Smudge

From the day when we were gods

I accepted your invitation and pretended
that I was that girl, the one who could part her legs
without blinking an eyelash
-a girl with a steely heart
-a girl who smirks at promises
-a girl who turns heads but scorns hearts

I wanted to be that girl, the one you said
would quicken your pulse and feed your lust
I wanted to be that girl, the one you said
you would drain until she was dry

But my desire grew rivers and you dried
like the desert.
Your footsteps in the sand (the sand you hate) do not even
dignify me by trailing away-
Even those blew away at the first sign of my tears.

I remember the 4 inch heels
I wore that night when I tried to face you squarely.

You pushed me up against the wall, in passion--
I look at up the smudge of eyeliner, rouge, blush-
and remember
the night I was a goddess
and remember
and that you remain a god

I stumble on your poems
and I realize that it is not that you do not feel
it is that you do not feel
for me

Message in a Bloggle

Google looms before me, smirking, and demands: "With most of the knowledge in the entire world at your fingertips, what do you choose to read about?"

Sometimes, I close the browser-- you see, Google's smirk is too big and my fingers tremble at the challenge.  Other times, I venture in with my thoughts- my heart on my sleeve.  I look for reassurance.  I look for connections. I look for wisdom. Seldom found, but always coveted. With Google, I am vulnerable even though I am scared.

Here I am, writing to you. I call it my message in a bloggle-- a mix of a blog and a bottle. A modern day attempt at finding a connection in the online ocean. If it lands at your feet, do you read it? I have been read before and those thoughts have been used against me. I will never stop trying to be understood, and even loved, in this vastness.

My dearest friend is in Syria. More than my friend, a soul mate. He told me yesterday that he almost died at a checkpoint from gunfire. The tears didn't stop.

I didn't tell anyone but you.

Small Furry Animals and Rod Stewart

I attached a small furry animal to my head yesterday at the salon. I am in Dubai-- and when in Rome.

No longer the girl with the short hair. I am the girl with the small furry animal glued to her head. Sounds almost as sexy as the girl with the dragon tattoo. Feels almost as sexy too.

I should have known better than to Skype my brother this morning in the States-- he is dead honest and spent more time laughing at me than talking. He was the first non-salon person to see me. Not a good start.

My brother told I looked like Rod Stewart-- referring to this:


 I looked like this when I woke up this morning. Joy.

My brother cruely asked me to shake my head and took a screenshot of me to laugh over later with his wife. I am sure that picture emphasizes the newly keratin-ed straight bangs on the top of my head and the curly animal below.

I wet the small animal and the top of my head, tied it back, and carefully placed my sunglasses on the top of my head to hide the plugs. Life is good my friends.

So if you see a small animal burrowing out from my head, don't worry, that is just my hair. I wish I could say the glue damaged my brain but I made the decision pre-glue.

You see, I haven't mentioned my weight or lack of a soul mate because I made myself a new problem. This is the key to happiness. Distract yourself with self-inflicted issues to subtract from the issues you have little to no control over (like a slow metabolism and a bunch of unenlightened men).

Genius, no ?