Wednesday, January 4, 2012


I tell my story over
                And over
                Because the story isn’t over until I stop telling it.
And I am waiting for the happily ever after.

In the meantime,
                When times are mean,
                Strangers tell me other people are cold bastards,
And that we nice people are extremely unusual.

They are telling a story.
                They are tale-telling
                Name-calling, hero-waiting
Shivering in the extreme cold of lonely-exceptional-absolutely-zero.

This I believe:
As long as you use my story as an exception
It will be.

But when I listen at the window I hear
The special snowflake hero story
Is melting.

The warm tide is rising past my toes.

It feels nice.


It feels wonderful.

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