The Truth
They say I keep reinventing myself.
But I can’t make myself younger,
and I put on weight easily.
To tell you the truth,
I am often afraid.
I despise bullies.
I admire no one. My heroes are dead.
Except those two good men from the books. They will live forever.
Some men are rocks like that. They don’t even brag about it.
My happiest childhood memory is of being lost in the woods.
On the other hand,
some women have managed to rule the world. Some of them even had nice names.
The ones in which men called them good, or sweet.
Where they praised their softness or their hair.
Their inner strength, like a river flowing inwards.
My heroes are ordinary people, surviving their day.
When I go, I’d like to have survived my day first.
I regret having smiled through my teeth,
saying it was fine.
No problem at all.
I was in love with a peppermint bush once.
It grew, independent of me.
And it smelled so good.
I have also loved sunshine, and summer.
When I come back, I would like to come as a peppermint bush.
Or a blueberry bush, I haven’t decided.
I have suffered from decision fatigue like that
all my life.
I am often sad, over nothing, like just now.
I love ice cream.
My guilty pleasure is dancing.
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