Quiet
I feel like an outcast amongst the fringes of society. Even the ones that are supposed to be a comforting wave don't seem to fully accept me. Before, I thought it was because I didn't like boys, but even now I find myself sitting quietly in a pulsing bar with radiating lights observing the colorful blend of women upon women and still feel lonely. Even at the more docile day settings I am a happy watcher to the gay communitys strength but still feel a lack of place, of belonging.
I sit on my porch instead, in the heat, watching the cars drive by and when it gets darker I move to close my eyes and listen to the music playing as the stars set in the sky. I walk around my neighborhood alone in a dress and taped-up sandals, smiling at all the pretty college girls, my eyes hidden under the sunhat brim. I sit in bookstores on couches with a window-view of the French Quarter's street and wonder if the beautiful women walking by would like me, would blush if I told them how pretty they are. I show off in the gamestore to the girlfriends of those boys, my highest score, getting flustered when they cheer. I drink a beer leaning against my car with chalk drawings around me, my cat sleeping alongside me, shyly nodding at the sweet lady's compliments to my drawings.
I lay in bed and look out the window in a blinding vision of white as the storm clouds thunder and crack. I close my eyes and dream.
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