a memory

changed by time

never to be the same

infinite numbers of realities

they are real

because

they are believed to be so

What did I do?

What did I do before I had a dog. I can't imagine life without her now that she is here. Here cuddles at night,her excitement whenever I return from an absence,her pickyness,and her gaze. Her little alligator snaps when she wants me to play,flying leaps after frisbees,finding sticks on hikes,chasing squirrels,playing with kitty and other puppies. Her barks when we run,her excitement when I pull my bike out. The way she scratches to try and delay having to follow an order. Punk. She is a good dog. :)

You

you would put me in a cage

and you would put me on a pedestal

you would tie me down

you would lie me down

all this would make me the monster you know?
I will rip the cage apart,fly from the pedestal,
rip through cord and rope,fight you to the ground

the only binding that holds
are those,self imposed

Smoking

There is a part of me that wishes I was a smoker. The movements and act of smoking always seem to have the potential for such elegance and sophistication. Though, my lungs are probably very grateful that I am not a smoker. Perhaps it is the Hollywoodization of the cigarette, perhaps the prevalence of those who smoke, but it really does seem glamorous and beautiful. Not to mention the cool designs that arise out of the smoke itself. I love smoke.
But alas, I cough and feel super awkward when I smoke. Boo. Again, my lungs are probably happier this way...


IMAGE

Mysterious

is it so mysterious?

how just seeing your car,

knowing I will see you today

makes all the difference

is it the pixie dust that makes me fly?

no, just mysterious.

Trauma

A classroom waits. They have just seen a number of random items, and have listened to stories. A typical "show and tell." I walk in, in a costume, and suddenly begin feeling absolutely self conscious. I introduce myself, and share that my show and tell will be an improvised dance.

You can do this, you have done it a thousand times in your room...

I nod to the teacher to press play on the music, and start moving. Small movements at first and then bigger, and bigger, and then, my mind goes blank. My body stops moving. I stand there, feeling so embarrassed and small.

Do something...

"Um... I think I am done..."

The teacher presses stop. The silence is to much. I run from the room, into the nearest restroom, and cry. I never want to leave. I can't dance. All of this time, I thought, maybe I could. Well, better to know the truth, right?

I hear the door open, and high heels click against the tile.

She's here...

She calls my name, and asks if I am alright. I am silent. After some time, she invites me to come back to class whenever I am ready, and leaves.

I eventually go back, facing the harsh judgment of my peers and the harsher judgment being inflicted by my mind.

Time heals wounds. This was a long time ago. I danced again. Many times. And I am pretty good at it. Not the best. But not the worst.

Conversations

"Text me all day!"

Muttered by one girl to anther. I am perplexed by this statement, but was perplexed by the interaction in general. Artificial, selfish friends who connect with you at their convenience, as long as you are inflating their image and ego.

But we all do this. We want to know people who will make us well known. Who make us in turn more worthwhile to know.

And those who do not add to our weight in this world, we greet with false sincerity, and praise them falsely. We rejoice whe the time for necessary nicities are over, when artificial pleasantries can be halted.

Text me all day. So I am not bored. So I can have something to do. Someone to talk to. Because I can text you as I secretly imagine how I can slap your face mentally. Text me all day so I can find comfort in being a good friend, when all that I care for will never include you. But, the pretense of genuine affection must be maintained. Otherwise, I am the one losing face, and that just will not do!

Text me all day.

Or better yet, don't text at all.

You go your way, I'll go mine.

And we will be all the happier for it.

Both finding what we want and need.

I hate phones. And texting. And things that seem so obviously toxic to me, but are not so apparent to the people involved.