Espresso Stories of December!

At that moment he felt more uncomfortable than a Jain in a Purell factory.

‎"Someday," He told her, "I'll paint this wall." It was only now that she realized that at that time he had already known that he would be the paint.

“I’m still going strong,” She said at her final AA meeting, “Because the show goes on. And it isn’t my death scene, yet."

Jesus, Jesus, please, give me a sign!"

And thunder smashed and the clouds billowed above her head as a booming voice shouted out, "I AM A SAGITTARIUS"

Are you sure you don't want a cat?"

"No, I am absolutely horrid with animals,"

"Now come on, I'm certain you aren't that bad,"

"I had a pet rock once. It died."

‎"Look, I used to have a cactus. It died in nineteen days. I'm poisonous, and you'd better get out."

And it's true every time: I come for you but I stay for me.

Don't tell me how far I'll go until you know how far I've come.

‎"You know, you really taught me how to believe in love." "Yeah, well, you really taught me how to believe in reality."

I don't need to break in to see inside; there's only so much in that glass mind.

“You’re leaving the Brazilian summer to go to a Chicago winter?” “ Yeah, but where I’m going is so much warmer"

I’ve never really gotten over anyone, especially myself.

She had 5 hours of testing in front of her and she spent her time preparing in the back of a bar getting wasted.

every sunday they stole their parents liquor cabinets and bathed in the alcohol content, listening to spanish opera all the while

Her mouth mouth said no, and her body continued this notion by punching him in the face repeatedly until he fell to the floor unconscious.

It spent her 5 hours, and in the end all she had to show of it was, "Plants are nice. They are often green. In conclusion, plants."

She named her child Manifest because everyone deserved a destiny.

‎"Is love supposed to hurt?"

"I wouldn't know, I've never been in love. I have been hit by a car however, and that hurt."

‎"I'm leaving." His sudden announcement metaphorically bodyslammed her into the wall, right before her mixed martial-arts training literally bodyslammed him into the wall. Either way, he could've had the decency to stick around and help pick up the pieces.

‎"TANKS!"

"Don't mention it."

She was the kind of girl that walked through the zoo thinking, "We all want to be free"

She spent her life reaching for rainbows, and she died in the arms of a man dressed like a unicorn.

She stayed up till 5 in the morning watching and re-watching The Notebook, and she wondered if she had an addiction to helpless love stories.

‎"It smells like weed in here."

"Weed. Like, as in grass? Like freshly cut grass? Well then, I don't really know because we weren't cutting grass at all."

He's the type of gay who woke up one morning, said, 'Shit, let's try liking dick today!' and never looked back.

He knew he had trouble falling asleep when he tried to imagine sheep jumping over a fence, and they ran head first into the fence instead.

She was 94 and one/eights years old, and her will stated she wanted all of her items and possessions to be put into storage forever, because she was a dick that way.

She signed all her cards XIO; kisses, boners, and hugs.

---Lynn, Patti, Christie, Julie

Expresso Stories of November

"i remember" he always said but he always never knew what he was supposed to remember

every promise he made was over a bottle of beer, so it really wasn't a surprise when he died from alcohol poisoning.

When she got the phone call that her mother was dead she really didn’t know what to expect, let alone the voice over the receiver telling her that she died attempting to stop a burglary with a sack of bagels and a sharp-wit.

the smell of sharpie never fades away, though the locker has long since been cleaned and painted over.

His hugs felt exactly how love should feel, and she couldn't help but laugh at the irony as she wished her ex-jail mate well before they carted her off to the death sentence.

Peter realized his day would be off-kilter when he was complimented on what a wonderful Drag Queen he would make.

It was a cold day - a Sunday - as she promised everything in the world to him, but she never ate a morsel, and he never ended up with what he wanted.

He - she? - existed only through google searches and even then the right answer wasn't always found.

A mixed chorus of "awww"s and "ewww"s echoed behind him as he leaned over the car door to kiss his boyfriend. He couldn't care less.

With a sort of dislocated interest she realized she grew up with these girls and on her better days she couldn't even remember their names, let alone any withstanding memories before the accident.

On 11:11 of 11/11/2011, she wished that she would live to see another 11:11 11/11/11 come along. She died one century later at 11:12pm.

Her legs were shaking as she walked to the door, but her hand was steady as she flipped him the bird.

