fagaliscious

There's a topless girl in the light in front of the library. If I could touch her breasts would be like shining pink blossoms. I wonder if I should walk up, shake the guy's hand, and say "I want to fuck your girlfriend."

I wonder what it means to walk around all night talking beat poetry to myself in someone else's tone of voice.

I wonder what it's like to have a crush on the girl your ex-boyfriend wants to sleep with.

I wonder what it's like to be you with your pointy elbows and big lopey lashes that dangle on my face.

I wonder what it's like to know how to stop.

The woods are a nice place, when you're little. The woods are a great place if you don't have someone's name tatooed across your chest announcing your race, gender, heritage, and anything else I couldn't already see from looking at your face.

I wonder what it's like to play footsy in the library computer lab with the person sitting in the cubicle across from you.
Write that down, it's a date.

William and Mary is the place where they send people who know how to give themselves detention.
William and Mary is the place where people lock themselves into tiny rooms in enormous buildings on a Wednesday night where there are more books then there are faces and they starve themselves on the knowledge their teachers have ordered them not to remember. This is William and Mary, after all.

Can you screw your life up with the click of a button? If anyone can, I assure you it's the kid sitting next to me in the computer lab. His acne is sweating as he frantically copies and pastes as if the bouncy curls in his head might disappear if he forgets the last little hyphen before the period.

I guarantee you, the smart people already know what you're going to say, so that's your cue to be silent.

I love boys in suits and baseball caps.
I love boys with pokey bellies and their hands on their hips.
Or ferocious girls in their pleated skirts with big sticks carrying off their masculinity in the baskets.
I love all of these things.

I guarantee you, that band-aid won't solve all of your problems. It will leak out, whether you tie it with nylon roping or let the sorority girl with the bleach blonde hair and the mulched roots sit on it like it's a big pile of compassion and passion and protection. Honey, penises don't come with condoms attached, so get off it.

I love the big black men with the flattened noses and the gold and green and purple eyelashes that I saw in a movie one time.
Or maybe it was another life. But I'll write that movie later.

Hey boys, if you've been looking for a real man, one to write you a hip new story, one to make all of your dreams become fiction, one to be known by every who's who on the front cover, well you're looking at him.
In fifteen years, the girl sitting before you right now, well you better watch out, because without a doubt she'll be the biggest thing since Charlton Heston's penis to hit the scene or the wall or the floor.

Can you push that plug in a little further, honey, looks like I might loose my electricity if your static can't bring me some new strand of hope. Can you push that pen down a little harder because if I don't learn how to read now then some day I'll be a football player taking my spelling tests in the corner of the college library from the offensive lineman coach.

Life's one of those things, you know, it always tells you when time's expired or when you have to leave or when coming is the right idea.
And trust me.
Coming is always the right idea.

I should be the librarian pushing the cart.
And instead I'm bolting like fabric, because I can't handle the truth of rejection, injection, and infection.

I'm a big spiraling puddle of protozoa.
Chalk one up to evolution.