Leonard  Cohen and I need to talk.

He basically destroyed me.

I think he knew and loved a crazy girl once and she must have hurt him, bad. She was crazy and that clearly implies- best lover the poor guy ever had. Her tendrils wrapped around his finger and her broken pieces unfurled like a churlish bitch- you haven’t met yet.

I was born in the wrong skin, too thick in some places, and my intentions just plain too thin. His Suzanne and I were probably friends. I was born two decades too late bereft of almost anything innocent by the time I was 8.

But his songs they call witness to something inside me- his words a lullaby to all of my crazy- there is little hope any other will understand, or ever appreciate these things in me. Does your Suzanne still feed you? Are you there when she needs you?