I am here not there looking for balloons among stickmen. Unbreathing
in this coma state don’t hesitate. We are sisters and brothers alone where the
west was won or where we lost ourselves. Pale ghosts on long forgotten plains.
There is a heart buried deep in the earth where bones lay but this flesh
peruses more exotic locale in hopes of melting away the mind’s winter. I can’t
help myself I can’t be myself I am a lie fed up like breakfast cereal. Crispix
and Chex on a sparkling sugar diamond bed. Slathered in milk until
lactose-intolerant. Looking for windows in the soul but only seeing missed
opportunities. Lies and deceit. I am not that perfect little creole. I have
stretch marks from fat shields and wishing to live beyond this body. I know I’m
more but there is no clear path for the calling that silences me. I hate and
this hate is the result of the fear fed in wonderbread, disguised with ketchup.
The static is seemingly white noise but the pain is still there. It is more
than a sliver. We can’t look beyond the wicked ways of the world. They consume
us as a lustful fire. I can’t live this way anymore but I can’t find the door.
Let me out. I shall draw a window in this wall. Float out like a holy ghost.
Sing songs of sarcastic waste. We are all gods. Men are figments of our
imaginations. We are building on a human foundation. Souls trapped by human
experience. Limited by imperfections. We need gold. We need violet light. Show
us the way of glittering silver threads. The swamp is lost like leeches and
toothy reptiles. Sink holes waste deep. We need to let go of Freudian slips.
Underanalyse because we’ll loose the flow. We’ll catapult the havoc of
incarceration for crimes left uncommitted and dreams left unfulfilled. There is
only room for second guessing in the nunnery and this nuttery. Pass the cashew
butter and we will make merry toasts to the stars and moon the lawn gnomes as
though we are wild banshees. I fail to see the difference between two buffoons.
Likewise bassoons and baboons are of a similar intimacy. Let the literary sighs
commence as I immensely offend grammar rules that are as young as dirt and as
wavering as planets. Jupiter was a star once too. It let us shine in the way
that was immeasurable. We used to follow the stars until we lost them to the
haze. We need to exit this way. Keep left. Step lightly. All aboard. All a
bored. All a board. Dall a boar. Daal a boar. Doll a boar. Doll ab oar. Dull ab
oar. Dull ab ore. Dull as ore. Dumbledore? Where is this leading? Walk the
plank! Keelhaul him! That drunken sailor! We are all castaway in these seas and
there are no life vessels. Make your own from debris. Exit on glowing signs of
zoo plankton. Follow the riptide. Swim lightly. Head bonk. Forget yourself. It
is the little joys. We forgot family and community to find ourselves. In the
process lost our way. Take the hindsight. Take the insight of a 3 year old. 3 2
1 zero. Blast off! I am lonely. It is the truth but people don’t like the truth. It holds them accountable. It
is painfully disturbing to be entirely truthful with yourself. Peel back the
mask and see the grotesque within. We are all animals. Good and evil are lies.
We are left with pure... what? Snort. Now for some coffee tea cream sugar ice.
Make it nice and frothy. Like the jetsom and flotsam. We can let go but first
take a good long look. Linger longingly. Love. Live. Lose. Lily limbs like
lotuses lift lightly loosely limber. Lolling, laughing, little lionesses live
longer lying lusciously. Let light lull lofty lingo. Oh boy. Oh man. Oh girl.
Oh woman! Hey sexy lady! Be an object of my desire. Clearly it’s your fault I
raped you. You shouldn’t have dressed so provocatively. Never mind I fetch the
paper every morning in my underwear.... standards can never be the same between
genders. I have no reason to be afraid stepping naked from the shower in front
of my open curtains. The people across the way on their balconies enjoy the
view. I like the attention. Now stop dressing like a skank you little whore!
And make me a sammich! God. Goddess. Supreme spaghetti monster. How I hate
these double standards. They smell of diseased and rotten fish. Don’t tell me I
did this to myself because for one damn minute you try being a woman. Enough of
your vagina envy!
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