Afterward, the cat jumps up on the night stand beside me. I didn't know there was a cat, but I am not surprised. If I didn't know better I would say "awe" I would say "hello" but I know exactly what this is about. It looks at me as if it's trying to tell me it knows something. It's on to me. It knows this isn't my terrain. Well, I know too my friend, you and your horses &your one eyes staring me down. Feel free to judge me, just let me dress myself first.
I put my bra on, the cat vomits in the corner.
I take the train back but just to read. New York feels like the biggest place in the world; the smallest planet on the block. The four girls across from me are best friends. They just got boobs. They say to me "hey mami, your white boots is ugly" and I nod my head in agreement. They laugh about other things, rowdy with their hair slicked back to one side. They are louder than everyone else and I wonder why they wear their jeans like that. For a moment I cannot remember what it is like to be fourteen, I cannot remember what it is like to write a name in hearts or to cry because of a pair of shoes I needed and could not have.
The moment passes and I remember again exactly what it is like. I watch them, feeling I am allowed to stare now that they made fun of me. They won't look back again, maybe there is something about my face that says I'd make fun of their shoe laces. Perhaps I would if the mood struck me, but really the truth is, I am just jealous of it. I want to sit next to them. I want to ask if i can be the fifth member. I will tell them what it's like to have tits, I will throw insults at the other passengers. I will lie to them, like no one lied to me and I will say "it will get worse before it gets better." They would not believe me, just like I did not believe anyone.
When I come home it's a saturday but it feels like a Sunday. I want to kill my roommate because there are always dishes in the sink and I cannot stand to look at them. I don't understand why she cannot mop the floors. I say it loud in different ways: to her face, right here, through text messages, screaming from the bathroom. I sound like one of my relatives who has gone mad because they see dust, because there is hair in the sink.
Midterms will come and I'l make decisions. I know how to drive the car still. I know still that it is up to me. I will not walk around that block with a phone in my hand and the tears clogging up all of the parts that make it work. I don't understand how phones work especially without wires. I guess it makes no difference. If Alexander Graham Belle was here, he'd break up with me. He'd tell me he wanted me long distance or that I was the wrong kind of text message. I'd tell him he's gone mad, phones could never work without me.
I think about the library in this romantic way. I have a stack of paper clips, a stack of magazines, e-mails to return and I must put on heels because I've promised to dance with you in that manner.
The reason I cant be good at this --- well part of this-- is because I want to take naps but don't have the ability to take them.
I have been woken up different ways in my life. It tells you a lot about a person-- the way they reach for your body. Sometimes I am nudged awake like I am a dog, but not a dog you love that much, kind of with a little kick like this is a bother. And then other times I am cradled back into consciencse like a baby or an angell or a girl who is too tired to type anymore but it is ready to open her eyes.
The cat throws up &my boots is ugly.
I put my bra on, the cat vomits in the corner.
I take the train back but just to read. New York feels like the biggest place in the world; the smallest planet on the block. The four girls across from me are best friends. They just got boobs. They say to me "hey mami, your white boots is ugly" and I nod my head in agreement. They laugh about other things, rowdy with their hair slicked back to one side. They are louder than everyone else and I wonder why they wear their jeans like that. For a moment I cannot remember what it is like to be fourteen, I cannot remember what it is like to write a name in hearts or to cry because of a pair of shoes I needed and could not have.
The moment passes and I remember again exactly what it is like. I watch them, feeling I am allowed to stare now that they made fun of me. They won't look back again, maybe there is something about my face that says I'd make fun of their shoe laces. Perhaps I would if the mood struck me, but really the truth is, I am just jealous of it. I want to sit next to them. I want to ask if i can be the fifth member. I will tell them what it's like to have tits, I will throw insults at the other passengers. I will lie to them, like no one lied to me and I will say "it will get worse before it gets better." They would not believe me, just like I did not believe anyone.
When I come home it's a saturday but it feels like a Sunday. I want to kill my roommate because there are always dishes in the sink and I cannot stand to look at them. I don't understand why she cannot mop the floors. I say it loud in different ways: to her face, right here, through text messages, screaming from the bathroom. I sound like one of my relatives who has gone mad because they see dust, because there is hair in the sink.
Midterms will come and I'l make decisions. I know how to drive the car still. I know still that it is up to me. I will not walk around that block with a phone in my hand and the tears clogging up all of the parts that make it work. I don't understand how phones work especially without wires. I guess it makes no difference. If Alexander Graham Belle was here, he'd break up with me. He'd tell me he wanted me long distance or that I was the wrong kind of text message. I'd tell him he's gone mad, phones could never work without me.
I think about the library in this romantic way. I have a stack of paper clips, a stack of magazines, e-mails to return and I must put on heels because I've promised to dance with you in that manner.
The reason I cant be good at this --- well part of this-- is because I want to take naps but don't have the ability to take them.
I have been woken up different ways in my life. It tells you a lot about a person-- the way they reach for your body. Sometimes I am nudged awake like I am a dog, but not a dog you love that much, kind of with a little kick like this is a bother. And then other times I am cradled back into consciencse like a baby or an angell or a girl who is too tired to type anymore but it is ready to open her eyes.
The cat throws up &my boots is ugly.
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