When people call me “Ma’am,” I perform a searching pirouette to make sure they’re actually addressing me. It breaks my heart when the teenage cashier offers up an un-assumed status. Am I that old?
Ma’am is my mother.
Ma’am is the lady strolling down the street with three leashed Corgi’s obediently licking her polished heels. Ma’am is my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Barnes, who scolded disrespect like’s we’d just committed Larceny. Ma’am is the politician demanding your regard, even when their policy imprints utter abhorrence.
Ma’am is not me…is it? The high-bun donning, odd sock wearing, tie die spattered, Australian.
I feel like a fraud. An impostor in my 26-year-old shell. Take those words back would you? You now have me questioning my age and allotment in life’s monarchy. Thanks alot Sam. You curly haired, once friendly faced, CVS employee. It’s not like I was buying Menopause medication or reading glasses. I was purchasing Club Soda!!
My mind is running around life’s playground like a pre-pubescent teen, while real teens are commenting surreptitiously on our age gap. I’m wearing this adult veneer in trickery. A mascarade of maturity is only assembled in hope that my not so subtile messages capture societies’ soul.
Am I really a Ma’am? You be the Judge.
Happiness Worth Capturing
A Surf board toting hitch hike because busses just aren’t as fun
It’s amazing how tears never flow when fingers bleed through the screen.
When a mind becomes tangible through etchings. The feelings caged find face. A picture. A palpable existence. Words are my minds eternal soul.
If I didn’t find you, who would I be? Would I live among the pill shakers, decision makers or life takers? Would med packet’s “riddle rattles” chime life’s battles?
If I were not in fear of breaking, would I attempt to preserve my sanity right through your art? You make me whole like nothing else can. Running through mother natures playground is bliss. A familiar or foreign smile warms my heart and mind. A door held for me or by me gives strides another few inches in length. Yet, you… you do something different. You envelop warmth in societies cold. You attest to sins and confront them. You teach me what is important. You project emotions wheel, and yield significance in its circulations.
I love you for being my dearest friend when solitude needs a plus one. I cherish the smile you furnish me with in your wake. I value the melodies you create when etchings are attuned to elation and darkness. You have taught me the importance of friendship, connection, love, devotion, growth and emotions. I experience the intensity of life, yet you provide meaning in the spectrum of sensations.
I am indebted to you forever. Let this partnership hold a piece in societies evolution.
Are we a construction of our society?
I say yes… As a child, outliers are shunned, bullied and ostracized for their individuality.
As an adult, eccentricities are often valued and utilized to diversify companies, friendship circles and forums. The quirky friend is the most valued one. Their perspectives on life enable you to appreciate your own peculiarities.
If freedom of expression was truly accepted by the pre-adolescent, I believe we would be living in a beautifully enriched world of valued oddity. The playground is where we first learn that differences are not accepted.
It starts with the kids! Let’s get quirky back into curriculums.
Rage is contortion of mind and body. It often engulfs its victim without warning, debilitating any aptitude for pleasantries. Rage is the pleasantry enemy! A beastly entity who persecutes the flimsy emotions of melancholy, despondency, frustration and sadness with its domination. Rage harnesses each mediocre sensation to produce a totalitarian feeling that leaves no room for any other. Rage is a dictator. When this tyrant expires, it leaves victims wallowing amongst regret.
I got a Parking Ticket this morning. Rage got me!
What does your rage monster look like? Does it have a foe?