingrid Jonker

I always look for inspirational influences in my life. I never had an attachment to my parents so it’s like since I’ve been born into this world I’ve realised that it’s my job to look for “parents” – people I can learn from, learn with, be inspired by, be like…

Everyone at school always compared me to Ingrid Jonker, mainly because one of they only things they knew about me was that I was quiet, smart, a dancer, a writer and had curly hair… When I would ask who that is they would tell me…a very amazing inspiritational magical poet who walked into the Ocean when she was 31 and never came back.

Interesting. I mean. Sure. When you’re 8 this is a confusing thing to hear. When you’re 10 it’s still confusing. When you’re 16 and heartbroken you start to think about it and some of it starts to make sense. When you’re 30 and heartbroken you start to want to find out more.

So I was surprised, but also not surprised at all when I found the copy of the article in my bedroom this morning. And I found out by reading this article that the reason why she, most likely (I say most likely, because no one ever knew her well enough to know for sure – just like me), walked into the ocean was because of love. Love lost and love won. But like I said no knows and no one will ever know…for sure.

I, am only 30, and not close to completely broken. I have experienced what completely broken feels like though….long ago, around the age of 21….That was my ‘birth’ and ‘death’ into life. And again when I was say 26…and although I do not wish that amount of pain on anyone, including me, I think that, if I would be able to feel what she had felt, it would feel something like this:

She

She walks a sandy road

She pushes forward everyday

And everyday she fights

and lives to fight another day

Her smile is brilliant

like the sun – some say

but the words she bleeds onto paper

is tragic

She loves – fully

with nothing held back

If she was smarter

She would hold back,

but she’s not

She’s intelligent

beyond measure

people compare her to

Shakespear and she

moves hearts with her words

Nations rise behind her

books And She

continues to bleed on paper

But people who write get papercuts

And even when the wounds get deep enough

he still did not care

She begged, she pleaded, she wished, fought

and gave up

And he still – did not

There was many of him in her life.

So she continues to bleed onto paper

the words get more and wilder

and leaves the paper and swirls like

pure chaos into her life

like a whirlwind

she’s trapped

inside and outside of herself

It’s a horrible place to be

but no, she will not let them go

they need her

and so

one day

she finds herself by the ocean

where the waves carress the bosoms of the beach

she

loves and loves not anymore

she bleeds

on paper and then in life

and just the way she is

she makes sure the waves

will clean up after her

so the world would not be left

as she always was

supposed to be

a mess

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