– I grew up around powerful successful strong men. I used to think I wanted to be like them. I dreamed of getting that amazing job with the corner office and my name on the door. But now that I’m older, I realize I don’t want to be like those men. I want one of those men. I want to blush and smile passively as the man in his suit buys me a drink. I want to fold his shirts and cook his dinner. I want to feel those rough working hands on my skin. I want to him to be able to have who ever he wants, but he chose me.
– I invest myself in other people. All my love. All my life. Every thing. But, no one ever invests in me back. It makes its impossible to feel loved. It makes its impossible to feel alive. Any thing I do or say has no consequences. No reactions. Not because it is not important. But because it never happened. I don’t feel real so I must not exist.
Most days, I feel Im a typewriter surrounded by MacBooks. I just can’t compete any more. I just sit collecting dust, while the rest of the world gets the job done.
– You take my finger prints and trade them in. Does this flesh and bone feel the same? I’ll spend the afternoon on top of you. If I taste the same will you promise you’ll always stay? I’ll spend the night and lose my mind. You’re wearing me thin. Even so I grow to love you more. I have wishful thinking, while you hang your head and watch the floor. I need to win this endless war. I spend all these nights losing sleep. Wondering, why you killed all the lady bugs? Who do you love? And who loves you more? Thoughts drag me off shore and I’m on my way down. I’m learning to swim as I drown. If I survive will you promise you’ll never go? You roll your eyes and I’m not surprised.
– We all know the waitress in the diner eternally pouring shit coffee. She thinks her forced smile is all she has to offer. She is from a small town and thinks of people in terms of color. Serving eggs and French fries to stoned teenagers is all she’ll ever do. She is unaware of her potential to shape the world. No one has ever given her the corny speech of how you can be any thing you want to be. She is eagerly waiting for a man to allow her to trade her body in for a ring. But, every one knows she will never see last night’s lovers ever again. So many men have made her feel like a newborn baby abandon in a dumpster, exhaling its last breath with arms desperately reaching out. But, her faith that God will send her a man in his own image has never broken, unlike her heart. The idea that it may never happen does not cross her mind. A man calls her over, as she brings me my check. She rushes over to him. She fingers her cross that hangs around her neck, as if to thank Jesus. Her cigarette stained smile widens as he takes her out to his truck. I know she does, but I really hope she does not think that he is “the one”. I want to tell her that she does not need him. That she is beautiful and strong. She is better than this. But, I just put my cash on the table, take my last sip of coffee and silently walk away.