Salon Lucero

Saturday, August 07, 2004

I haven't written a damn poem in so fucking long. What the fuck am I?

I am the clumbsy one. The one to fuck shit up for groups. The one to do the thing that will be hated by few, the one who will win the pitty of the rest. I don't want any of it anymore. I don't want to get the threats. This is not an isolated event, it is an accumilation of many. I am tired of having the hands that shake. I am fucking tired of my long arms and high posted head. Forgetting to duck, pushing glasses on pants, dropping food, bumping into every damn person. Too many people think that I do things on purpose, that I get a kick out of being tall all the damn time.

From nationals, it is enough.

Con tato, Chevere nice, Te gusto?

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