*Rage Against the Pixie Dust*

Men are wretched jack-off beasts
I mean dammit, that I should be sitting here
right now
in a bar on a Monday night
staring as I usually do
at my soon-to-be 27 year old big-time crush
Worlds best bartender!
Recent graduate of the local Firefighter Academy!
as I drink iced tea and suck on chunks of cold watermelon
and witness him
flirt
with
her
that sweet young thang
they are sharing a last shift together
she’s moving on to a steakhouse down the road
better pay, more regulars, bigger tips.
She has the teensiest waist
two-toned hair the color of burnt gold and wheat
eyes like mint green candy
a perfect nose
and lips that were born for porn movies
and
if that wasn’t enough
if that already didn’t make me want to puke my
Seared Ahi in Sesame Wasabi sauce
all
over
her
fucking
apron…
her name is Timory
Yeah…like some speckled doe-eyed fawn
in the middle of a forest full of pixie dust.
Timory

Jesus.
I want to wring her scrawny little neck
rip her head off its stem
shove it onto a blunt metal pole
and throw poison darts at her eye sockets.

Men are wretched jack-off beasts
I mean, that I should be coming here
for more than 7 months
he and I dancing around the thought of each other
All those many nights, marveling at his secret potions
his gorilla arms and Tom Cruise smile,
shaved head with holes in the lobes
where the punk gothic earrings used to be
before he cleaned up his act
became responsible and started following his dreams.
This man will be running into burning buildings!
Throwing babies out of windows into the waiting
arms of other strong-hearted men
Saving kittens from the tops of trees
Assisting old ladies across the street using phrases like
Don’t worry Ma’am we’re here to help.

Criminy.
When he smiles at me, I am not kidding his teeth are soooo white
they sparkle.
I swear
every
single
time
he flashes those pearly whites at me
I hear that little “ting” sound in the air
exactly like that fucking toothpaste commercial.

Shitballs.
I had him all to myself until this last month!
When he is attentive
I turn shy
When he is witty
I lose my tongue
When he tells me firefighter jokes
I let the drool dribble down my chin to land like puddles of need on the bar.
He leans and stretches way over the counter when speaking to me
He doesn’t do that with anyone else
He drove me home one night when I’d had too much to drink
We sat in my living room and talked until dawn
He never got up to leave, as if leaving didn’t fit with him
As if there were storms massing outside and he had to stay
hunkered down with his legs across my lap
He finally did fall asleep on my couch, curled up like a child
In the morning he left and never noticed
how my lips were twitching
or that a tick had developed over my left eye

myokymia its called, I Googled it

(big sigh)
I’m certain my crush is so intense
so obvious
that it gives off a scent you can smell and see
like a killing pheromone cloud hovering above my skin.
If so, I’d like to bottle that killing scent
squeeze Miss Fairy Pixie Fawns nostrils shut
forcing her mouth to open so I can
pour my liquid love poison straight down
her gullet
let her taste the force of my nature
of me
its potency
let it dribble down her chin to land like a pool
of bittersweet blood punch on the counter
let the me in her mouth and throat and stomach
stagger her senseless
For I am ripe, so ripe
all full-grown
of an age to count rhyme
luminary and full of a woman’s best beauty
I am deserving of him
as he is of me

And she
that teeny thing that lives in forests and prances under
silver moonlight
She isn’t even real!!
I am. I am real.
I would rip the Earth off its axis for him
I would let him hold my hand
Let him ride my forever compass
until he found himself
until he found me.

© 2008 mstrace

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Tags:

age, beauty, compass, crush, fairy, funny, jealousy, pixie, rage and trace