i don’t wish to lead anyone astray. i wish to be a guide to those who find themselves stumbling through and wandering by. i aspire to be a light, glowing warm, comforting in the steady aura that only the tinkling lights of girlish fantasy can be.
but don’t get me wrong. i’m no angel. ignore the dewy wings that break the surface of my coffee colored back. they retract, like the claws of a cat, into the soft sandy pads, only to emerge when startled.
this is an afterthought. like so many thoughts. thoughts after thoughtlessness. a word whispered too late. a kiss that meets only the stirring air left behind a closing door. a warning sent out over the wire only after catastrophe has landed and waltzed past in mesmerizing chaos. only so, nothing more.
i wish to rescind my previous ramblings. snatch them out of the ozone, hold them close, as if pressing them to my breast will make me whole again. give me back my precious self that has been published for all to see. but i am a exibitionist, i want to run naked through virtual fields, my hair a banner of my sexuality, waving in the sunlight, climbing into the clouds, and raining back down to wash over my exposed skin.
i should explain myself a bit more. i forget that though my thoughts are tangible in my eyes, not everyone can see the glimmering words that dance before me, tugging out their audible siblings from between my moist lips.
i want to explain this afterthought. i want to let all know that while the girl inside has wrested control of my fashion decisions, colors, lace, ribbons, sequins and all, i still have control of my body. my mind, my words, my actions, my stance as i flirt, the placement of my heart be it shirtsleeves or a box locked tight in a dank corner. i control all these things. not she, nor the betrayer.
i can still compensate for her ways. i can cover up the girlyness with my brash laughter and vulgar language. balance it all out with schoolboy humor, steel toed boots, video games, comic books, pornography, and all things deviant and in no way becoming of a debutante.
i can wear a frilly dress, i can emulate a doily or tea cozy, i can give those around me cavities with my sugar coated self, but i can make a man blush with my knowledge of their very own anatomy. i can laugh at their jokes and not titter away like a school girl. not look abashed and pretend that i don’t care. they can’t shock me. i already know what they say and then some. i can talk shop about games, gamers, and all things reserved for boys.
in this way, i can gain some ground with the girl inside. i can run faster than she can in those yellow polka dotted three inch heels with the sweet little bow. i have my scuffed green sneakers on, i wear jeans and a tee shirt. i have my hair pulled back in an unruly stream down my back. she has nothing on me.
but damn it if those shoes aren’t cute.
