To the Guy Making Kissy Faces in the Parking Lot

envelope

Dear Kissy Face,

 

I reject your proposal.

I will not smile and nod and pretend that its cute.

It isn’t. We both know you aren’t really interested in me.

You want me the way a five year old wants

the sparkly red heels in the thrift store window.

She knows they won’t fit and only in the mind

of that five year old can she wear them with anything.

I don’t want you either.

The man of my dreams won’t whistle at me across a parking lot or

blow kissy faces at me from a moving car.

The man of my dreams will speak to me.

He will say actual words. Maybe

they will come in the form of a cheesy pick-up line

or maybe it will be a simple Hello.

Either way he isn’t you.

So please understand when I say that I am not rolling my eyes at you.

I am rolling my eyes at a world that thinks that

these few wasted seconds are anything other than rude.

 

Sincerely,

The girl who is done playing along.

Bullet Proof

bulletproof.jpg

I want to be bullet proof glass…

Multiple individual and separate

Sheets clear in the picture they present,

None obscuring the other yet

Together they provide a single

frame obvious in its clarity.

Epiphany

they call it when

little bits of wisdom

rapidly combust in

a mental flash fire.

What then is it called

when random little

moments of thankfulness

strike like leaves

floating to the ground.

Shapeshifter

shapeshifter

It seems obvious

the magic we hold.

It’s almost amazing,

 the way men haven’t figured it out yet.

 

We,

women,

are shapeshifters.

 

 

 

Sandcastles

cage

Detours and roadblocks and gilded bars.

Lines drawn in the sand

I wouldn’t cross except

that they were drawn by a hand

that isn’t mine.