baby sitters club poem #2
mary-anne
such drama, girl.
mother died
father emotionally crippled,
you obscured with
long dark hair and shyness
(until book #60 when you get that short haircut that makes them all mad for some stupid reason).
reclusive mousy
hidden behind extroverted
friends, you are
gentle
masked
divided.
steady boyfriend at 13 years
of age?
mary-anne, this is
too young for commitment,
that hope you crave
from your dead mother's
heart.
you lost yourself
in that neat handwriting.
control freak made
secretary, answering the phone
being the
good
girl,
quiet now, do what they say,
mary-anne.
theend.
hungry and poor. i have lowered. applied for a job at a *cough* cosmetics company. i am truly desperate. i believe in makeup as performance and fun. not as a way of obscuring your skin in order to conform to social standards. and hiding acne scarring, which is my own specific issue. i dream of a day with enough self esteem when i will walk out, eyes blackened with liner, without hiding the scarring on my cheek.
in therapy, i am 'healing my inner child.' this consists of sleeping a lot, so i am rather pleased by that. i am happy to sleep. very happy. i had a dream within a dream last night which has left me unsettled and displaced.
primarily, i am hungty. i cannot find my recharger for my camera, damn it.
i need to write more. this is stunted and blunt and choppy.
perhaps my problem is too much tv.
in othe news, i am knitting teal lace gloves. i want to make a pair for dresden-dolls amanda because her blog entry seemed so sad, and lace gloves make everyone happy.
