Posted in Almost Dorothy

Dear Universe

Almost Dorothy | Photo by Neil de la Flor

Dear Universe, thank you for ma, marionettes, and marshmallows.

Dear Universe, thank you for pizza and patience, pasta and pizzazz.

Dear Universe, thank you for violins and photographs, black strings and tiger’s eyes. Thank you for lost things and for the places where we can’t be found even when we are in the plain sight of headlights.

Dear Universe, thank you for the demons, desire, and despair.

Dear Universe, thank you for angels, affection, and affirmation.

Dear Universe, thank you for sisters and dinosaurs, donkeys and daffodils.

Dear Universe, thank you for achoo and monkey see, monkey do.

Dear Universe, thank you for the language of the body and breath, the body and the breath, and baby’s breath.

Dear Universe, thank you for classic rock and classical music. Thank you for poetry and the trees we sacrifice to write upon. Thank you for the pimple cream that makes this giant pimple under my left eye fade away.

Dear Universe, thank you for Macy Gray, Macy’s and all the booty in the world. I mean beauty.

Dear Universe, thank you for Alanis Morissette, Morissey and Madonna.

Dear Universe, thank you for the mirage that is not a mirage but a mirror-of-age.

Dear Universe, thank you for entering my dreams, offering me 30 million $, a partial Botox session, a tour of the White House chandelier gallery and free food. And thank you for waving the $16 entrance fee for me.

Dear Universe, thank you for the sun, the sky, the birds and bugs and for the existence of Justin Bieber toothbrushes. Thank you for my house and socks and shoes. Thank you for the old man in the sea and the sea inside the old man and the young man, the old woman and the young woman.

Dear Universe, thank you for thankfulness and for giving me all that I need in me.

Dear Universe, thank you for “Last Friday Night” and the next and then the next.

Dear Universe, thank you for Einstein and the invention of kisses.

Dear Universe, thank you for observation and analysis, emotional intelligence and Ginger Ale.

Dear Universe, thank you for neutrinos and photography.

Dear Universe, thank you for Lasik eye surgery because now I get the answers when I listen.

And thank you for hearing me.

Posted in Almost Dorothy, Culture Clash

FCKH8: It Gets Better And More Naked

Ma says it doesn’t get better and tells me that Jabba the Hut will always be behind me, lurking, poking fun at me with his fat gut and frog face. She says I should worry. Says I should learn how to run like a real man. Like Lance Armstrong. I tell ma Lance doesn’t run. He bikes, I say. So what, she says. At least he can haul butt away from that Frog Hut. Ma says things because I ask her things. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t ask her anything but then I think, well then, what will I write about? I tell ma my new friend at school, my new best friend, is gay. By gay I mean he likes to do it with nice clothes on and deodorant. She says that’s cute that’s nice who cares and I say I care because he’s depressed because the girls call him faggot and boys call him potty mouth. I won’t go there but he says he wants to die. Wants to fly to Neptune. Wants to give up the ghost and hang out with the dead. The six feet under stinky feet dead. The dead dead. So dead that he can’t come back kind of dead. Even if they use CPR. He doesn’t want to come back. I tell him it’s gotta get better and showed him what’ll happen when he turns 18. He can star in his own youtube video with sexy guys and wear cute tee shirts and have Justin Bieber hair. I swear, I tell him. Trust.  Me. He trusts me. But I don’t trust him. I only see him 7 hours a day, five days a week. Ma says I should move in with him. I tell ma she should go do something with herself. The door knocks and it’s my new BFF’s mother. I open the door but I won’t tell you what she says because I have to go to school right now and tell my new BFF about Jeffrey Self and Guy Branum.