ashleeadams504
My promiscuous roommate : not really that pretty but willing to go the extra mile made the boys come a runnin. Her hair , after a blasting night of unadulterated fun : in the morning could make a train run off its tracks. It was the most unkempt and disarrayed showcase that sat upon her little head . I ask her , "what the hell did you do last night ? " She bites into her gloomy looking banana that she has been just mindlessly holding for about 5 minutes before she realizes it is even in her hand . She shrugs and gets that little crocked ,mischievous smile she tends to get after writing on a public bathroom wall or flirting with the mail man who cannot speak a lick of English . " WHo knows " , she says .....
If only , I too , could be a little unkempt ....I might just have more to write about ....
Struggle , its my sir name . Its my pathetic identity , my vintage(dollar store purchased) postcard disgusted to make me look like a world traveler ,yet I do not even have the courage to leave the town of my birth ( they automatically know my lunch order at the diner down the street , so I thought that was enough of a reason to stay ) . It is my shaky signature, written in blood , at the end of a suicide letter that I never intended to send in the first place (or kill myself , I just thought it would make for a good music video in my head to a soundtrack that makes me feel empowered (irony ??) . It is the perfume I wear to an empty and cold bed , even though I am betrothed. It is the song in my head that plays obnoxiously over and over again , like a easy listening sound machine that I can here in the next apartment ...all night . Struggle is not for the faint of heart , for it is a mechanism in which makes you stronger than an ox , ready to climb the walls and cry out for all that is holy ..........
IT wasn't that I wasn't willing to clasp on to his last words to me before he got mad and walked away . NO , It was that I literally could NOT follow what he was saying. I did try , you must know .I tried to follow along but the horrible grammar just had me wincing and wanting to clasp my hand over his beautiful mouth , otherwise and say - Hey man , no words . Just stand there and let me study you and find what it is that I found years ago m when I could not get enough . .It was not his fault where he was born and chose to stay to make a life for himself . It just did not hold well in MY bones . The circus I was standing among was a daily fixture in my life now . Everyday, I would have to correct my young son. He was picking up these horrible regional phrases that "over- my- dead- body - you -are -going -to say- as -long -as- you- are -my-child". I would have to literally UNDO what the small town was DOING to him . And to think,
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clasptownheadnightsecondwillingwordsliterallyfollowhorriblehandstaystruggleunkempthomefamily