Screw being human.

Contacts and 20/20 and that stupid chart at the doctor's.

Addictions and cocaine and caffeine and sunglasses at work in the morning.

B minuses and scantrons and valedictorians.

Eating and bulimia and frosty's and working out.

Being pushed past in the hallways because 3rd period is really important.

Breathing and gasping and all the lives lost looking for oxygen.

Hair cuts and unhappiness and expensive "damage-fixing" products.

Chills and anxiety and seeing a shrink for your 'dark and twisted scheme of things'

Just SCREW IT.

Screw curiosity and while you're at it, screw the cat.

Screw driving your sister to yw's basketball because she didn't want to ask the neighbor for a ride.

Screw skin an bones and breaking a femur.

Screw emotions, because no one cares if a high school girl is crying behind a computer.

Screw cancer and disease and the broken hope of a hospital.

Screw Facebook and retweets and #swag
Screw pulses and glucose levels and blood pressure

Screw sex and HIV and the backseat of your car and

Screw the morning-after pill; because why would we want to keep anyone from having all this fun?

 Screw being human and everything that makes it.

Screw caring if anyone reads this post.
Screw you for reading this. What? Were you expecting a gold star?

Hiding Away

I want to go running. I want to get better. but what happens when the cross country team and I cross paths and I'm weak lungs and heavy breaths and they are giggles and airy conversation and we are less than a mile from my house? They'd know. They'd have to know; I'm out of shape. An embarrassment to Nike shoes everywhere. I could start with baby steps. I could be willing to go a little more, give a little more everyday. Take a new path or two just to avoid standing next to the marathon winners.  I'll be sore. I don't know how long I'll be sore either. But maybe after months of effort someone will notice that I'm a few pounds slimmer and just one comment will make the journey rewarding. Maybe. But maybe I'll come across too many cross country kids and my weight loss will halt watching their effortless techniques and falling into the trap of comparison.

This post isn't about running or cross country or losing weight. This post is about writing, and poetic bloggers and shedding heavy emotion. I'm not scared of sore muscles, I'm scared of sore vulnerability.


Who knows if I'll ever be a runner, but there's one way to find out.