–This week, two
people unsubscribed to my blog.
My initial thought was:
~O, My, what am I doing wrong? Is my blog too sad, too monotonous. Do I say
“fuck” too much, lament too much, weep too much? Am I good enough?~
All of this negativity & yuckiness gushed thru my head in
one. solitary. moment.
One moment is a heeeeell
of a long time when one is feeling profusely inadequate.
Seriously…60 strait seconds of second guessing my beautiful,
This sensation feels something like being selected last in
gym class for dodge ball.
Or not being excepted
into the popular crowd with all the pretty bitches.
Or not being thin enough to join the cheerleading club.
So what does a girl like this do?
She lights up a joint in the back of Denfeld School
to get high.
She smokes Marlboros in the bathroom while she skips economics,
math, and geography.
… But she NEVER
skips English class.
She paints her eyes deep charcoal like Joan Jet.
She becomes a naughty
girl like that dude from the Breakfast Club.
She acts as if she doesn’t care.
But she does.
She behaves foolishly.
But she’s not.
She writes poetry
… masses & masses of poetry.
Pages and pages of Platholian poetry.
Until she is vacant of words and metaphor and imagery.
In one minute…
all of those familiar feelings of the past pouring, flowing…
rising to the top
like curdled cream.
Interesting how that happens. Isn’t it?
I mean, how our past comes up at the most unexpected times.
The difference being now when she looks back–
Those days were the greatest experiences in her life-
And she wouldn’t change one. single. thing.
Not a thing—
Except perhaps, her
grade point average!