Tue, 10/14/2014 - 01:23 -- Icousin

“Do you Like this?” You ask.


You’re holding out a dress of elegant purple, floor length with a fitted bodice that hugs the torso like that of mountaineers to the cliff face.


A thousand and one thoughts race through my mind, the first of which is ‘Are you playing with me?’

There’s no way you’re going to let me have.  It’s a ploy.

So instead I turn away and say no.  I go pick out something looser, something I do not like, and you are happy.  I’m happy... on the outside.


I am called bitter and cold because I “don’t like”, when in true I admire everything that pass in front of me.

I just don’t say lest Murphy hear and take it away.  He has laid his law down.

He gawk at my audacity to outwardly desire something and then cause a hurricane just so I can’t get it.  Or just so I have to fight that much harder than the next person to have it


I have no idea why he hate me in particular.  I just know that if I want or need anything I count on having to endure a Hell storm to obtain it.  Anything and everything will go wrong.

I find solace in knowing I won’t always be tormented by him.  He is kind to those who carry the presidents in their pockets.

Until I reach such a point in my life where I too am pals with Ben Franklin, I must carry on.  I have to carry on.



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