people of the imagined universe
Her face is scrunched. Lips small and constantly puckered. If a face can make itself look smaller than itself without changing the dimensions, she has achieved it.
"Conserve! Save!" her constant battle cry. Keep our portions small, she said. Do not use too much TP. Wipe your lips at the barest edge of the white linen table napkin. Be mindful you do not overstep any boundaries.
I wonder about her sometimes. Would she ever know the expansiveness of earth? Would she be able to grasp the immensity of the universe? Will she ever find herself standing under the night sky marveling at the stars? How, I wonder? If all she could do is hunch, hold herself in a small tight ball, trying to consume as little space as possible...
Jane, I want to live. And I will leave a mark as heavily as I could. Won't you try it?
A mouse. His face has dainty features, miniature and tidy. His teeth gleaming and shining like a rodent. But note that he's a gay mouse, in both sense of the word. He's also a bit touched in the head.
"Queers Don't Fear!" he likes to scream from his rooftop, above the tin patched roofs of the impoverished people living nearby. He shouts at the sky, fists held aloft, his eyes seething with passion. Then he'll make a gaily dance -- a gay-ish dance-- still atop the roof. Scrambling, teetottering, mad.
I think about him sometimes. Who is he shouting at?
The heavens who he could blame for his problems?
The world who cannot understand him?
Or at himself whom he needs to infuse bravado into?
Little boy blue, sat on a shoe, waiting for a girl whoe needs a rescue...
He likes them small and delicate. Like lilies, he said. Like tulips that are about to open to the world of wonders. And he'll be there to show her. He'll be there to cover her and protect her from the elements. Her slanted eyes will look up to him and he'll see himself reflected in there. Only him.
And so he does not see my giant hands as pretty. My cow-ish bulk is ungraceful. I am a sunflower, fiercely pursuing the light. Never quiet. Never delicate. An oddity-- in his eyes. A mangirl. Oh how I hate him sometimes.
Born lucky under auspicious moons and stars of a far-off Jupiter. Ajudged pretty because of her porcelain skin and slanted eyes. Found smart because she can count money forward and backward. Oh, and she is a thief of men's hearts.
Lucky Susan never needed a man. Her comfort was in the company of women. Sustained and nourished by women's hands, guided and tutored under women's wisdom, she holds men in contempt.
The sadistic bastards, I am a misogynist in reverse, she mutters.
Pretty Susan, may I introduce you to Daniel? Help me change his mind. Sneer all you want.
No, don't kill him.
Just make him mine.