Hair's To You

Well it looks like she is back to her old tricks again. One day she is blasting molten rocks at our feet and the next, icy daggers at our hearts.

I should've expected this though. It never stays sunny for long in the ghetto, especially not the green ghetto. There's hardly a day that goes by that it isn't windy here. I have come to accept this and have even tried to make light of the living conditions. Maybe this is a good time to try that new hairstyle I'd say to myself as the fierce wind gave me a comb over that would make even Donald Trump envious. If only he had more hair like me..maybe then it would work.

While days like this leave me open to experiment with my hair, albeit against my will, I find that these are the only days I'd get away with the 'windswept' look. Had I attempted these kinds of young crazy styles on days where the sun was shining and not even Metro Stations pseudo rock song Shake It could get the leaves to rustle I'd have been laughed at, jeered, and made an example of.

Teacher - "Now class here's what NOT to do when you are going through a mid-adolescent crisis."

I'd hide my face in shame, I used to be cool I'd whisper to myself in the locked bathroom cubicle.

So while I usually curse and complain about these annoyingly windy days in the ghetto, I should really be thankful for them. Because without the wind I'd have a normal boring hairstyle just like the rest of you fish.

Ode To

Their actions do not depict a convincing truth, their easy words fall over my tired ears. What is truth. What are these words meant to mean. Your weak attempts to keep me by your wayside fail foolishly. I'm not that easily bought.

I saw you sprinkling your selfish words over my heart last night. When you left, I shook them all off. Shook them off so you'd never get to me again, never get in my heart. I can't have you in here, crashing into walls, cutting little holes in my interior. I can't breathe. I can't survive.

I will use you. Like you used me. I'll use the material you gave me, the pain, I'll use the pain to sew my heart back up again. And this time it will be stronger. It won't tear easily. I'll put a sign on the door this time. No YOU allowed. I'll watch from my perch as you lurk outside. I'll watch you consult the dictionary, looking for new words to win me over. But you won't. Your words won't. Not this time.

Queen Of The Mountain

I am slowly but surely gaining a reputation as Queen of the Mountain in my hometown street. All the primary schoolers watch in awe as I carve up some pretty mean lines on my twelve year old brothers Simpson's skateboard.

"How old is she?" one of the 'cool' kids asks my eight year old sister. This question is met with a perplexed expression followed by unsuccessfully counted fingers then silence. "BECCA! How old are you?" "Twenty!" I shout back. They all look on with some kind of curiosity i cannot explain. What they are probably wondering is why I'm hanging out with a bunch of kids, pretending I've got any kind of skating ability. "Who is she trying to impress" I'll hear them whisper one day. Their curiosity will turn into mockery. "Hah! She'll never be like them!" They'll snicker, and off I will skate, wavering from side to side and finally coming to a rolling end upon the gravel ridden road.

But for now I am Queen, in fact I may even be god to some of these kids, I mean, I'm all they have right? Why else do they come to me for love advice, I'm a gay twenty year old, we've hardly got many bases to touch on. Asking if I too attended my Year 6 Farewell. Well of course...no I did not accompany anyone.. This is met with a likened situation, I mutter something incomprehensible back in reply. I never was a social person. I then had to painfully listen to her story of how a boy asked then unasked her to the farewell, what an indian asker I proclaim in my head. The nameless boy is called a jerk, then a chorus chimes in, "but I still think he's cute." At this I sigh...I find girls cute..but they wouldn't understand that.

Straying from my original point of announcing to the world that I am now officially learning to skate after 20 years of believing I had no sense of balance. Turns out I was just plain chicken..but can you blame me? I have a reputation to uphold, well I did..now I'm just the 20 year old girl who skates up and down the hill at sundown. I used to mean something to people. Let's say I'm not exactly moving up in the world, but hey I try, I really really do..

Grey

Grey has returned. This is not what it used to be. This place...home? Creeping senses whisper familiar tales of adventure. Emotions pull back, wincing like an open sore. Surely, this place, this grey place is not home. Home is gone. Who am I if I am not home?

Strange. Latte planes feel like a strangers arm on the train. Is this home? Foreign objects clutter my vision. Was this home once? Alone and uneasy. This was never home.

My sense of smell is misguided. There is only one scent I pick up. And it is yours. But where are you if I am home?

Translucent grey becomes opaque and my vision of you fades. Familiar habits prove unsuccessful. I can't shake this feeling. I can't go back to this place, this grey place. I can't go back home.

A coat of yellow won't mask the grey. A coat of yellow won't mask the pain.

Suspicious Minds

Today marked the sighting of one half of the criminal mastermind duo i mentioned in one of my very first blogs.

She entered the bus looking suspiciously normal. This had me on the case right away. Who does she think she's fooling with those tracksuit pants and fake diamond rings anyway? Certainly not me. Her partner in crime was nowhere to be seen which led my mind to wander. Where could he be? To this very day I'd never seen the pair apart. Maybe they had attracted some unwanted attention from an unknown blogger and decided to go undercover, the woman would 'appear' to live a normal life like the rest of us while the man would secretly be involved in underground criminal activity involving boxes of Huggies nappies...

Clearly this couple are up to their old tricks so stay tuned for further future sightings. Remember, this blogger is watching you.

We're All Just Waiting, Waiting To Die

I sat there and waited. I waited for you. I waited for me. I waited, hoping for the world to pass me by. I watched. Watched all the people go by. I didn't know these people. These strangers. I watched them all come and go. None of them ever stayed. Only I did. I'll remember them, but they wont remember me. I'll remember how they frolicked in the grass so happily. I'll remember how I planned out their lives, each so perfectly wrapped in mystery. I'll remember these things, but they wont remember me. To them I was no one, but to me they were everything.

Today I waited alone. As I waited, I looked to the sky. The sky was waiting too. It was waiting for its time to leave, to pass us all by. We were all waiting for that. Maybe I could wait with the sky, maybe today we'd wait together. We'd share this memory. This memory of our shared loneliness. Today we were alone and waiting. Who were you waiting for? I was waiting for you. Maybe tomorrow you will wait with me.