I used to be angry and impatient and frightened. Now I’ve become just increasingly ill, or maybe just worn thin. You say you don’t want to hurt me, but don’t be worried, you couldn’t dent me if you tried. I stand here staring at you, really I’m not cause you’re nowhere near, but all your videos run through my head like a slideshow that cannot pause and cannot fast-forward. Last week I cried in the airplane coming home from Vermont because the teenage boy in the window seat next to me told me about whats happened to him. When it got too hard to speak I wrote it down on a napkin instead. I shared my pop rocks with him and they fizzed on his tongue. I read where somebody said they wanted to have their funeral now so they could see who would show up. I never want to have my funeral. Cause I know exactly who would show up and who wouldn’t.
(August 2.09)
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