she's still waiting in line

when we were young
you climbed to the top
of the tallest tree
in the yard and
told the neighborhood
you wanted to fly
like navy-blue crows.

i promised to remember
for as long as i could.

we don't remember
the wind that lifted my skirt
and the way you
looked at me though
thick frames.

grandma always said
there was no room
for imagination.

the trees burn in hues of yellowblue

the couple inside
the off-white house
are smiling
only because they have to.

you (and rousseau)
always said
the outside makes
us who we are.

sometimes i wonder
what we do this for.

The world’s dumbest girl

is screaming on her phone about some “freakin’ bitch” who did something so “freakin’ stupid” that she cannot even “freakin’ believe it.” Oh my god.

I can’t hear the details of the conversation, but either way I’m sure that the alleged-bitch did something so incredibly, terribly, dramatic, and life shattering, and like the worst thing ever.

She goes on and on about how she isn’t just some 18-year old girl. She is someone. She has a purpose. Mr. Wrong is getting an earful about how she’s “pissed” because he didn’t say goodbye this morning.

It happened again and again and again.

Slams the phone down and begins to text message (a more private outlet used to cause drama and deliver unheard I love you’s).