The raw emotions of a woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

chase around
men like butterflies, how easily their admiration comes like bubble
gum popping and whispers amongst best friends, and how quietly it
undresses you into a better person, the right logical person
without a stray thought towards another life.
    And the men come around as you talk like a dark
storm and they act like someone lying about their compliments,
lying about their lust as a way of getting close to God. But there
is a strange truth in their eyes, in the way their mouth curves, in
the thoughts they give away like loose change. And you believe in
the thunder, you believe you live in a house that can be destroyed,
you believe you can get caught in the rain, blushing for someone
who is only a hypothetical thought in the day. And you will be
stuck telling all your friends how you messed up love, wasted your
time on an accident, because they acted nice. In the dead of night
in a half insane frenzy, you were scribbling on refrigerator doors
while standing on half hearted sing song words, because you wanted
so badly to be better. You wanted so badly to be in the story that
has built you from its concrete walls. But all you find in your
moments of innocence is a child, standing in shoes that are too
large for her, asking you again what adulthood is like and you
lie.
    You lie to be better than you are, and to never
be alone. Because in this die hard competition among women we only
have the story and we all fight to fit into the story. Even when
those men no longer know who we are.
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    The cycle of pain
    We often wait like heroes in the winter in the
middle of an abandoned land.
    We wait like energy that has only a universal
thought, like beauty that only carries itself by a thin toothpick
on a dark stage, we wait like a smile of someone else that is a few
minutes from changing. And we look the other way while we watch the
darkness invade.
    Inside the mystery of love and the broken timer
on a kitchen microwave, is often the strange shopping list for
unknown emotions.
    That moment when avoiding life feels more like
living than being in the moment, than standing in your own two
shoes and being present while you feel small, when someone says
something to sound cool, to be thought of casual and sexual,
unknowingly that your devastating memories have become their
entertainment. That your broken heart sitting on the edge of a
kitchen counter has been sliced upon by words that had gotten too
loud in quiet moments, has become food for the ants sweltering
against locked doors. And you sit there quietly in a game designed
for one but everyone plays it anyways, and you hear the laughter of
your life, you hear your most painful moments being relived through
others as a cat and mouse cartoon, as intimacy.
    And in the chaos of the laughter and the
giggling and the closed minded weapons of leadership in a ceaseless
uncontrollable wave of emotion, is the feeling of disappearing into
the walls the line our hallways and photographs. It is the hidden
smile of pain as it becomes the next hero, the next broken
unattainable symbol of fitting in for someone else. And the marks
of a hot breath on a cold window become written upon by someone
else’s fingertips.
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    Being broken
    I am broken we yell to one another, through the
shattered heart of a broken piece of glass, that has split our
tongue, that has destroyed our time into sections and months and
verbal worded arguments. And the broken often have so few words to
describe pain, it is the same words other people use to describe
babble, or superficial entertainment and finical
obligations.
    There is never enough time to say everything
you want to say, before life turns its head again, before its face
drowns in the million tears of yesterday and speaks of sorrow. It
utters promises so early in life, it words them carefully as cold
tears on the hot pavement, in a place where please, thank you and I
am sorry have become obligations instead of sincerity.
    And we love her, this voice we follow