I Walk With A Brick Tied To Her Ankle

June 7, 2011
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I see that girl standing on the side of the school building. Her head tucked low. Burgundy laced tights and a vibrant yellow tee shirt. Her hair, it moves with the waves of the sun. And it blends in with the bricks stacked behind her. Her body crumbles. Her legs tired. Her eyes invisible. Her soul invisible. Her ache invisible.

. . .

That girl, I think about her all the time. I question her abilities. Is she humane? Must her weirdness be so disturbing? Must she be so foolish and daft? Can she grasp the simplicity of normal distributions and parameters? Must she be so ignorant?

I despise this girl. She is such a waste of space. She is missing something. That special something.

Her hair so wild. Must she refuse to tame it?

Her eyes, dull. Her voice, soft. Her mouth, steady. Never bending up. Always down.

I study her day and night. She is such a mystery. A dead end. A path headed to nowhere.

That girl, so awkward in every way. She runs. Away.

The only place I can find her is on the side of the school building. Bent over. Still. Irrelevant to life. Quiet.


I feel sorry for that girl. She is missing something. That special something.

. . .

That girl is me. There is a brick tied to my ankle.

Shine. Speak. Smile.

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