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
******* 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
to
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.
