43/M/Washington D.C "This is how they survive. You must know this. You're too smart not to know this. They paint the world full of shadows... and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments." 314 followers / 2.1k words
the train whistles lull me to a dusty sleep an ancient sleep primitive and timeless as the sage it tastes like rain and reads like a folk song
and when the engine songs are gone the interstate strikes up it's serenade flooding my heart valves with gasoline and valvoline and the smile of what i can only hope to imagine are young lovers with a fiesty case of wanderlust and a puppy in the back seat with a wagging tail
"happy trails" i whisper and the stars flicker and i smile
the walls let their secrets slide while they sleep all those restless memories they keep for themselves floating around and settling in the parlor dust
they trust me just enough to let me cradle them in my chest woven between my rebar ribs and my flat-tire heart thud thud thudding as it speeds off into the distance
the dogs rustle the sheets as they rise just long enough to sigh dance a sleepy circle and a half and put themselves back to bed
i finally crawl out from inside my noisy head as the boy nestles up to my neck and traces my clavical with his humid breath and ropes me in closer to his chest with his big bear arms
his heart sings like a fire alarm stirring the brave to save me from the shadows and chase the ghosts from my gallows and he even lets out puppy snores in his sleep the tune that finally pirouettes me towards my dreams
where the birds sing like drunken sailors in the mango groves and the rows and rows of lime trees my heart and mind innertwined to paint me a scene i've never even seen not with my own eyes
it's so nice to think it's within me and not without me
yes for every sound, a source
for dave, and they days when we could stand to inhabit the same space.
"you really are beautiful, in your own kind of way", he says as he spits through his teeth
in what way is that, i wonder?
in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress? in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing? in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery?
he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek "see, all you have to do is try."
oh, boy try yeah, that's what i'll do so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful
as if beauty is only one color one size one shape as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you
my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away "oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous, if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff."
she pinches at my sides and the backs of my arms and the little curve at the tops of my thighs just below my *** like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat that's about to burst at the seems should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose
everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag
considering that i factually only need a large i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile as i give thanks i don't mean and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek "oh, such lovely lips why not a splash of lipstick?"
as soon as i'm out of her home state i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store and trade them in for pizza and beer money
the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra slender starved sickly and supposedly **** since when were curves a curse? and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway?
no no way
i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way my existence is not defined by the shape i take my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking nipping and tucking and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde *****
oh ******* and that pretty little pony you rode in on
i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon
this obsession of society's is making us sick
we don't teach our children compassion and empathy we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count and color schemes how to brush on blush and how to pick a suit cute won't save the world
i beg you sisters please let us not give this disease to our daughters let us not allow our sons to carry the gene
together let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us rather than within
let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity
together we are Woman and we deserve to finally soar
perhaps if there were spaces gaps left in the english language
places meant for characters left to be invented
maybe if there were phrases and definitions yet to be coined
i could finally tell the whole truth about me and the monsters in my head
i was super ******, and reading an article on mentalfloss about words from around the earth that have no direct translation to english. hauntingly beautiful, really. anyway, this started bouncing 'round my head, and after two shots of whiskey, i dubbed it worthy of being written down.