We middle-class candy junkies swap sweets and colorless smiles, eating animals with faces unseen, exchanging mild attempts at humor and courtesy. i am one of them, even in genuine gestures of affection, under constant surveillance of my monstrous lack of awareness. i feel so out of touch.

i'm just a silly woman who's more content with a small mind; knowing less equals more belief in this assumption of control. i am always one slip away from being another one of "them"... What i am and what i do makes little difference as a bitty byte on someone's bottom line except to those people to whom i am responsible and that i could or do love and they make all the difference in the world.

i miss feeling like i could fly. i miss you. In the midst of my well-managed world, i miss you.
Names and faces. Names and faces. Names and faces with empty feelings for me...

Wonder(ing) Woman

Tonight kisses my face and hands with a mild chill.
i'm almost comforted by the abundance of doughy belly belting my waist despite making these jeans impossibly unstable against jelly padded curves. i want to be beautiful in a pure crystalline, contoured way but losing my squishy warmth seems nakedish and pulsing vulnerable.
Comfort is central in my sense of tranquility because to me comfortable means both content and able to comfort.
Can i become captivating and charismatic without losing my ability to console and be considerate?
Can i embrace my potential for beauty without drowning in a nexus of competitive conceit?
i want to be a wondrous paradox: dually light-hearted and taken seriously.
Pretty, funny and pretty fucking smart.