“We’re involved in trillions of little acts just to keep us going”
Before I wore a bra I was a happy outcast. I used to sing in the shower and click my heels together like Dorothy to travel away when I was upset and make my happiness last.
I could demand my mood to change if I squeezed my eyes tight until spots teased the darkness.
I used to know where the sidewalk ended.
I could turn weeds into flowers.
I could stare down a stranger, and win. But that was before.
Yesterday I begged a young magician to cut me in half, and yielded a blade before his eyes for lure.
I thrust the handle into his hand and screamed, but he shook his head and left me.
I asked an artist to paint me words to my song
Gurgles emitted from my throat as I clawed and dug deeper, my fingernails long, hunting for sounds that equal the harmony of others, but to my dismay the artist replied
He had no lyrics for me to sing
And turned me away.
Today I asked a seagull to teach me how to fly above the waves that crash into each other, to fly above it all
But he said he could only teach me how to fall.
But I am optimistic in that my prince charming
Who rides his noble steed and begs for my hand to dance
Is also torturing others dreams
I hope they burn
That their hope will twist their wrists and have them kneeling on the floor
Kneeling to fantasy.
I hope the weight on their knees shatters their bones.
Tomorrow I will crack the code
I will hold complications between my teeth and lick them into compliancy
They will tell me their secrets
Before I go back to work on Monday