When It's over

In a second or a day or fifty years from now, it will be over. Choose your own "it." It doesn't matter. The over part is what's interesting.

Peeled and rotten. A moldering book in a second hand bin. Even fame will wash your real self away. So don't struggle to hold on to all that pride and competition. Let it go.

I like walking through ruined cities. To stand in parking lot places where there was once a thriving night club. It brings the hope down to size.

It reminds me that my thrilling today is someone else's asphalt tomorrow.

I like fizzy champagne like Marilyn Monroe. Who was really Norma Jean... who left herself at the door for her moment of wonder, and didn't look back.

Me too.

See that pretty girl in the mirror there....

I'll never be tall. I'm five foot nothing.
I'll never be nice. I'm a snarky, judgmental, beastie most of the time.
I'll never be barbie. Is there a mean, nasty, dark barbie? There should be.
I'll always be strong. I'm not one of those willowy short people. I'm round even when thin. I'd be a round anorexic.
I'll always have those tattoos... because .... they are TATTOOS. And I plan more. Oh yes. More.

But there is a desperate part of me that wants to be tall with a boyish figure without scars and markings. Able to wear yoga pants and walk through the Mall tall and proud into any store. I wish sometimes I was softer. softer. softer.

AND THEN..... not so much.