Once there were two adults and they gave birth.
They created a child. She had long hair and wore it in knots.
She liked to catch bugs and watch their ways.
Caterpillars turned to butterflies. Lady bugs were placed in yellow cosmopolitan ice cream pail by the dozens. She knows now that the tall oaks the lady bugs lived in must have been infested with aphids.
She grew with the years, innocence preserved her smile.
She became a teen, felt self-conscious, dated boys. Fingered girls.
Lines began to form on her face. Her smile had since faded.
Her teeth began to clench and she read sex columns in magazines called Cosmopolitan and Seventeen. Her skin broke out in rashes and she drank so much she passed out. She doesn't remember the first time she had sex. She doesn't recall her first kiss.
She became an age that allowed her to avoid religion.
She grew up and blew away.
She got roommates
It's mid-April.
Was it just yesterday you told your best friend that you don't like yourself?
In a dark Lebanese restaurant under geometric shadow light you ask:
"Am I fucked? How is it that I haven't dated anyone in 5 years?"
"Why do you think that is?"
You take a long sip from your cool water and rub your forehead into your fingertips,
"I don't fucking know. I'm not happy with myself. I don't like myself physically. I've never said this aloud to anyone before."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Good questions Freud. And like, I'm 27 years old..."
"26."
"Almost 27 years old. And i'm making fucking $13 an hour. This is exactly how i never wanted to turn out."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's Tuesday night.
I arrive home to an empty house, a rare occurrence that hasn't happened since I moved in. I go to my usual suspects:
First list making. Catch up on emails and open a book in the solitude.
It doesn't take long before two bodies come home.
A female and a male voice.
The music gets turned on, the shower starts and the voices are behind the washroom door.
My two roommates are having a shower together. You know, the two roommates with significant others. I open my door. I do yoga on my floor. I sit at my computer in the living room. I make tea.
Is this really happening?
They come out of the washroom in towels.
"Have a nice shower?" I inquire.
Katie comes close to my computer and reads my writings.
"You smell like a drunk slut."
They ask how my day was.
"Do you two always shower together?"
They stammer yes with wide smiles busting out their corsets and say I should join next time.
"Does Will know?" I ask.
They both say nothing.
"Would you like it if Will and I showered together?"
Silence.
I blow off their fucking movie night they try to lure me into.
I'd rather be alone.
They created a child. She had long hair and wore it in knots.
She liked to catch bugs and watch their ways.
Caterpillars turned to butterflies. Lady bugs were placed in yellow cosmopolitan ice cream pail by the dozens. She knows now that the tall oaks the lady bugs lived in must have been infested with aphids.
She grew with the years, innocence preserved her smile.
She became a teen, felt self-conscious, dated boys. Fingered girls.
Lines began to form on her face. Her smile had since faded.
Her teeth began to clench and she read sex columns in magazines called Cosmopolitan and Seventeen. Her skin broke out in rashes and she drank so much she passed out. She doesn't remember the first time she had sex. She doesn't recall her first kiss.
She became an age that allowed her to avoid religion.
She grew up and blew away.
She got roommates
It's mid-April.
Was it just yesterday you told your best friend that you don't like yourself?
In a dark Lebanese restaurant under geometric shadow light you ask:
"Am I fucked? How is it that I haven't dated anyone in 5 years?"
"Why do you think that is?"
You take a long sip from your cool water and rub your forehead into your fingertips,
"I don't fucking know. I'm not happy with myself. I don't like myself physically. I've never said this aloud to anyone before."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Good questions Freud. And like, I'm 27 years old..."
"26."
"Almost 27 years old. And i'm making fucking $13 an hour. This is exactly how i never wanted to turn out."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's Tuesday night.
I arrive home to an empty house, a rare occurrence that hasn't happened since I moved in. I go to my usual suspects:
First list making. Catch up on emails and open a book in the solitude.
It doesn't take long before two bodies come home.
A female and a male voice.
The music gets turned on, the shower starts and the voices are behind the washroom door.
My two roommates are having a shower together. You know, the two roommates with significant others. I open my door. I do yoga on my floor. I sit at my computer in the living room. I make tea.
Is this really happening?
They come out of the washroom in towels.
"Have a nice shower?" I inquire.
Katie comes close to my computer and reads my writings.
"You smell like a drunk slut."
They ask how my day was.
"Do you two always shower together?"
They stammer yes with wide smiles busting out their corsets and say I should join next time.
"Does Will know?" I ask.
They both say nothing.
"Would you like it if Will and I showered together?"
Silence.
I blow off their fucking movie night they try to lure me into.
I'd rather be alone.