Whenever he said goodbye, he walked backwards because he knew whatever he was leaving was beautiful and he couldn't take his eyes away.

"Am I destined to die?"

"We're all destined to die, you know. Whether it be from gunshot or cancerous tumor."

"I never expected it to be both,"

"Me neither."

Her favourite flowers were the Winter Wildflowers because they bloomed at midnight and she liked the adventure.

“It’s just algebra,” He said, steadily taking off his pants.

She turned to leave, “I don’t remember learning that one plus one equals one in math class.”

He took out a condom, “At least it won’t equal three."

He was a one man circus, always on the trapeze, the audience cheering for him to fall.

She could only kiss when drunk, because nobody intoxicated her enough to do otherwise.

Once a month she could use tampons as swords; she could fight off an army of dicks just by claiming she was already stabbed.

If I said all I need in life was you, that would be a lie, cause it takes a lot of food and water to keep me alive enough to love you this much.

She knew she should stop listening to Adele when depressed because breaking down into sobs on the school bus was not only awkward to explain, but extremely embarrassing.

‎"When I said I wanted the love of my life to elbow their way into my life, this wasn't what I expected," She cried as she held her broken nose carefully in the hospital waiting room.

Their bodies were huge but their love was skinny.

"I'm an asshole with a low IQ, an addiction to drinking and cigarettes, and the largest sex drive this side of the Mississippi. I know what true love is."

The music was loud but their screams were louder as the shower head turned on.

We’re a fairytale, but I’m no princess.

Home was a cramped apartment filled with the violent sounds of dreams being shattered--so even though she was reduced to a crawling, dancing, self loathing “professional” every night around her pole, she did anything not to click together her bright red pumps.

they told him that no one should have to bury this parents alone but he wasn't sure if their presence was comforting or suffocating.

All I wanted was to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving, thought Bob, laying on the table as the Turkeys laid out their silverware.

The rope was 60 feet, the fall 45, and she wondered which would kill her first.

Her grandmother used all the oxygen in her lungs to blow out her 89th birthday candles, and she died face-planting into the cake.

Their hats had fake curls attached at the sides, but the jewish-side of his family at least appreciated the gesture

The marching band spelled out the four-word phrase as he dropped down to one knee, she knew band-geeks made the best husbands

Every argument they ever entered into was settled with a game of beer-pong, with the loser having to go out to buy aspirin the next morning.

Looking into his eyes was like staring down a shed cicada shell. He was dead, she was empty, it was over.

I love you the way the buttered side of the toast loves the ground. Maybe it's messy, but it's something I can always count on.

Her bruises took weeks to heal, but he was still the cutest source of domestic abuse.

--- Julie, Christie, Patti, Lynn

espresso over a long time.

Richard considered running to the bathroom to vomit when, after coming out to his elder sister as gay, she offered him various types of gay porn magazines.

I know i'm in love this time."
"what makes this any different?"
"i don't have butterflies in my stomach. i have fireworks."

I wonder if the physical distance between us is inversely proportional to the togetherness of our hearts.

It didn't matter how many perfect six-packs or smokin' hot man thongs I had seen in my life-- when the boy with the hipster glasses pulled out The Grapes of Wrath and read behind his cello in rehearsal, I knew he was the HOTTEST man I had ever seen.

keep your drink just give me the money.
sorry bud. just you, your hand, and a bottle of your own self-pity tonight.

As she pushed her hips back against the body behind her, she realized with a neutral opinion that she didn't even know his name.

it doesn't matter to me how I've never met him, how i've never talked to him, how i've never even made eye contact with him. I know I love him with all of my soul, and that is what matters.

Normalcy sat in the corner sipping his tea, while insanity poured more vodka into her Coca Cola. Both of them knew that their waltz would soon become a salsa.

God, space, time, math, light, dreams, imagination. The list goes on and on. With no end and no beginning. We’re trapped in infinity, baby.

She guilt tripped her way into college, and into his life.

He gripped the grass underneath him with all his strength, willing himself not to go off flying off into the sky like a murderous Peter Pan.

Mary ignored the giggles as she walked to the front of the church. After seventeen years of the most normal name imaginable, she was proud to be confirmed as Sexburga Euclidia Hedwig.

She wondered plainly if her end of life flashbacks would come in the form of a quickly scrolled through Facebook newsfeed.

I get up at 4:45 AM every morning to run, and all day long I never stop running.

