Grab me, green eyes.
Even in all this still, her tired body slumps next to me. Far too many faces pass. The wind whistles and it’s sting hits the tip of my ears. I hear not a lot, but the sounds of birds hungry for the crumbs of the food everyone seems too greedy to give up, they keep shoving that money down their throat, note after note after note. I hear footsteps of the motivated, the quick-paced, the ones like she. I hear the slow scuff of the ones who go nowhere, are nowhere, want nowhere; the ones like me. I hear myself screaming “that’s her!” it’s not. It never is. She’s never close enough to see, or feel, or smell; but she taps me on the shoulder at every chance she gets, places herself next to me on park benches and claws at the inside of my skull. She lets me know what it’s like to be made to feel worthless by someone unknown; how it feels to have my head smashed against pavement. She screams back “You’re not good enough. You can’t look as good as me through a lens. Your eyes don’t work. Your words are obtuse and your hands just don’t know! I AM ART AND YOU ARE EMPTY!”
As my tired body slumps next to no one, my lungs breath clean and heavy and my mind grows exhausted. I struggle though succeed to remind myself that I have truth and I have you. She has none.