A girl

New places New faces. The plain off white wall paint seems to lull the entire experience to sleep. A whole new city breathes outside and the cheerful laughter of Friday night kids is the only indication that I am once again in the citizen salad of a metropolitan area. The occasional honk from a distressed worker, the stench of asphalt and the roll of tires against their never ending waves. The light breeze and the click of traffic lights accompanied by blue cigarette smoke and sweat remind me of my new atmosphere. I guess I’m growing up.


She sits slouched and indifferent. Her legs not crossed as society tells her they should but rather spread for comfort and to accommodate the beer that warms between the meat of her inner thighs. Her hairs a mess and she couldn’t give a damn. Make up to calm make the masses but her bones make her foundation. Lives by her sleeves, and cries only when it hurts. A drunk by design and a hippie in the head, she waggles to the music and tastes like Shirley temple. Bra for comfort, not speed, her insecurities would never dissolve in fabric. Her skin smells like her day and her hair of the sun. She blinks without knowing breathes through her mouth. She even spits. She wants kids, but only by accident and thinks love is a fad that appeals to the lonely (she still believes). Her eyes do her talking and she hasn’t watched the news since Christmas. She believes parking tickets are blasphemous and daytime TV is a sin. She hates chardonnay. Gossip intrigues her but will never infect her lips. Her grandmother prays for her and her mother doesn’t understand, she takes comfort in the struggles of misconceptions. Beauty makes her wet, soul makes her cum, and poetry lights her cigarette of afterglow. She likes free jazz and plays the wind. She laughs with her nose and can’t cook for shit. Shed be barefoot by choice but is afraid of the glass. She only has good memories and has burned the bad. She now draws an outline with the charcoal and fill it with the future. She has never owned 100 dollar jeans and gives great hugs. Loyal, compassionate, and free. She dreams in neon and has nightmares for the stories. Her hands are never really clean. Sunrise eyes and sunset gaze, she blows time a kiss as it goes whizzing by. A beautiful, simple, girl.