Every day she bought blank CD's, cans of oranges, and a set of coat hangers and never before has Christian been more interested.

The Christian traditionalist laid down his rifle as he watched the new generation aim their M-16s at a flamboyant hedonist demise.

‎"Sexy and I know it"? Hate to break it to you, but it's more like "sexy and you think it", sweetie.

I’ll lie to you and lie to you until I think you’re finally ready for the truth.

Until that day I got hopelessly lost in the woods, I never even thought about finding myself.

"You look like the underside of a dirty couch cushion." "Excuse me?" "I mean, I really wanna shake you out."

Zombie butterflies. Just when I think I’ve killed all those stupid bugs that make my heart beat faster when you look at me, they come back. And this time they’re after my brain.

she resigned to the fact she would spend the entire night awake, and stripped to her underwear, opened the psychology textbook, got out that small stash of weed in her underwear drawer, and prepared to go to town.

The awkward silence around the dinner table after Maria spoke left her with a sudden urge to lift her arms and declare, 'And the Lord said, Let there be silence!'.

‎"Love..." he said, squirting the Purell gel on his almost rawly clean hands, "Has never seemed very interesting to me..." he rubbed his hands together obsessively, "...or very sanitary."

‎"Here's the thing," she said, taking her first step into the pool of color, "I don't want to make art. I want to drown in it."

In that moment of pleasure he forgot that he was a homophobic christian, and the hands running down his neck belonged to a boy in his english class.

They always tell me my shirts don’t match my pants, and I always say their actions don’t match their religion.

He acted different, he talked different, he looked different. He hung out with different people. But I didn't realize my best friend had become a stranger until the day I first noticed him typing with capital letters.

--Patti, Juliana, Christie, Mark, Lynn

Let's be here.

It's not until you stop to ask yourself if you're really happy that you actually start being sad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm just exaggerating.
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
"Smile, honey. Just smile. Really. It could be worse. You've been through harder times. Just smile-"
"Don't tell me to smile."
"Then don't frown."
"Let my mouth do whatever the hell it wants."
"I can't stand to see you sad."
"I'm not sad."
"Then why don't you smile?"
"I'm not happy."
"Doesn't that mean you're sad?"
"It doesn't mean anything."
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
She looked at the stars on the the ground
Spread vertically
Up and down

She knew that when the sun came up
The stars would be gone
and in their places would be a favela

But for now
She would just wish upon them
Ignore the truth behind their shine.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'll never forgive you if you jump."
"I won't forgive myself if I don't."
"Please, I'm begging you. Don't leave me here alone."
"You don't need me here, it's not doing anything good for you."
"Please. Please. Please, I need you. I can't. I can't stay here without you."
"Then you better jump after me."

She jumped
Into a sea of happiness
Joyful waves crashing into stones of satisfaction
The wind turning over a thousand new leaves.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Take a dive into life.

Sugar High

It's no secret that her blood sugar is already sky rocketing, and she's been feeling sick since the second bag of peach rings, but nevertheless, she manages to slip one more sugar coated, manufactured, ringleted piece of hope into her smiling mouth before all the wrappers dissappear behind a veil of darkness.
She's not sure exactly why she does it, but ever since the age of seven she's been self inducing these diabetic atrocities. Every time it's a different candy- at the beginning it was candy dots; easy enough to devour just because there were so many interesting and intricate patterns in which she could eat them. She'd eat the pinks first, then the blues, then the greens, then the yellows on the first roll, then eat the next roll like a pack man- following the sugary specks around and around and around from the outside edge to the center, in a continuous stream of munching.
The most challenging candy coma by far was Mr. Wonka's supposedly ever lasting gobstoppers, which, disappointingly, were everything but everlasting and released quasi unbearable shots of ridiculously sweet powdered sugar that made her teeth hurt and her gag reflex retaliate. That time, waking up in the hospital with the dreaded IV needle lodged in her veins was a trophy of the sweet victory against her body- against all odds, she managed to force almost three hundred of the gross little orbs into her bloodstream.
Through the veil of the coma, she can hear her mother shrieking and feel her body twitching. The conversation between her parents makes her want to laugh, but the saccharine paralysis has already flooded through her face.

