The Signs of Drowsy Driving

I can't focus. I make to do lists and tell myself over and over again to be productive, but all I can think about is the boys who spins me around in pizza parlors and how desperately I want him to notice me. There's monsters pulling on my eyelids, telling me I can't do it. Go to sleep. Forget it ever happened. My contacts are dry. Was I staring? I'm sorry, but the way she cries has a beauty about it. I can't help but watch. 

Life isn't as good as my dreams. And the worst part is I can't tell the difference. My days are foggy around the edges and my nights are clear as crystal. My skin was made for Summer. My hair was born in the sun. My fingers were designed for digging in the sand and my feet don't fit in these shoes. My voice was made to scream.

The miles pass. The days, the decades. And suddenly I can't remember how old I was when I got my ears pierced or my 8th grade class schedule. Please don't ask me my address, the numbers and letters are blurred. I'm begging you to tell me where I am, and how in the hell I got here.

When I sing in church I just end up yawning, and I'd like to rub my eyes but my little brother screams every time I transform into the "human raccoon."

Keep your head up, they tell me. Well I'd think you'd have trouble too if you had this much hair, and this much wait pressing on your shoulders. My bones are trembling under the pressure. I didn't know bones could tremble. I'll lie down on the kitchen table just for a second, wake me in five. 

Things are getting restless. I find myself clenching my teeth and whispering inhale. But right as I'm about the exhale someone hands me a mint, so I hold my breath and wait for them to pass.

I'm supposed to be in seminary, but I think I feel closer to God when I'm writing. No one knows my name anyway. I'm drifting back and forth, and someone better catch me soon, or I fear I'll slowly fall off of skyscrapers and into the hands of those who want me for their own. Maybe I'm waiting for that red-blue blur they call "superman." Maybe I'm waiting for you, I don't really know. So if I'm getting too close push me away, I'll bounce back. And if I go to slow pass me by, everyone else has. 

It's getting late, dear. I'm sorry.

I think I'll stay home and try to figure out what a priority is.

-M