literature

Glow in the Dark Stars in my Stairwell

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anijess3's avatar
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Literature Text

Ever since I was small enough to reenact Little Foot and co. with my miniature peeps on the playground, I could never choose who I wanted to be…
The Superman or the Lois Lane,
The Spiderman or the Mary Jane.
The savior or the saved.
But it didn't matter then so I just played.

To this day I still don't know if I want my scales to balance or tip.
To sail a different ship.
To ship a ship and make myself and I my OTP.

Scrolling through the endless windows of my life,
Watching friends come and go,
And wishing some of my favorites could leave with slaps across their faces
Because of how they, so to speak,
Bit me with their teething toddler teeth,
And I just want them to know how it hurts to get bitten,

Especially when you're wearing Ninja Turtle make-up.

TEXTING.
Which brings me to…

I hate it.  
I mean, it simplifies things, allows convenience, and shortens interactions,
But it takes all the planning out o' life,
And leaves people with ridiculous foot-tapping impatience.
        Just let me drive the car, Sir.
        Yes, I know there are deer there on the side of the road.  
        Please stop and waste somebody else's time
        Filming your National Geographic documentary of the Ashland deerarepeopletoo.

If I put on a wig –
Some colored contacts –
A silly outfit –

Am I a different person? Or am I the best side of me?

I've dyed my hair and switched identities.  Clear as a birdbath.  Just ask my mom.
She's a nice lady.

But now my hair's grown back and so has my meekery,
(It's like meekness and mockery because that's what it feels like.)
                                      when sometimes all I might need is just
                                another genuinely pun-filled compliment from
                                Johnny Bravo.
                                               But ombre is in… maybe procrastination is also.
Why do I always cry at Disney movies?
It's never the sad parts, or the finale bits.
Nor is it the part where the mother inevitably dies.
It's the part where people are happiest, pure, smiling, beautiful, truthful.
      Where people don't have to hide their light under a bushel and they get away with it too because they don't know any better and would bite a poisoned apple martini without proper investigation.

I touched a cat last night.
It meowed.
I smiled.
This was a surreal poetry assignment for my Forms and Meanings theatre class at my university. I had lots of fun, and it was amazing to perform. I brought with me all of my stuffed animals and moved them around in different ways. I just thought I'd share, and I hope you enjoy!

I even earned my poetic license with this baby.

Poem © ~anijess3
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Elven-Tigeress's avatar
Lovely. Wish I could have heard it in person.