"I'm telling you, Richard..." her mother's voice floats through the veil in a tone that is on the edge of becoming high pitched, "...we can't be living so close to a Walgreens. Look at her! We're just enabling her by living here, with that big, red W flashing right across the street."
"We're not enabling her, Martha," There's a wary edge to Richard's generally rational and calm voice, "First off, sugar isn't a drug. And she wants to do this to herself, it doesn't have anything to do with the Walgreens...We've done everything we could. We've been throwing money at psychiatrists since these binges have started...and the insurance bills are going crazy with all this hospital talk. I can't even stand to see another IV needle. I think it's time we let the psychiatrist put her in a-"
"No. She's not crazy. There must be some reason for it. It's been happening since she was so young...and...and she can control it. It's-it's controllable...we can help her...and...it's my fault anyways, I shouldn't leave money lying around.." Martha frantically searched for and alternitave answer that hadn't already been refuted, "If a psychiatrist outside of a hospital can't help her, what will a psychiatrist inside a hospital do for her?"
"Martha," He sighed, "They'll be able to monitor her. We can't do that. We both need to work. To support her. At least we'll know that she's safe-not abusing her body...if it was drugs you would have said yes in a heartbeat."
"Drugs aren't a grey area, but sugar-sugar is...kids are just..."
"Kids like sugar, but our daughter is diabetic- that's not ok."
"She's just trying to be normal."
"Comas are normal?"

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation she had lost the urge to laugh. Behind the veil she could only picture the concerned faces of her mother and father. She wished she could writhe and protest about the decision they were making, but the darkness was becoming more and more blinding.
As the parametics arrived to the familiar address, she let herself slip into the gaping hole of her choices, the sickening taste of corn syrup and candy cocaine sticking to every tastebud.

--Julie

Hey

Hi!
Who are you?
Seriously, who are you?
And how did you end up here?

Honestly, I'm not sure who ends up seeing this blog.
Or what kind of person.
Judging by the name of the blog and the tags, either you were looking for an actual cult, or you're a depressed and/or misguided teen.
I dunno.

But I wonder constantly.

So tell me about yourself
Tell us about yourself.

What kind of person are you?
Why are you reading this?

I can't promise you that we won't judge
But hell
I think we'll understand.

--Julie and the gang

My City

We're walking to the mall
Just because there's a Subway there
Not the subway
Not underground trains and filth
Just Subway
You know
Eat fresh.

"It feels like downtown Naperville"
(He's longing to go back home)
"Kinda. The sidewalk's too gross and there are too many tall buildings, though"
"Not the looks, just the feel, the sun's just really warm and the smell is kinda the same and it's just random"
"Plus we're going to Subway"
"Yeah. It's an American thing"

Two seconds pass and he says it again
"It feels like Naperville"
"Kinda, not exactly"
"Close your eyes and feel it"

So I close my eyes

And there I am
Barnes&Nobles right next to me
Ruddy red bricks stretching across an organized town
Gigantic and flashy or environmentally friendly and flashy cars are zooming by
And it's safe to cross the street without looking twice
I could go to Noodles and Company or Jamba Juice or that cute little candy store with the delicious gummy trout
I could go to the River Walk and throw bread to the ducks
Or hop inside Barnes&Nobles and read Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul all afternoon

(Or I could go home. Back to my house. Sit on the roof with my friends.)

I open my eyes.
It's not Naperville.

"We're gonna go to Subway and then when we step out we'll be next to Dominick's and the library"
He says

And I do one of those nervous laughs
Because I know he's kidding
But somehow it seems true.

~*~*~*~*~
We turn onto Borba Gato.
(What a weird street name)
And all of a sudden it goes from feeling like Naperville to feeling like ghetto Chicago
Construction everywhere
Homeless people on the streets
Buildings stretching up up up

"Let's walk faster. It smells funny here."
"Ok."

We speed through
And there's the mall.
~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

To get into the mall you take creepy stairs down
(Like the ones you take to get to the actual Subway in Chicago, if you were gonna take a train)
They're gritty and threatening
And you can barely see your destination
But you go down down down
And all of a sudden it goes from underground train station to life.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~

"Why do all the malls here have a grocery store!"
That's his first reaction.
I love my little brother.
"I don't know. Let's find Subway."
We follow the signs that say
Praca de Alimentacao 
Food court
It's not like Fox Valley
The food court is all the way up
Not all the way down.

