Turnip Truck

I should probably make some time in my schedule,
Because it’s going to take awhile to do all of this crap on your list.
Speaking lower,
Speaking higher,
Speaking softer,
Not speaking.
If I only had a clue about anything then I might be able to help myself understand,
But it seems that correcting grammar and doing analysis is more fun,
Rather than
Falling off the turnip truck.
But
Using up your tissues won’t solve the problem.
Only scissors and television will.
Did you know that my favorite heroines have the shortest hair
And that it makes them seem more confident,
Which I wish I was,
And makes me want short hair?
But no one will touch short hair.
No one will run their fingers through the ends of it and be happy to see me because they want to play with my one or two long braids that hang down my back,
Because it will be gone.
And no one will know who I am,
Because they’ll have forgotten my name and face,
Because it was written in my hair,
Where they had a constant reminder.
But it’s gone.
Everyone will be excited at first,
But they’ll forget and never even say a word about it again, because that’s the only thing they liked about me.
And if they’re not excited,
It’s positive they’ll be sad.
They won’t touch my hair,
Because it’s gone,
And they’ll ask me why but I won’t be able to tell them because there was absolutely no reason except to make me feel like a normal human being that wasn’t screwed over on so many socially acceptable things as a child.
But if they don’t notice at all
Then I’ll have finally become just another face in the crowd that is scared of being unique because she’s afraid that everyone else is scared of her when she’s weird and don’t even treat her like a human because they think she wouldn’t be interested.
But the truth is
That I don’t know how.
And asking would only make me alien.
Unless I asked the turnip truck driver to slow down a little.
If he has his hearing aid in,
He might hear me enough to keep me from falling.