THE GIRL WITH THE BLUE SHIRT AND THE WHITE SNEAKERS| POEM

I see her

Across the busy street, eyes so big

Waiting for an open window to dash toward me

I don’t know her, I’ve only just seen her

Just like everyone else on my side of the street

It’s hard to miss the huge red sign on her blue shirt

It’s hard to look at anything else but her

Prancing about in sneakers that’s harder to miss

She sees a ten inch space between a bike and a car

And sprints almost gracefully but not entirely

She laughs at how close she was to a possible pile up

Brushes off her previous fear of crowded places

Pulls her hoodie tighter around herself

She’s begun walking toward a little burger shack, familiar

‘My girl’ loves burgers, I think watching her devour her meal

She orders a bottle of water, gulps that down in three sips

She’s on her way again.

I shouldn’t follow. Oh I must. My work could wait

I’d miss this girl if I turned around

So I did.

While a sea of people quickly closed in on me

My eyes picked her out buying a local newspaper

Digging through her jean pocket for change

The bottle of water secured under her chin

So normal and yet I need to know

I need to know this girl.

She walks into a mirrored building, next

That was my cue, I could leave. I could.

I followed her in, familiarity hasn’t hit me yet

The guard salutes me, another thing I failed to piece together

The girl behind the counter that I always smiled at

Greeted me, another memory

I see the blue shirt, white sneaker girl again,

Turning the last corner, taking a cautious look behind her

I might’ve met her eye, I might’ve

I follow her into an open hallway,

Buzzing with people, a crowd of heads bouncing about

I lost the brunette I was looking for

In what felt like an ocean of faces,

I lost the one I had set out to find

I push past the familiar masks of those around me

Set my tiny bottle of water, the local newspaper

And let out a long sigh of disheartenment.

I will find this girl in the blue shirt and white sneakers

If that’s the last thing I do, I think silently

“White shoes, risky”, an all too familiar face popped his head in

Almost physically snapping me out of my trance

“Gotta do it for the feel”, I reply, winking at him

“I like the superman shirt, though”

“I think blue’s my color. Do want to get a burger?”, I ask, smiling.

So fun fact, I’m psychic. I predicted my two week hiatus. (I find that fancy names to describe your laziness reduces the shitty feeling that always ensues.) In my defense, I keep it real. Honest to the bone. You can always take my word.

Anyway, I’ve never found the dire need to ever even understand what people mean when they say ‘I need to find myself’. Thinking about it, it’s wonked that anyone that says THAT is standing there, in their own body, controlling their own mind and actions, and STILL doesn’t know who they are. I don’t think I’m all too keen on figuring out how that works just as yet because who’s EIGHTEEN AND DOESN’T CARE?! Although, no lie, it’s crossed my mind. I’ve sucked it up to people that didn’t deserve to have their arses kissed, put my opinions away because of the fear of being judged and thrown my own inner, (WISE) self to the dogs because I figured if I didn’t care about what I said to myself, why would anyone else? Over time, precisely over half an hour, I realized, I’ve fueled my anxiety to levels I cannot even describe to you all because of the fear of being judged that began growing when I was not all that everyone else seemed to be. People could be perfect but ME?! HO NO! I can’t be perfect. Normal humans aren’t perfect. Normal human implied me and the rest of the world were unicorns that shat glazed donuts. So there, while I was beating myself up about how I wish my skin was fairer, or how I wish my love handles would disappear or how I wish I had a boyfriend I could show off and order around, somewhere in between all those, I sculpted myself into a marble version of someone who I didn’t have to be. Marble is very pretty, not going to lie but it has nothing on me or you. So over the years that I’ve been ‘jello’ and squeezed myself to fit close to impossible standards that was never even set by me to begin with, I lost originality. (And my baby fat. Just FYI.) SO, I did. I lost ‘myself’. And although I still do NOT understand how ‘I need to find myself’ works, I know it’s a real thing. Losing yourself is an actual thing. As long as I’m a person, whoever the heck i turned out to be, I’m good. (I hope.) I haven’t begun soul searching just as yet because change is a thing I hate, but if you have, all props to you! This was just to say, THERE ARE NO UNICORNS THAT SHIT GLAZED DONUTS ANYWHERE. THERE NEVER WAS! (Sorry but I had to break it to you.) But you have a great day being you!

My last post was BURSTING A BUBBLE

YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM FOR THE HECK OF IT.

Love, laughter and bouncy balls,

Anya

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4 Replies to “THE GIRL WITH THE BLUE SHIRT AND THE WHITE SNEAKERS| POEM”

  1. Usually finding myself means to find what ole likes doing the most. It so happens that once gets carried away with some or the other thing and do things which generally doesn’t make us happy, but we do it because of some or the other reason.

    So, finding oneself would mean getting back to the roots of what really excites us and what really makes us happy. I guess.

    Breaking the 2 week hiatus, I see. 👏🏻👏🏻

    Liked by 1 person

  2. That’s a great way of putting it, actually. Kudos to you 😁
    I’m trying hard not to let these constant breaks continue (if I ever get over my constant battle with procrastination and utter laziness)
    But thank you so much for dropping by. Have a wonderful day. 😆

    Liked by 1 person

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