~*~~*~*~*~**~*~*~

When he sees it he starts running
"SUBWAY!!!"
It's like he's going to hug a long lost friend
(Mark, I thought of you)
He orders his food
Getting a 30cm sub
Instead of a footlong

And there are cookies
Real cookies
Chocolate chip
Soft
Yummy.

He bites into his sandwich and he's home
"It's even better than the one back in Naperville, it almost tastes like Quiznos"
"Yeah well, they keep it cleaner here"
"Yeah, in the US it's like there's lettuce in the tomatoes and pickles in the peppers"
"Yeah, it's gross. Brazilians are super neat freaks"

He takes the last bite of his cookie
And we're done with Naperville
~*~~*~*~*~**~*~~*~*~

We step out of the mall
Into Brazil
It feels like forty degrees
(Not fahrenheit)

There are people buying fresh squeezed orange juice
And corn on the cob
And popcorn
And peanuts
And anything else you can imagine
From metal carts owned by barefooted Brazilians
And no one looks like they have money to spare
And everyone looks happy
It's like a circus or a county fair.

There are trees
Everywhere
Little forests in every step of the city
The shops don't have doors
There's just one wall missing
And I step into a clothing store
(A little place no bigger than my bedroom, filled up to the top with super cute everything)
Because this jean skirt catches my eye.

The lady is eating her lunch at the counter
And is interrupted by me asking her for the same skirt outside but in a larger size

"Sure hon! But the biggest size I have is G" (For the gringos G=Grande=Large)
She digs enthusiastically through neatly folded, packaged clothing and pulls out a skirt that looks like it'll fit someone half my size.
"Ugh. I don't think it'll fit."
"Of course it will! Give it a shot. You'll be surprised"

There are purple curtains on half circle bars
It kinda looks like a shower curtain
And I hesitate
Because it's not gonna fit
But I step inside anyways

"Let me see!" The counter lady calls from outside
I pull open the curtain, biting my lip, cause I'm not confident in how it looks
"It's perfect!" She assures me.
"It's u-hm. Hm. Yeah. I like it a lot. But it makes my hips look huge."
I'm tugging uncomfortably at the fabric hugging my figure
"Well! What else do you want! It's suppose to be tight like that. And you have a violao body. It's perfect for you"
Violao. A "guitar" body. Kinda like a disproportionate hourglass.
The second uncomfortable laugh of the day.
"It looks really good. I swear. I would tell you if it didn't"
I know she's just trying to sell me.
But I don't know
The skirt just made me feel good.
"I'll take it."
Done. The lady smiles and she adds, "You'll be the hit of the balada"
"Yeah. I hope so."
~*~*~~*~*~*~*~

We're walking back.
We've only spent about 80 American dollars between us
But we're practically carrying new wardrobes.
(I love street stores)
"You know," He says, "We're always comparing Brazil and the US. Like. We can't just say that São Paulo is busy or dirty or clean or anything. We have to say it feels like Naperville or Chicago or Arizona. And when we're in the US we say it feels like somewhere in Brazil."
"Yeah, well. It's because it kinda gets the point across about what the city is, but without listing everything single trait."
He doesn't respond.
But inside my head there's another conversation
He's right
This city can't be described in terms of US or Naperville or Chicago

SP, Brasil is a uniquely diverse, fresh, busy, lively, infested, crazy city where cars will run you over without looking twice and you have to clutch your purse to prevent getting pick pocketed
Where shop keepers and hair dressers become confidants and every corner has a different personality

There's just no way to describe it if you haven't been here
It's like nothing you've ever seen before
Crazy looking trees in the middle of highways and bamboo forests in apartment complexes
Fairs with fruit you've never heard of before
It doesn't matter how many things I list
The good or the bad or the ugly
There's a feeling that you can only feel if you're right in the middle of it

So
(Come visit)

--Julie

Skinny isn't a compliment.

I climbed flightless stairs, trying to reach my destination.
At the top of the steps there was a feline.
She was the most majestic, maternal creature I had ever laid eyes upon.
Her fur begged you to feel it.
Her eyes warmed your toes and your soul and your heart.

"Hello," She meowed, her voice curling around like incense smoke, mysterious and intriguing.
"Hi," My eyes widened and my mouth murmured in awe.

"They call me," She purred sadly, "The Fat Cat."
She shifted her paws uncomfortably.
"But I am not fat," She said, "I am thin."

"You," I took an encouraging step forward, "Are beautiful."

Her ears perked up enthusicastically, "What is beautiful?"

