Pre/Post Regina Spektor, and PROOF that we had cheap seats. The man next to us was using binoculars. -_- lol.
Children’s Day Advertisement!
Flying kites on an empty stomach is dangerous.
But Christie didn’t care.
The wind can hear the lion growls
coming from her tiny stomach,
and gets scared.
In an attempt to save the child from
the carnivore trapped inside her tummy,
the wind blows hard as he can,
hoping to blow that lion right out of her.
The wind is worried for Christie, the lion won’t budge.
In fact, he roars loader still, mocking the wind and his compassion.
Finally one giant angry gush of wind is blown towards the girl’s midsection.
And with that, she goes tumbling onto the green blades of grass.
The wind stops to listen for the lion’s voice.
Gone! Ha!
Gusts of air dance between Christie’s whispy blonde curls.
Your tongue must be on fire.
I love your composure,
you act like nothing is wrong
and it’s just a tuesday in the middle of winter.
Meanwhile your mouth is competing with
the sun’s core—trying to see who can burn the
hottest.
Your teeth are turning into ashes and
those tonsils you refused to take out in elementary
are blackening into the dust it was
supposedly made from.
Is lying really worth the kerosene drenched mouth?
…Oh wait, you can’t answer me right now?
Oops.
I’d bring some water to put the fire out but…
fuck being polite.
The fireworks inside your face are a lot nicer to watch
than the ones in my sweaty summer backyard.
The glaring headlights were the last light source I saw that night.
He hid behind the tree in my front yard that I always used to
hang Christmas ornaments from.
Oh, how that tree did betray me. If the tree was really on my side,
it would have whispered to me to walk a little faster,
stop looking like such a victim in those school girl tights,
and to grab that mace in my purse
because I was sure as hell gonna need it.
The man stepped out of his hiding spot, realizing that
the night was his hiding spot.
I could hardly see a thing. My house was a dark shade of silence,
like it always was on school nights.
Strange hands clasped around my mouth. Their cold roughness
made me think of my dad, but I knew he was safe snoring
in his bedroom,only feet away from me.
I tried to scream but not even a squeak could be heard from behind the man’s
fingers. I squirmed and squirmed until I managed to kick him in the shin.
He grabbed at me tighter, and pressed a knife on the back of my neck.
“If you try that again,baby, I will kill your whole family in there instead of just you.”
Stiff as a plank that pirates use to walk to their watery graves,
I suddenly fell limp in his arms. I dared not move.
“You won’t touch my family!”
I screamed inside my head.
She’s become a part of your anatomy.
Donna’s like an extra bone,
an extra part of you that
God forgot to put in.
Your hugs look like
you’re both hoping that
somehow with the tension between
your bodies,
you’ll fuse together to form some
sort of super human.
I can’t seem to get a conversation from you anymore,
because your lips are alway occupied;
smothering hers.
What happened to your need for breathing?
I know you don’t miss talking
you misanthrope , you
but I thought breathing was kind of
a requirement to live,buddy.
Did you borrow a breathing tube from the
local nursing home?
I hope that doesn’t interfere with romanticism.
And please be careful when your driving.
It must be hard to see red lights when your eyes are closed and
your hands are up a girl’s shirt.
Let me know when
you want to come up for a
breath of fresh air.
I always carry my phone on me.
A series I’m doing featuring little kids and life fails. This is little me (:
When I was little,
I wanted a unicorn.
I prayed every night to
whomever would listen to me up there,
and ask if I could please have one I would stop
telling my brother he’s stupid.
I made a bed for my future unicorn and everything,
right at the foot
of my own bed. I made it out of
old clothes that I outgrew years ago
beanie babies
and
a little hope to tie it all together.
Warm like mom’s goodnight kisses,
the makeshift bed and I waited for the unicorn
that would never come.
I didn’t,couldn’t understand why
Mr.God didn’t just give me the pet
I wanted so badly.
I mean, I was a good person.
I shared my cookies during snack time,
and I said “please” and “thank you” at precisely the right moments.
I started asking Santa for a unicorn instead.
Santa wouldn’t let me down,
he’s on the Coca Cola commercials!
You don’t see God on the Coca Cola commercials.
In line at the mall, every christmas for three and a half years
I would wait patiently for my turn to sit on Santa’s lap.
I listened while the other kids asked obnoxiously
for their endless lists of toys.
Barbie dolls, trampolines, G.I. Janes,Easy Bake ovens,yo-yo’s.
Every year when it was my turn and Santa asked me,
“So what do you want this year,little lady?”
I would look up at his grayish blue eyes
and say, “A unicorn.”
He laughed and gave me the reply he always did,
“Maybe this year,dumpling.” and
tousled my curls.
One day after school I ran to my room
crying because of something someone
said about my hair.
I buried my head in my pillow and in-between a self pitying sob,
I glanced over at the bed I had years ago.
There was a white puppy sleeping in it
wearing a headband with a unicorn horn on it.
She doesn’t know what she wants
so she puts on a blindfold,
spins in a circle three times,
and chooses what her finger points to.
“That! I want that! Yes. That’s definitely it.”
But the little mustached man in the back of her head
is leering at her,
“Are you sure,pudding?”
…No.
The answer will always be no.
But she can fake it better than any of
the young lipsticked girls who pretend their way
into a lonely old man’s heart and wallet.
The trees have their own way of conversating
and it’s unnerving.
They whisper like they’re old maids
who never really had a chance
to gossip when they were
actually old maids.
Cause you know that’s what trees are,right?
Just humans who are
not good enough for heaven
yet
not bad enough for hell.
They’re the ones who push people off the playground swings
and then say sorry,sorry,sorry!,
helping them up with a smile that contains
sweetness only elementary school children can manage.
Look out your window.
Can you see the different dead personalities standing in front of you?
When the trees fight it’s disguised
as innocent leaf rustling in horror movies.
The worst thing about being a tree and fighting with one of the
other trapped souls is that
you can’t walk away from an argument when you’re finally frustrated of it.
You’re forced to swallow your anger,
no matter how bad it tastes.
