First.

See, that's why I told you to stay out of the kitchen. The eggs can be a little bit feisty on Tuesday mornings with fat girls bouncing around like jello, what do you really expect from them? Neighbors test our patience, like little angels sitting on window sills. When it snows I can see my breath like that one time when the cat acted surprised just to please me. I really do hate it when the blinking lights call my name from across the street and I have to walk all the way over in my bike with three wheels that clatter on the black sidewalk filled with whales. Writing with teeth is really hard but not as hard as riding camels with your toes. It's funny how you got all A's in your agnostic ascension while I managed to fly all the way to the moon and back with my three musket barrels and a backpack.

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What is all this nonsense about being filled anyway. Like a rice cooker toppling over the window to the voice of the young girl I once saw carried by the orange breeze. I like it when it's in me but sometimes I resent it so I color it multirainbow and call it Bob. We can use them for our pleasure but enslavement only goes so far to upholster our couches like bright diamond kites floating in the water's surface, unbroken by the barks of the coyote that I once punched for telling a dirty joke. It called me a feminist.

So if I say fuck off, I really mean fuck me and you and everybody else for wearing those shoes that burn with the cold waves of math, science, and layered theory that somebody somewhere laid down because they had a lot of time on their hands that somebody laid at their feet and if the fireplace was a little bit warmer none of this would've taken place anyway. Like an abandoned bear rug in the middle of a forest where virgins were taken to live forever among the pomegranate trees and mossy old ladies with eyes in their hands. And when they reach out to shake you, you better run faster than you can because if you fall into the puddle, that's it, no more cupcakes for you and that pretentious dog, too.

If it's too short for you, then hell, you might as well take it upon yourself to bring a little pain into this bowl because we gotta fill it before the man comes back and hugs us for being who we are and not who we were. And if I wanna bake the cake then I damn well will frost it with snow because it needs a little sunshine in it's life.

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I know they're good people when they like my underwear because really, it's called intimates for a reason. If you don't like the colors of my eyes then I guess I could pluck them out arranged across the silver platter that you call home so that the elk can sing a song for your lullaby on your return journey hope. And if you prefer them short then I guess I better leave because I refuse to stand tall for you in this icy gutter feeding on the scrap metal of the rich while the crows laugh their hee haw cry from the top of the buildings while itching their heads necks and toes.

And if sheep crawl like elephants in the dead silent morning fog then you can come along too while we discover spelunking in the dark where sparks fly. Be careful because they say it's dangerous territory and our guide just had a grilled cheese sandwich made with real lime juice and porpourri. I like when violets bloom in the high fields with the grasshoppers singing away like it's their last day on this Mars far away from their mothers' homes that once burned with the sound of crispy footsteps.

Sometimes I like to hold your special features in my mind until I'm not really sure whether it's been me or you that said that one thing that made me laugh and the sound rippled across the ground until it hit something sharp and then things weren't so good anymore. It's too bad things had to start that way although I guess I like endings because they leave a sense of permanence that's comforting in it's finality if not it's conclusion.

And that's how we've been living these days from one conclusion to another until we don't really see open doors anymore, it's really more about door jambs and curved locks that click in the dead of night until you can't stand the fingernails anymore so you rip it out like a barren woman.