16/365 - Lucky Me
I have a collection of scissors on the inside of my jacket but I am not a poet.
If anything, I’m a zebra unable to see anything except black and white. A pair of sunglasses with fake teeth all hiding under a hat. I’m a lazy cat’s shadow. If I was a person, I’d be a fake backstage pass sold to a naïve teenager on craigslist, revealed only at the end of the concert for the worthless piece of paper I am when that teenager was turned back by bouncers.
I get lap dances from indifferent alligators in sewer-pipe bars while domesticated llamas spit in my drink. I am tractor-tire indifference dressed in sheep’s clothing. If I was an evening gown, I’d be on a hanger in the dark while the body I was bought for watched the Oscars in pajamas.
Each eraser I eat does nothing. All the paint thinner I drink only makes graffiti appear in my throat. My words splash out of mouth and stain brand new clothes. My embarrassing mouth is a mating call for amnesiac windmills and homeless office supplies. I have a dream catcher in the shape of a shame spiral. My business card says Kindergarten Boogeyman Dentist.
I want your wrists to teach me about baptism. Give me your thumbtack promise. Throw a waterfall into me and freeze this heart into beating. Show a villain the value of a day job and be a season with warm clouds and no deadlines. Let my lawnmower rust a while as this half-life becomes small enough to manage. My aim isn’t very good anymore but I’m still throwing lit matches at empty gasoline cans because a bunch of them used to be full.
I shot for the moon and landed on Mars. And lucky me.
tags
If anything, I’m a zebra unable to see anything except black and white. A pair of sunglasses with fake teeth all hiding under a hat. I’m a lazy cat’s shadow. If I was a person, I’d be a fake backstage pass sold to a naïve teenager on craigslist, revealed only at the end of the concert for the worthless piece of paper I am when that teenager was turned back by bouncers.
I get lap dances from indifferent alligators in sewer-pipe bars while domesticated llamas spit in my drink. I am tractor-tire indifference dressed in sheep’s clothing. If I was an evening gown, I’d be on a hanger in the dark while the body I was bought for watched the Oscars in pajamas.
Each eraser I eat does nothing. All the paint thinner I drink only makes graffiti appear in my throat. My words splash out of mouth and stain brand new clothes. My embarrassing mouth is a mating call for amnesiac windmills and homeless office supplies. I have a dream catcher in the shape of a shame spiral. My business card says Kindergarten Boogeyman Dentist.
I want your wrists to teach me about baptism. Give me your thumbtack promise. Throw a waterfall into me and freeze this heart into beating. Show a villain the value of a day job and be a season with warm clouds and no deadlines. Let my lawnmower rust a while as this half-life becomes small enough to manage. My aim isn’t very good anymore but I’m still throwing lit matches at empty gasoline cans because a bunch of them used to be full.
I shot for the moon and landed on Mars. And lucky me.
tags