Excitement over pettinesses.

I've gone to an art store. I have always had the deep-seated wish that I could wake up one day and just magically be a painter. In the mirror late at night I practice the pose and poise of it, they way my pale pink mouth would sneer with disgust at others works, the way my right hand would cradle a dying cigarette and my left would whip a paintbrush with deft accuracy and artistic praises would bloom around me like roses. And yet, I have writer writ across my heart and hands with an ink that just won't wash off, trust me, I've tried. But my wishful thinking took over and I bought an 8x10 scratchboard and some sketch pens. I plan to break out my print-out of Van Gogh's Milk Pitcher and spend the next month and a half frustrated and and praying that my painter skills with just magically appear like a superpower and I will be able to mimic the one-eared master's works. It is doubtful after all, someone is only allowed so much out of life and somethings are just not meant to be. But a dreamer can dream right? I saw Tangled the other day. Have I told you how pathetic I am when it comes to cute, romantic children's movies? It's bad, it's really bad. I didn't realize how bad it was until I found an entire notebook of poetry written about cute romantic children's movies. Whenever I feel a dark bit of teenage angst creeping up inside of me, I whip out the hazelnut chocolate and the cute romantic children's movies and hide out until it creeps away in shame. I don't want my life to be added to the youth suicide statistics. I like to imagine myself as a knight with hazelnut chocolate as a sword and cute romantic children's movies as a shield riding my white horse name 'Living Room Couch'.  Maybe I should shut up and poeticize.

Story of Old Man Kangaroo

Ankles askew,
or furthermore akimbo,
galumphing across
the plain planes,
sweating in the rude awakening
of the summer summer sun,
or winter sun
what's the difference?

Carry to your home-
keys, mangos, lipsticks,
aspirin, wallet photographs,
all inside your pooching pouch.

Old as the days are long,
old as the hills in fact,
(We all know they are ANCIENT)
You with your sweater on quite backwards,
zipped up over your thumping tail,
Age is never what it wants to be.

But do come along any way
We can beat you at any old race
but you've got us on storytelling.
So, sing-song it
Old Man Kangaroo
tell us what we need to know.