Saturday, May 19, 2012
make me laugh, I dare you
my life. a hunger strike for food. so there it is. I hear the talking. loving words. "just try and make her laugh, I dare you." "she laughs, I've heard her laugh, she laughs with her whole body and sometimes she'll spit out her drink. but it's a trick to make her laugh, if you do it, you've won her over." "no she doesn't-" "yes she does, god, you don't remember anything even though you were there." mock the rapid impetuous. I cough, shake and quiver. my heart blooms. there is a moment of spring. my teeth are shiny snow. but my ears are stuck. unloving words. "Not now dear, mommy's busy" No more laughing. I might be a failure. a coward, a thin-skinned quitter, a loser, my backspace says otherwise. click click click oops, is today the perfect day. for a good cry? I melt. a popsicle in the sun, I don't need to say these colors are frozen most of the time,you know, just try and make me laugh today, I dare you. the heat, the heat it always gets to me.
Tickle your toes. . .
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...