Monday, August 7, 2017

picture book.

this girl's name is white, five years old, from the suburbs, where all the houses are uncomfortably close to one another. girl you'll still be a virgin even after you fuck a million guys.
house is looked in on but she don't care- too young to be rewired by paranoia. got "circe" tattooed on her ass. got "animal mother" buzzed into her hair.
too young for the news, computer, or thinking money is anything other than stupid. all gets her angry at herself 'kuz she dunno how to pay attention, or how to retain information, unless it's the kind picture books are made of. all she wants anymore is picture books...she knows that's where god is at.

the kinda girl you'd expect to never figure out potty training even though she wasn't a crack baby (per se).
girl that you laugh at because incidentally exposing failure 'kuz inhibition isn't her forte is her ultimate truth.

she looks like meat with hair on it and is that. if you drew her, that's what you'd make of your drawing. example: she talk about sex. she fucks everyone very subtly. does she mean to? (bitch ya know ya mean to.)

she's a brat, at the end of the day, which, to some, means she's abusive.

kinda girl that, while sitting on a toilet, gets distracted, and presents either breast to an imaginary friend coming down from the heavens. an old friend that isn't real anymore. long hair envelopes her- spider choosing her. she likes spiders like she likes doggies.

"i love you, here, lemme show you," she says to him. they take off their glasses to see that they're really seein'.

she's singing about giving him her milk like a lullaby, except nothing comes out of her nipples. this isn't somethin' he did to her. just somethin' she wasn't taught how to do. therefore, she will never be able to give him life, and he will not be able to serve as her reflection. this is somehow how she was taught to communicate and is the only thing she cares about. he wouldn't be mad if he opened his eyes. if he made it to that point he would just know.

girl isn't afraid of going crazy. isn't afraid of death, rape, or selling out. likes the ocean, likes high places. she's pregnant with wondering if, since she's so unafraid of things that seem authentic to her, if it's really fear she feels in regards to anything else.

"just wait momentarily," she says to mr. spider. "it's just been a minute. i just need to warm up. get this thing to work." she's still bein' spun though it's more like being embraced by heaven. he's still there with her.

then she, or, let's be real, i, pull down my diaper in which a stillborn bird, so serene, is bloodied, sayin' "mama". practically a doll with its batteries gone haywire. this isn't my period but i guess hey no biggie seen worse.