Flypaper

So people actually read me?
Creepy.
Weird.
How'd that happen?
Hear I was thinking that I was just ranting
-
"It's not about being read, it's about being written"
-
but it appears that my words happen to have the smallest amount of weight.
And somehow,
that matters.
It's like when you're walking down the street, singing to your iPod and then realizing people around you have been listening.
Or when you're on the street corner playing guitar, and then notice people have been dropping change at your feet.
Or even,
when you're talking on a cell phone on the bus, and you know everyone is listening.

It's like you're being intruded upon,
but it's your own fault, you were making yourself public.

And I am not complaining.
I like that people read me.
Please, continue to do so if you wish.
Those who know me, respect that I want to remain anonymous.
Those who don't;
Thanks for reading, how'd you find me, why are you here?



My parents annoy me.
They fight and then pretend that they didnt in front of me and my sister.
As if we aren't smart enough to notice that someone's sleeping on a couch
or that my parents aren't makin eye contact.
As if we're still that young.
We know that people fight and they get over it.
We don't mind. It'll pass. It doesnt bother us they fight.
But seriously
we aren't stupid.
Stop treating us like we are.



So summer is gone.

"Summer flings
are fragile things.
We've said goobye so soon."

And autum is here.
I feel it in the way the rain chills instead of cools.
I feel it in the morning air.
In the morning sun
and in the cold dew on the grass clinging to my already frozen legs as I walk to school.

You always were like a bird.
Pretty and charming,
with a lovely song to share.
But like all birds
you flit away from everyone.
You move too fast to even be seen very well.
So why am I surprised you're leaving?
Why am I surprised you're gone?
I'm not.