im sorry

did i put a spot on the porcelain? you make it easier for me to talk, dear. just like a blade of grass as sharp maybe as the one that cut that little girls face. she made herself pet and i felt for a second, like i was beautiful. i remember those gowns in that garden and longing so tremendously to feel as horribly stunning as all the other little milkmaids looked. but the paper wasn't printed quick enough to crinkle in my hands. I'd already wasted it on vibrant string they wrapped around the wires sprouting from my head. you should have been there back then. my face was a faerie's glittering and periwinkle but i was crying because i was frightened
and everything terrified me. i never could decipher what was dangerous and what was not. now, though, if i could go back the hulk would take me for a ride on his back and maybe even fling me off so for a moment i could swallow in something significant enough to strike a chord in my impassioned body that way, maybe it could resonate to all of you and play in your ears like this old man with a harp and a harmonica the ear hair of your canals beneath his feet like grass and the greasy skin of your cartilage being held on to for balance. my mind is all over the place today. i wish my words didn't seem as forced as they always tend to look.