Devilish
I used to want to be honorable: not steal, not lie, not be late, but no more. I don’t follow their rules anymore, none of them. I stole 100$ or more of groceries from Giant Bird yesterday, why? Because I paid 100$ or more for my oil change at Valvoline, and I needed to make up for it. This is what I did: I planned to pay. I brought my own bags. I filled them up. I pushed my cart, with my full bags, to the cash out lanes, but alas, there was no one to ring my shit up. Some were ringing themselves up, (definitely stealing 1/3 items), and no one was watching, and also, the way they set the store up, you come out from produce at the wrong end, and have to turn back. Am I turning back? Hell naw. I’m not making no U-turns for the patriarchal capitalistic Big Bird, and I just walked the fuck out. The fuck you gonna do, though. Nothing, that’s what I thought. Because you’re watching the black people with the hawk eye, and ignoring me, and I’m that white bitch who steal everything in a second, buh bye. I did, and I’m proud of it, facts. I don’t owe Big Bird nothing. They aint done shit for their people, farmers or shoppers, and fuck em. Spending all that money on air conditioning to air condition your meat, let me help you. I’ll take it off your hands. Shouldn’t trust any white people, that’s on you.
Today, I loved Will. We sang, exercised, took walks outside in the nature that money can buy, and ate meals and snacks.
Every day, it’s his penis, in the bath, in the shorts, on the billboard: penis penis penis.
Like a mother, I want him to get it, he deserves to get it for himself.
But he doesn’t like using his hands, and never will.
Will never will.
I think of “the World According to Garp,” (prototypical fate driving things),
and also Jenny and Forest. Was she wrong to do all that?
I never thought so. But then I heard people capping on her, like she’s your basic predator. White women prey on, pray on, anyone with need.
I’d never do that to Will, but sometimes I think about climbing onto his bed,
because it’s big, and we’re both getting sleepy, and I think, could we cuddle.
Would he go to sleep if I spooned him? Does he realize I’m old af?
Does he understand his own age? (no).
And I think of that novel: Shame, by Shalamon Rushdie. Did you ever read it? If you read the title, how did you resist? I needed that book.
The main character, a real weirdo, falling in love with the autistic daughter,
the intellectually disabled one, in fact, he did love her.
But he should’ve left her tf alone, based on what happened.
He married her, yes, but that night, or some time later, an evil spirit (her)
whipped through the farm and the barn, ripping the heads off all the chickens, dozens or hundreds of them.
When he saw the chickens, he knew she’d be back for him.
What did he do so wrong other than loving her?
Examine your own shame, if you need to know.