She says that I was born with luck sitting on my hand and charm dancing on the tip of my tongue. “People love you,” she tells me, “they want that… something shining out of you.”
I smile at her, all magic and creepy teeth, wondering if she ever kisses her mirror.
You must love
freakishly wild things
to love me,
caress chaos’ soul
and moan for balance.
a wee note…
– Someone told me that she “hated being so weird”, that she wished she was “normal and cool like [me]”, so that people would like her as much as they seemed to like me. No, my Wicked Luvs, I did not laugh hysterically at the thought of anyone thinking me “normal” (I was not offended, either). But I did wonder if the someone in question ever realized that a person who doesn’t like herself will have a rather difficult time getting others to like her.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform. Kerry asked us to link a song to our poem, and I’m linking the song that inspired me to wear my weird as a fiery flag: “Pelo Suelto”, by Gloria Trevi. You can watch the video HERE, and read my translation of the Spanish lyrics HERE.
The socks are a birthday gift from Rommy, and Wicked Green (the frog) is a gift from some of “the coolest old-ass fighters” (their words, not mine) the military has ever produced.