Swirls of decadence dance in and about the nose of the bear,
who smells the baker's excellence.
"Her absence is my pestilence" thinks the bear.
"Those sweet scents would do me away in an ambulance" he thinks.

Given the chance, he'd take the brush from her hand into his meager claws,
and paint a portrait of him in her.
He'd accentuate his smile to show his bright grin.
He'd color his face outside the bounds to show his messiness.
Left up to him, the dim, grim hymn in his head would change the chorus from self doubt
to harmonies of carelessness and confidence.

Suspended, his thoughts diminish to silence.
"I do intend to forge a friend" he says.
"I'll ask to spend our time together in Zen".
What will she say to him then?

I wonder
If i stick to the wall
With every part of my soul
Would it be
just enough
To merge these feelings
into stone?

Is it sugar
Or is it death dirt* or nothing.
I think about it looking into my tea cup.
Just an idea in my head.
My over thinking, over analyzing mind

I think I am fat.
I hate being fat.
Then I see an amazing fat girl looking good in her jeans.
Her overthrow looks amazing and I want that
I want to be fat.

I could be small.
I tell my self.
I should eat way less and get skinny.
Fit in very tight jeans and have big hair.
The skinny girl yesterday looked amazing.
But would I

What if I cannot look good skinny.
I'd loose my **** and look weird.
What if I am those people who can never get small

I love food and good places.
Most of the times fat girls look awesome dressed up.
I am not skinny or fat.
I have never understood my body.
Sometimes I feel smart sometimes I doubt everything*

So, is it sugar? Is it dirt?
maybe I will never know