Monday, February 11, 2013

Temporary tattoo


He lay back in the chair, or on the bed, or on the cot, or on the whatever he was on when he got the tattoo.

He welcomed the pain. He felt he deserved it.

"When I look at the tattoo, I will think of you," he lied, not knowing he was lying.

I am always temporary. I feel most at home as someone's mistress.

I feel that I deserve things, too. This is probably what drew us together.

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I was drunk on the Metro. I saw a young man stumble. He wasn't far from a pole that he could hang onto.

I said, "Sweetie, there's a bar right behind you."

He was annoyed. We were different races and mine was the race in charge. "Why you calling me 'sweetie.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I call everyone that. I don't have any babies, so it's like, everyone is my babies."

Sometimes when I'm drunk, I'm Mother Teresa. Sometimes when I'm drunk, I'm the Earth Goddess Gaia.

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I started the year kissing him, midnight at a club. I'd just gone over to say bye.

I was holding my glass, my mouth full of champagne.

I hadn't known he was going to kiss me. He wasn't supposed to.

How do you not be charmed by a "stolen" kiss at midnight with your mouth full of champagne? I mean, god, it sounds like some stupid song.

Don't we all want our lives to be some stupid song?

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