"Beauty," I whispered, "Why, beauty is...it's special, it's untouchable, unreachable, beauty is the greatest compliment ever recieved, beauty is love in tangible form. Beauty is the eyes dessert, the ears most valuable image, the hearts most welcomed friend!"

"Beauty," She purred, "Beauty. Beauty. It is rather like being thin."

No. I thought to myself. Beauty and thinness are not alike at all. Beauty is round and robust, warm and inviting, inspirational and moving. Thinness is easily broken. Something thin may be beautiful, but not because of it's thinness, only because of the essence of that thin thing.

"Yes." I said gently to her, "Yes. Beauty is like being thin."

How would one explain beauty to such a cat?

--Julie 

It's not a problem, it's a solution.

There is that

I haven't eaten in a week

Feeling

Head feeling like a cloud

Eyes feeling like a rock

Stomach feeling like spoiled milk

Body feeling like the flu

Your mind understands that it needs to eat and your eyes are dying to eat that strawberry pie

But your stomach is fighting your head, wanting nothing but to go to sleep

And your body agrees.

There is that

I haven't eaten in a month

Feeling

Head buzzing with non existent white noise

Eyes forever searching for something they can't see

Stomach cringing from unbearable pain

Body thinning from the sickness

Your mind doesn't even care anymore, but your eyes frantically stare at the mirror, looking for a girl who's disappeared

And your stomach has it's eyes closed, dreaming about the taste of food, unaware that it's right. there.

Your body is snacking on itself, taunting your stomach who can't even enjoy the stored fat your body is nibbling.

There is that

I'm still not eating

Feeling

Mind gone

Eyes giving up on seeing a more beautiful reflection

Stomach drying up, hoping to fall from its longing position

Body hyperventilating from prospective hunger

Your mind and your eyes find the sleep once reserved for your stomach and body

And your stomach is reaching out to death

Your body is running out of supply, fat disposed of and muscle becoming sparse.

There is that

I'm dying

Feeling

Mind dreaming

Eyes blinded

Stomach smiling

Body unaware

Your mind jolts awake with the image your inner eyes visualizes:

Your body, silent and decomposing, luminescent bones finally emerging through skin

The last thought is "I'm finally going to be beautiful"

As your stomach receives its wish.


--Julie

A picnick in the park

Upload photo

Start off with autocorrect

Everything brightens, looks a bit more defined.

Next step, messing around with color, saturation, contrast.

Perfect.

Next to blemish control, blotting out little bumps and bruises.

Now to the fun part.

Adding different colors, vignettes, cutsie stamps of flowers and smiley faces.

Some words for effect.

Brighten these colors, make this black and white.

Beautiful.

Make eyes different color,

A fake spray on tan,

Insert in rosy cheeks.

Wow.

In front of the computer screen,

I look at a beautiful version of myself,

Green eyes, tan skin, no imperfections.

Save as "Imma real brazilian".

Bring up picture on desktop.

What did the original look like?

Bring up original.

Ew....

Brown eyes, scarred face, pale, pale skin staring back at me.

This is what you are.

Look back on the photoedited picture, in all it's glory.

Fake green eyes staring absently,

Plastic skin glowing falsely, 

I guess you're not so pretty after all.

Delete.

Back to the original,

Back to imperfection,

Back to what I've learned to love.

There's feeling in her eyes,

Empathetic smile on her lips,

You're gorgeous.

Save as "Imma real me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No.

You aren't pretty.

Yes.

Your hips are a bit too wide,

Your belly bulges too far past your jeans,

You've got thunder thighs,

Your face is oily and gross,

Your hair could use some work,

Your smile is a crooked mess.

No.

You aren't pretty.

You're beautiful.

Yes.

Your hips make you look like a woman,

Your muffin top is a result of actually eating food,

Your thighs are proportionate,

Your face emits a healthy glow,

Your hair is original,

And your smile

Your smile

Your careless, youthful, happy smile

Is the most beautiful of it all.

--Julie

Apples to Apples

She stood up nervously, aware of this cult's fake, glossy exterior.

A hundred eyes staring, staring.

A hundred twinkling, supposedly supportive, supposedly happy, supposedly Christian eyes.

I wish I knew what they were thinking. Probably closer to hell than heaven.

The question was simple.

Every member of the congregation was suppose to answer honestly.

Why are you a Christian?

So maybe it wasn't so simple.

