i. I dance to the tune of a lazy eye and right now I’m lying across three different fold up chairs that smell like interruption and distance. My jacket is filled with feathers that I wish were wrapped around my head and my head is filled with rocks that I wish were under my shoes. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so top heavy.
ii. We are chained to the carpet by a strand of ribbon so that even when we leap there is no hope of flying, and every time we sleep we feel like crying. I find it very odd that we don’t just cut the ribbon but I think it is an unspoken rule that to be the best you have to feel the worst.
iii. My toes are a turn table and for fourteen years I’ve been playing a tune that peaked at seven and now keeps getting slower and slower and slower and slower. It is a very long song and I think I’m starting to get sick of it but if I turn it off I’m sure I will forget what the voice inside my head sounds like and I can’t have that.
iv. I keep a jar of stars in my stomach and maybe that’s why mine is bigger than everyone else’s but at least then I’ll glow from the inside until the day I burn out. But maybe my stars are already dead from that time you hugged me and I felt my insides shatter. Yeah, I’m pretty sure all my stars are gone now.