Then, I wanted the view, but I wouldn't even have been a tourist. I was the one that would dream at the feet of the fire escape and marvel at the lights on the cracked windows and be led. Led by other children, I can close my eyes and see them but I don't know who they are, or where they came from. I understand circumstance but I don't understand the manic Joy.
The Joy I understand.
The JOY I don't.
MANIC. MANIC i understand.
Manic is a side effect of panic.
but if you steal my joy
to make it your Toy.
TOY TOY TOY
oy
oy!
OY!
Inside my mind they would shame us for the idea of our happy home. "Oh, why didn't you help us, we were street kids?" but we would give them kind shy smiles. Bow our heads as if looking at an elder.
OR we would of been
The annoying kid that hung on your arm and drank in your every word. That was the two types I saw in my small town. I'm sure there where more layers. MR. STABBY knew for sure. He was the security blanket I would have needed in your place.
We didn't know you, where you were from, but we respected you.
I know you street kids might not understand the shame of having it good and resent us for it. I know your enthusiasm would have been used as a tool just as ours would have been.
Our parents loved us and kept us on short leashes.
Some never learn to take off the collar.
I DON'T UNDERSTAND THE JOY.
The joy hurting someone severely could bring.
If it was not necessary to complete a greater goal I don't see the point.
Even then.
I don't wish for it to be necessary.
Closest prank we did was drive away from a friend once and freak her out.
Giggles.
We did it for giggles.
Not.
JOY.
If you led a kid astray to feed giggles to your pain,
I don't know how to redeem you.
I don't know how to give you hope and turn your head.
But I hope you do.
Remember I'm a pessimist.
I see the worst endings.
to a parent the worst endings
are dead ends.
Nope. Not a joke.
I would like to be.
Oh well.
I couldn't continue with this story and the characters where I was then. Marsies story wasn't mine to tell and she wasn't opening her mouth. I understood why. The fact that I could get this much out of her. That was enough for me.
Then.
I'm not good at manipulating people, I'm a bag of fucking bricks once you burst open the geode, but I hope Marcie had a good Karen on her team.
I had a great childhood. A happy home. Complained a lot, yelled a lot made a lot of noise, but one time my mom acted weird around one of my friends who, on the outside, was worse off then me. I was so mad, but the quiet mad, I couldn't say everything that I wanted to. I wanted to call her out on it but couldn't because I understood why she was doing it. I wanted to cry. Right then and there in the driveway. I told her later that she was never coming to my house. I couldn't stand if something like that happened again. I hope she understood but I have no idea if she did. Probably figured it out later. ALL my friends are readers, IM a trust-er though, and was never very good at controlling my emotions. They where always threatening to escape, couldn't hide them. So I was a private diary writer. Yep. Was a diary writer. OH TEENAGE ANGST! Passion, I suppose others would call it.
I never thought she was worse off then me. I wanted to be her, I was such a little follower. Baaa Baaa Sheeep Sheeep Sheeeeeeeeep. Ya that's right. I did everything she wanted to do, she did everything I wanted to do, caved when I was a bitch. It was one of those friendships that was intoxicating on my end, but when we went separate directions fizzled out, still feel her, but its gone now. What ever was so important to me then has grown into another distant being, she had a saying about smoke I forget, Im not a smoker, shes the smoke from my vaporizer now, But not the type you smoke, water and and oils my thing, I don't have the right scent for her anymore, but I love the slow smoke ring burn on my heart.
Not like me and my biological sister,
ITS WORTH THE WORK!
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