At least, not if everyone was to answer honestly.

Deep breath, clenched fists and eyes cast downward she took a stab at the answer.

"I'm not a Christian," 

A hundred happy little masks fell off, the staring became glaring.

She looked up, quickly glancing at everyone's real faces.

"God's gonna set you uh'fire, youngin'" Screeched a particularly soulful old woman.

God, I hate the south.

 "He's not gonna set me afire, Ms. Chokeberry." Polite enough.

"Do you doubt the power of God?"

"Let the child speak, ma'am. I want to hear this." The preacher interrupted firmly, gently giving her the  verbal nudge to carry on.

"I'm not a Christian. Because there's just one aspect of the Bible I cannot even begin to comprehend, much less believe."

"Blasphemy." Ms.Chokeberry breathed.

She shrugged it off, agitated and inspired.

"And, well, frankly, it's not the miracles or the unconditional love; the omnipresence or the abundance of power..."

Her shoulders released all tension as her mind released all filters.

"I mean, I don't really care if God can create a stone heavy enough that he couldn't even lift it. Or how He himself was created..."

Filters were alerted by the next absurdity she was about to vocalize.

"What really bothers me,"

Sweat triggered.

"W-w-what...really...bothers me"

Glaring eyes were becoming impatient.

"What really bothers me is Genesis....The beginning....the genesis of sin."

Moments of silence.

"What bothers you about it?"

She was hoping that question wouldn't come up.

"Uhm...well...you see"

Complete honesty.

"I just...could never wrap my mind around the fact that God didn't want Eve to eat an apple. Out of all things- an apple to represent sin?"

The awkward silence of whether to voice laughter or disbelief.

She continued, "What kind of parent wouldn't be happy, proud to have their kids eat fruit? Especially one that made them smarter, more aware, more mature! It just...it just never made sense. It should have been a Twinkie tree or something. something sweet and fattening and wrong. Not....not an apple!"

No one said a thing.

"Well, child," the old woman broke the silence with her sharp voice, "Twinkie's simply do not grow on trees."

"God could've done it."

"Oh please!"

She smirked right along with her.

"Well, ma'am. Who's doubting the power of God now?"

--Julie

The Little Prince

I'm scared.

That we'll grow up

And leave all our childhood ambitions behind.

That we'll look back on what we wrote as children when we're adults and laugh

And label everything as "cute" or "stupid" or "pathetic"

Or some other word for 'unimportant' as we move on to matters of consequence.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I forget where I heard the phrase

Every young generation wants to change the world.

And it's true, it's true.

Every generation has that little rebel stage where we want to create our identity as a seperate, new era; completely seperated from the parent.

But not enough generations have really gathered enough force to collectively evoke change.

There haven't been many revolts.

Or rather

Revolutions.

The sixties was the time when hippies were big, and liberal flower children handed peace and love to police officers beating protestors on the street.

That I think is the closest youthful human kind has come to liberating itself from the repetitive, war-filled history of our ancestors.

But.

(And here in lies the problem)

Some of us are children to those used-to-be chain-smoking, trippy acid kids.

And some of our parents are police officers.

Even the hippies grew up.

~*~*~*~*~

We can't stop from growing up.

That's human.

But since when did growing up signify that we have to stop being children?

Stop listening to children?

Stop believing that the world could actually be a better place?

~*~*~*~*~*~

And of course there's that whole idea that by fitting into society and slowly doing your part in the small things the world will eventually become a better place.

Wake up.

The world doesn't have as much time as we think it does.

There are thousands of potential diseases, meteors, climate changes and more

That could obliterate the earth.

Or, more likely, life on earth.

More specifically, human life on earth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So slow and simple has worked for a while, but time is kinda getting short.

If not us, then who?

Which generation will bring about love, acceptence, joy in the world in an equal, justified manner?

Who will feed the hungry?

Who will cure the diseases?

If not us.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If the world is gonna be destroyed anyways, it doesn't really matter if measly, little human kind dies in peace or in war.

But. I think it's sad.

Horrible.

That in the entire known history of the earth there hasn't been one

moment

of recorded perfection.

One decade, or year, or day, or even an hour where the entire earth was actually at peace.

~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~

It's too ambitious, I know.

"World peace" what does that even mean?

Maybe world peace is actually the destruction of the earth

When humans cease to exist

And everything can be left alone.

--Julie