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 Jul 17 MS Anjaan
Mel Little
I think it's the fact
That I never let my inner child
Go

She and I play all the time
Daydream together
Muse about the what ifs

And we still don't know what we wanna
Be

But she and I are fine with that
We laugh about it
Giggle about the what could have beens

But she is easy to hurt
Thin skinned
The world is mean
And she and I
Are thick as thieves
I know her like the back of my hand
And her heartache
Is mine
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?

I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored at a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.

It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.

I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.

We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.

Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.

It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.

“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”

“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, before I switched the subject completely.

“We need to go to Paris!” I pronounced, excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.

“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, ****** kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Eclectic: something with a unique and inviting atmosphere.
“Eclectic” is actually a popular style category for coffee shops.

sadfishing - exaggerating an emotional state to generate sympathy
Do you think we’re the sort of girls to sit around on a Sunday night?
EAH (loud buzzer sound) you’d be wrong!!

What’s the opposite of seasonal depression - seasonal euphoria?
I’m self-diagnosing here, but I think I’ve got it.
I have all the symptoms:

Excessive happiness: a level of joy statistically improbable.
Compulsive smiling: grinning under the most mundane circumstances.
Irrational optimism: the feeling everything will turn out all right.
Compulsive socializing: relentlessly engaging in parties and outings.
Impulsive behavior: capricious decisions that lead to.. stuff.
Difficulty focusing: trouble concentrating on ‘serious subjects.’
Increased appetites: A craving for.. everything fun.

I have to call it. The symptoms are limpid, my diagnosis is:
Summer, seasonal euphoria, and it feels pretty good.
.
.
Songs for this:
Rooftop by Kelly Jones
The Game of Love by Katrina & the Waves
DeadBeat Club by The B-52s
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Limpid: describes things that are perfectly clear.
It’s like climbing on top of the world that’s sinking
It’s like piecing together a shattered mirror
It’s like building sandcastles at the tide’s edge
It’s like walking a tightrope over a chasm
My mind’s a party confetti
Bursts of color, yet messy
And I keep celebrating small wins
Out of grief, out of suffering
And funny how the mind just keeps coping
A mad good party kind of feeling
A poem for a painting
Always every anger was once love
Trickled down to our cheeks
A hopeful prayer through our lips
We put down the sword, we put down the leaves
Letting the palms be ashes
Fiery splatters, blazing splashes
A repentance kind of party
Is it really remorse and its beauty?
Why won’t you convince me?
A poem for a painting
And I now hold them like water in my hands
For no matter how tight my grip gets
They’d still slip through my little fingers
They’d still drip, though I watch
I, who no longer control power
I, who no longer be mad
So toast to the peace!
The peace, I grant unto you
Til I change my mind
A poem for a painting
Dogs can even smell the sadness in me
It leaks from my soul
It jumps out from my skin
Yet one step higher is where we always belong, don’t we?
One step higher is the gleaming golden trophy
And we’d craft our chances
We’d grow our wings
To leave them behind…
A poem for a painting
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