I am skin,
two toned cheeks.
I reek of issues, baggage and
Walk a mile –
can’t find me. No mile
you are looking, could you
grab me a latte? Double shots?
a story, a long time ago. It carried on and on and on. Redundant. It nearly drove me insane! Then, one day, the story changed! I think I was in shock. So, I walked miles and miles away.
The story couldn’t find me and I didn’t want it to. I have no use for stories; real or imagined!!
A boy came along and he
started writing, sketching words and illustrations in a binder.
He had longing in his eyes as he
sat under a hot, burning lamp. But, the
poor fool kept on writing.
He told me what he imagined
and hoped he could create.
Well…I listened and I smiled and
approved of his story. But he had the damn characters all wrong!!
I told him of my loathe for stories and how I may
regurgetate my lunch if he tried to write me in it.
He sulked, momentarily, but he went on his way. I suppose he writes in a new character
to take my place.
All the better for me.
I am skin,
bones, and it might be because of all the stories
that make me regurgetate my lunch.