Confessions of a 5'1"

As empty as they are, you can fill them up with anything you want--the world is yours as long as you say it. That is, until I say it too, then we'd have a Word War between you and me. WWI ? WWII? No, this will be WWIII & the number of casualties will only be 1, either you or me. Don't underestimate the severity of this warfare, there's too many of them going on and too many clever strategies.

Your words can be smothered with hope.

But mine? They're bombs full of hurt.

We all knew that since the day we met her.

There's nothing we can do or stop her, she does what she pleases.

We love her, we hate her, there's not enough of her.

She can amuse the least amused and repulse the least repulsed, there's nothing out of her league.

She leaps when she's supposed to walk, she spins when she's supposed to turn.

She's a curve, not a line and not in italics but a bold with double underlines.

She's a storm in a shade of blue and an inferno waiting to combust.

She considers the unconsidered and ignores the common considerations.

She's a bow in the hair and a bullet in a gun.

She's the plug in the socket and the leak in the roof.

What can I say?

She can blow up at any moment.

She's a dying star.

Someone once said that girls who've had their hearts broken become more beautiful.

Maybe it's the countless tears that make their eye shine like stars but with more emotion than what any star can show. Or perhaps the forced smile that we often can relate to. Maybe it's the way they start taking care of themselves more when there's no special man for them to worry about. Sometimes I think its in their walk the day after and the day after that until someone else comes around. The way they pick bits of themselves, and perhaps some of him in the midst of it, up to move forward. I believe its also their experience of the whole love, and most importantly if they're abandoned & scarred or grateful. And rain can fall down on us angry and sad.

"Can't always believe what people say," people say, but we do believe what we say. Most of the time, anyways.

But I am curious...

I wonder who said that.

I don't know why time doesn't stop. Never. Not if its own kind is out of electricity or by our own attempts through fraud light. It'll keep going with or without a thought of whats happening to it, us or them. I don't understand why it doesn't stop. Does it have no emotion? Then when it is exposed in the physical form, why does it keep a face?

I know why I love. Its because without him, her and them I would find myself lost lost lost and ever so lonely but more than that miserable.

I don't know why love heals and hurts both just as evenly. It takes nearly nothing but a smile or glance and nearly everything of a word to do either. It'll be kind, it'll be cruel to anyone it pleases. I don't understand why one thing can be so contradictory. Does it not feel its very own definition? Then when its acting up, why can't we ever let go?