Boss?

Yeah, I'm supposed to get ready to go meet my one-week-boss at a summer camp. And I haven't taken a shower yet. And I'm talking to a friend on Facebook and listening to music. AND I'm on Blogger, so that shows my level of commitment. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying.

I'm not sure how to describe the music, but for some reason, to me, it goes in the same category of feeling...

Like you're waiting for something good to happen, and for some reason, there's still hope.

Hair and Gay People

I find it funny that my aunt whose a nun is the one that despise my natural hair the most. My head looks like a funky pinnaple 24/7 now, and I guess they never thought her anything about that breed of piannaple in the nunhouse.

Kind of like someone saying:

"I love and respect and include and have compassion for everyone... except gay people."

Since when did gay people not count as people, I have no idea. 

Bus Ride with Dreadlocks

Dreadlocks on a blond head,

Pearly whites in a dark face,

Intertwined hands and a laugh that goes on for miles and miles...

It's funny. Everytime I see an interracial couple, it makes me smile. It's almost like I feel there isn't enough of them out there. I mean, mixed kids are A-DO-RA-BLE... so keep making those kids people!!

I saw this guy on the bus, one late night. I thought he was super cute, I don't know... People think blond hair in dreadlocks looks dirty, but to me it has this weird appeal...what my English teacher would call the "Australian Savage" look. But I mean the story ends there. Cute guy on the bus, one night, and I'll most likely never see him again. Except the world has this twisted way of mocking me by proving me oh-so-very-wrong.

Weeks later, I see the same guy again, on the bus. With what appears to be his wife/girlfriend. And their kid. This beautiful little baby girl and in my head the wedding bells I had imagined crash and burn. But I start looking at them. Like, really looking. They smile. And hold hands. And this woman's laugh is loud. They're cute, but not in an overbearing way. In the way of people that actually want to spend time together. (Yes, I know, I'm kind of a hopeless romantic at heart).

And then, I have three revelations:

#1 - My boyfriend-ish never holds my hand like that. I mean, we're young and I don't expect any wedding bells, EVER (he's atheist), but I mean I've never received that kind of love from anyone other than my turtle.
And yes, my bf-ish is allowed to be his "no hug, no kisses" kind of guy, but like... I have needs, you know??!??

#2 - When this guy is going to have to find himself a "real" job, those dreads are going to come right off. And wherever I am that day, I will feel all those "Australian Savage" style locks fall to the ground, and I will weep.

#3 - If I see this guy again, I promise I'll tell him to take care of that little girl and love her the way he did that day on the bus. Because going through several dads is no joke. Actually, it's emotionally draining. And even though he doesn't know me and I don't know him and nothing is ever going to happen between us, I just feel like I have to tell him. Because it's those little moments in public transportation that no one else remember that I deem important enough to make happen anyway.

Our Youth

I love
the winds in the meadow

that blow away
the painful ways
of our youthful days

In a dark corner
The ever-growing forgotten sorrows

eating away
at the happy loves
at the sunshine thoughts

In the future
A fogged-on window

you look away
from images distorted
searching for the childhood ones
that back in the day comforted

Tunnel

Voiture roulant à cent à l’heure

Des cigarettes sur le compteur

Musique à fond, cheveux dans l’vent

Deux incomprises par les aut’ gens.

On peut sourire, on peut pleurer.

On n’croise personne sur not’ sentier,

Une route perdue dans le désert

De mon p’tit monde imaginaire.

On continue à toute allure

Vers un futur lointain, obscur,

Anxieuses, inquiètes, il nous obsède

Nous laisse la nuit, suantes et raides.

On roule, on roule, toujours tout droit

Se demandant vers où, pourquoi ?

On n’sait jamais c’qui nous attend

Juste ce tunnel si loin devant.

Sommeil

Je dors
ou je crois dormir
tu sommeil du juste
ou celui du colérique

cet ami peu pontuel
n'est pas assez fidèle

une main
un touché
pour me reveiller

ni celle d'un parent
ni celle d'un ami

je ne suis pas dans mon lit
mais endormie dans le bus

et la main
deux fois déjà
m'a frolé

par-ci
par-la