At 13, I decided that if I were to become somewhat known to the world, I should never show my face to anyone but the people who knew my name before my stardom.
Kids shouldn't plan their futures around anything except for blurry dreams, but I didn't fear being followed around or the true green footprint being permanently emblazoned on the inside of my eyelids.
I didn't want to face my new name was all, I didn't want to have to disappoint.
I romanticized being an idea because I was told it was healthier than thinking to myself I wish I were pretty enough to kidnap, I wish I were pretty enough for someone to really get there hands dirty for me.
I have grown into this role and I play it so well, it's just that no one else knows that yet.
That bit is a little tragic, leaves the bitter taste of cheap coffee lingering in your mouth, but doesn't it make you feel something?
I remind you that safety is a construct.
I stand behind a portable wooden counter and hand out fruits to the people.
I hand them beautiful fruits, colorful and rich and ripe, flecked with morning dew.
I hand them beautiful fruits and watch as the delicate things burst in their hands, smooth, supple skin exploding open in a shower of syrupy juice, pouring through their fingers like blood.
Let's say mouths and hands are the entire world and I am a plum.
Do you think I'd be famous by now?
YOU ARE READING
the space above my ears.
Thơ cafreestyle poetry/prose absolutely feel free to comment and vote! i love hearing what other people have to say/interpret; let me know if i should keep uploading.
