I think that is supposed to be good, that I get less from him but I feel worth less.
Then why don't I tell on him? If they don't, why don't I? Because. Because I am safe this way, silent unnoticed.
Why am I not good enough? At least he loves Darren and Yaicha in some way even if it's horrible, he shows them attention and I am furniture I get nothing nothing nothing no thing
You've always been skinny, always will." I can feel each reclusive bone poke through, the bones of Embarrassment, Anger, Relief. I push some back in, but leave Anger sticking out.
I got an A on the third quiz in American history, an A, dammit. Last time I got a B up from a C and my father said, "if you can get a C you can get a B, if you can get a B you can get an A."- I got an A and my father said, "grades don't mean anything...
Yaicha and Darren told me that I was the mailman's child, and I got so angry, stalking away, hot steam in my ribs. Yaicha and Darren told me that I was the mailman's child and now I am thinking how wonderful it would be to have the mailman as my fath...
Not scared. But excited in that jiggering-on-too-much-hot-sauce kind of way that it's time to step out of my old framework, raw and amorphous, to become something I've never thought of before.
Yaicha is named after a song by some group from the last century called the Pousette-Dart Band. Something about a girl, a candle in the falling rain shining amidst the pain. I kind of surprise myself when I can picture Yaicha as that candle. My fathe...
Or maybe I am just outside enough, being the footstool observing from the corner, that I have a view of reality.
I never realized till now how hard the brain has to work to make the body do what it asks. Or maybe how hard the body has to work to ignore the brain.
