Another lovely day at the pool--
With my book.And my patchily applied sunblock.
I am a sun goddess
(in patches, at least)
and I am happy.
Will I let my hair return to its natural color of blondish reddish brownish?
The sun does such marvelous things to it.
The black is grooooo
veee.
But.
I crave Me.
I feel like I am holding my breath lately,
waiting for something.
Don't know what.
I am forgetting, with suboncious motivation, to put on the mascara which is my only makeup.
I am letting my hair grow past its attractive length; needs a trim.
I am letting my Hair grow...there...because it is a sexy thing to be bald,
and I feel un-
non-
anti-
sexy.
I wish to revel in my commonness,
to bathe in the ordinary.
Because secretly I know that I feel most beautiful when I pay the least attention.
Don't misunderstand--
I currently spend 2.3 minutes a day on my appearance.
I just want less.
I want to melt into the background and give up my hope of being anything other than what I am.
I want to stop expecting the impossible from those around me in this busy world.
I refuse to keep lying here,
draped in the shroud of ecstasy.
I would rather be nestled in the moist, dark earth with you.
I will slip down between the knife-like blades of emerald green
and float like a wish through the dense, dark earth to you.
Not giving up my Life,
but not needing It at the moment either.
Safety is here, in the dark earth,
with what is left of you
in this velvet-lined box.
I am not afraid of you in the dark, quiet earth.
You cannot hurt me, nor would you if you could.
You are my Savior,
my silent champion,
my guardian angel.
If I could be water,
I would be sprinkled over the earth
on that verdant and shady ledge.
I would seep into you
and re-animate your limbs
to convey your sharp mind back into this realm.
........I am getting creepy.
I think I'll go make food for tonight's Jazz playoff game.
Reading a book called Jazz, watching a team called Jazz, going for a hike with best friend Jazz.
Life is...jazzy, you might say.
And I am infatuated with Amy Winehouse.
Google her.
Download her.
Oogle her.
But most of all, let her possess your hips and your feet and your neck as they sway and shuffle and arch.....
She is Sex.
Perhaps I'll let her be my surrogate for a bit, since I am apathetic toward my own sexiness at the moment.
Heh.
Happy Saturday, dears. |
posted by Bored Housewife at
3:29 PM
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