Everything I've Never Exhaled

I have always thought that if

you can touch someone's hand

without them

cringing

and

if they can drink

out of the same bottle as you,

then,

you are close.

Age is an illusion (to me),

and time is made up.

I love to indulge in philosophical conversations

and decadent flavors of people.

When I was six I spilled

a gallon of milk

down the stairs

and I cried and cried for days.

I still don't know my lefts from my rights

but

I sure as hell know my wrongs.

I have always tried my best to

sweep myself under the rug

out of fear

of running into

that Fiery Unearthly Woman

and the green-eyed man.

Who doesn’t know art

without a fist.

I am often told I have an old soul,

but my conjoined twin

lingers

in the aroma of incense and

tequila sunrises.

I grew up in slummy pubs

with scruffy men

chomping on tomato guts

who reflect on their

strip club visits and complain

about their payroll.

To this day,

people watching

will always be my favorite sport.

Bludgeons to the head are not

self-inflicted,

Everything's a choice.

Only,

I have been influenced by

crooked bodies who don't

know the meaning of

a little something I call

Peace

and

Love

are all you need in a world

where the people

are too busy tying their shoes.

Reincarnation is one of my many beliefs,

however,

I Refuse

to tie myself down,

I like to say I'm a

“free spirit”,

whatever that is.

And

if I were a cat

with nine lives,

I'd be pushing number seven

by now.

But I still stick by the fact that

I was born to the wrong place

at the wrong time.

I know that if I were a speck of cosmic dust

I would be content,

but until then

I fill the void with

unrequited love and chocolate milkshakes.

I have an obsession with dying my hair,

but I'm too chicken to do anything drastic.

I am a

non-meat-eating-

soul-searching-

animal-rights-digging-

bit-of-a-hippie-

pacifist -

with a coexist bumper sticker tattooed on my forehead.

Yes, I am that girl

who writes letters to Congress

regarding the cruel treatment of chimpanzees in circuses

and the brutality of foie gras.

If I could

I would save all the polar bears

and clean up all the

littered gum wrappers,

but I am fatigued by the

immorality

of it all.

I hate horror,

thriller,

and gore,

but,

that doesn't stop me from

watching documentaries on Anne Frank

and mental asylums in the 1950s.

According to white lab coats and

shattered spectacles-

My capacity for durability is dwindling

and it's only a matter of time before

I collapse like an abandoned building.

I suppose it's much too difficult

for a “disturbed” “young” “lady”

“like” “myself”.

When I was 7 I drew a picture of a family

and a white picket fence

for my mother,

who never truly understood

how hard it was for me

to color in the lines,

and,

who didn't think twice

as she shredded it

into fourths

in front of my face.

I still remember that day

when she locked the door and

tried to close her eyes,

and I still remember the day

I tried to do the same.

There's this prepreprenatal desire

for little beings

I can sing “Danny's Song” to

in a rocking chair.

Despite all my goals in this life,

they will always come first.

I chew on my nails when I'm nervous

and I pace when I'm scared.

Fear will always be my strong.point.

I'm an artist

in that

I'm an actor

in that

I'm a person.

Even though,

I'm not

exactly sure

what any of those are

yet.

I have a horrible habit of biting my lip

and re-washing every piece of silverware

before I use it.

I'm all about the classics.

There is beauty

in the

skipped

heartbeats of vinyl

and I don't mind the

crackling sound

one bit.

When I was 8 I would give

the night sky

“moon cookies”.

I thought that She must get hungry,

having to fold in and out

by dusk.

I love the smell of garages and old books,

but I wouldn't want to make a habit

of living in either.

Being stuck in the residue of past instances

is not my cup of tea,

I prefer chamomile,

and I prefer to keep moving.

I drink my coffee black with extra ice

while my therapist drinks it

light and sweet.

I think that says a lot about our personalities.

In the rare times when

my neutered temper gets the best of me,

my eyes turn a disgusting

shade of green.

The movie “Grease” gives me

melancholia. And I often feel

like I'm wasting my

“youth”

on perpetual thinking patterns

and preparing for christmas in mid-July.

I really wish I could be a

“beauty school drop-out”,

but it's much too unstable.....

which is why I'm going to be an actor.

Selective memory causes me strife;

I don't recall

the distributive property of division,

but I sure as hell can tell you every

word you've ever said to me.

Bittersweet nostalgia

makes me gag now-a-days

because I can't relive

those tender moments

quite as often

as I need to.

I am terribly

afraid

that I cling

too much

to the saviors

I deem dear

to my existence.

I get attached

way

too easily,

and I fear

I stifle wings.

It has taken me an insane amount of time

to value the breath

that flows in and out of my

stale lungs.

Luckily,

angelic spirits

got my back.

Tape doesn't hold everything together,

but band-aids do help.

And

It bothers me that in ten years

I probably won't speak

to any of the people

who have ever meant

something

and

eventually

everything will

drift away

into unattainable

oblivion.

If I could I would live on a bus

and drive around the country

like a silly gypsy child,

but I don't have the energy

or desire

leave it all behind.

In the end,

I am completely aware

that I'll always be

a decomposing mess,

but,

I don't mind existence.

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