Sometimes I find it easier
to eavesdrop on my brain
than to ask it directly
for what facts may remain.
–
I sneak discreetly like a ninja
to the far reaches of my mind
waiting for that juicy gossip
that will free me from a bind.
–
If no soft whispers reach my ears
and the conversations run dry
there may be nothing to hear,
but at least I gave it a try.
You’ve been cluttering my mind
for what seems like eternity
and you’ve muddied my heart
so that it cannot just be.
The mess you leave in your wake
is not one that can be undone
and the roadside litter you exude
makes it impossible to run.
You’ve cluttered my life in ways
so I can never break free
and you get the clean slate
while I sit in a swill of captivity.
A flap of the wings
causes chaos from afar
yet calms what is near.
I used to sit in your store and read whatever I couldn’t afford to buy. You never once complained or told me to leave, instead you offered me a job. In that moment, I knew the kind of person you are and always have been. The years that followed only gave further proof that your generosity and kindness are the natural side effects of your big heart. You made my mom and me a part of your family and we have made you a part of ours. Even when you have nothing to give, you are the first to offer up whatever you may have. Your selflessness has brightened not only my life, but has continued to light up our community for twenty-two years. You may think you deal in books, but your true product is kindness.
Happy Birthday!
I have posted before about nasty looks I get using the bathroom just because I wear men’s clothing and have short hair. While this is annoying for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like for a transgendered person what with the recent commotion.
I am glad that this highly important issue of where to pee is being discussed because this is obviously the most important issue that the government needs to address and write legislature for at the moment. Poverty, terrorism, healthcare, and human rights are all issues that can wait. Our county obviously became great when we stopped taking a leak on a tree and started building infrastructures to house the ever holy bathroom. Of course these great structures would not be complete without a “his” and “hers.” And these bathrooms have so many uses too!
Well, call me traditional, but I use public restrooms for a very specific reason…to go to the bathroom. Okay, sometimes you get a bloody nose or need to wash your hands. Maybe you just need to look in the mirror to see if you look smashing enough to ask that pretty girl if you can buy her a drink. But, you don’t ask her out in the bathroom, do you? Have I been doing this wrong all these years? Why is everyone so stressed about who is using what bathroom? I think the people we need to be worrying about are the ones who have a problem with it since they are obviously doing things in the bathroom that they should not be if they know who has which genitals.
Here is a list of all the behavior and items that need to be banned from bathrooms as well as laws that should be enacted, so that we can stop banning people from bathrooms.
-No more urinals in the men’s room. Come on, guys, we all know you take a peek every now and then.
-No more changing tables for babies. This will really put an end to all those perverts who want to get a load of the load in your baby’s diaper.
-Any stall door with a broken lock must be fixed or the entire stall deemed out of order.
-No sex! Nothing screams romance like that ever-wafting fecal odor.
-No shoe tying. While bent over, you could look under the door and find Mrs. Doubtfire!
I have often considered
living a mute lifestyle
since already my voice
is only heard once in a while.
The only way in which
my words end up in one’s brain
is by writing them to be read
and only then do they stain.
If I lost my voice tomorrow,
that would matter not
as long as words flowed through
my pen, I can still produce a thought.
My girl has rambled on about Shakespeare for long enough. I don’t really see what is so great about the guy, he didn’t even write about cats. Here is how some of his works should have read.
To wake, or not to wake- that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to dream
Of mice and fish of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of tunas,
And by clawing end them.
Out, damned mouse! out, I say!
Birds, squirrels, chipmunks, lend me your ears;
I come to watch you, not to eat you.
Today is indeed an international holiday, my friends. Today we celebrate the birth, and death, of one the greatest men to walk this earth. Or did he? There are skeptics out there who question the validity of Mr. Shakespeare. Did this person really exist? Did that person write his works or simply take credit for the work of another? All questions aside, the truth is that someone wrote the great works which we cherish today. I mean, they can’t have been written by a room of monkeys, right?
Since today is a holiday in my book, I figured I would take it easy today and share with you some phrases that would not exist if not for The Bard.
Werewolves might be your safest bet
when the full moon is overhead.
The other crazies that come out
instill a far worse sense of dread.
Being ripped apart limb by limb
seems far less painless indeed
than to put up with the insanity
that Mother Nature has freed.
I am eleven and the sun is setting as I toss my raggedy old tennis ball at the side of the garage. I think.
I think about the roar of the crowd. I think about the smell of the grass. I think about playing baseball with a real baseball and having someone to catch and throw the ball back to me instead of using the side of a beat up garage. I think how great it would be to play for the Atlanta Braves. I think about all the reasons that I will forever be tomboy. I think of all the stereotypes there are for dykes. I think how much I hate stereotypes. I think of how I want nothing more than to be different. I think, how terrible it is to fit in and fill the shoes that have been set out for you by someone else. I think it’s better to be a straight tomboy than a gay stereotype. And then I think, damn, Michelle Rodríguez is hot.
I am eleven and the sun is setting as my raggedy old tennis ball bounces back into my crumbling black baseball glove. I think, and this is the problem.
Autumn Siders 