Sunday, 06 July 2008
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insomnia and spending your life in disguise
when i can't sleep, i leave home. i sit by the skate park for hours - watching you, examining you. all i have to show for it is a cigarette in my left hand, and a bmx to the right of me. my hair is never combed, and my eyes always carry baggage. i rub my them until the sand falls out, and rub my feet until they stop stinging. i wear the same torn up shoes, the same ripped jeans, the same wavering expression. you walk by me every morning with a steaming coffee, the latest cell phone, and the coolest handbag. you glance at me like you're waiting for me to beg for money, or shout obscenities. when i walk down the street with oncoming happy couples holding hands, they hold tighter and squeeze closer to the edge of the sidewalk. i'm just another youth who's about to steal something from you.
i look for the lost souls, the people like me. it's hard to spot lost souls, unless you've misplaced the map yourself. i watch how you sit, how you walk, how you talk. you go to your malls, your "corporate america", and you buy your $70 abercrombie jeans. what do you have to show for it? \is it some sort of atonement for your fucked up life? are you compensating for the lack of people who compliment you without turning around and stabbing you in the back? when people see me watching them, they get uneasy. i don't look threatening, though. i'm just a small young girl.
they are scared because they know i can see right through them.
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