Pieces of You

"She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went..."

Broken pieces. The pieces that have been left by the boys that pretend to be a prince but really turn into a beast. The failure of not knowing where you want to be and how to get there, the bad day from work, and the way your toe finds every door to run into.

As you look around the floor, scattered shards of glass seem to spread everywhere. The glass when it hits the ground, is the part of life that will never be able to be replaced. Why it broke in the first place? Standards. Standards you hold on to of how it should be. A boy shouldn't have to break your heart, leave you sitting on your bed listening to sad songs, wishing there wasn't such a thing as emotional misery that tears at your lungs and soul.

The standard you hold on wanting to be happy and grasping for something still not filling the empty hole. Once attaining it, you find that its not enough and the hole is still there. Never satisfied, holding life to a different pattern that is unlike the vanilla ice cream. Its the super man ice cream where the colors mix together and if you don't eat it fast enough the colors turn to brown. As fast as you eat it, trying to eat the different colors one at a time, you always seem to get a hint of orange or pink in the spoon, never just blue.

Yet I look around at the pieces, the glass that I had thought would never be perfect, turns out to be a masterpiece once in sunlight. I only had to move to let the sunlight dance upon the shards creating a dazzling show to realize,

"It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said."

Bigfoot for a bed!

I am sitting on my bed, which is covered in dog hair that resembles a wooly-mammoth that has been skinned and sprinkled on my floral duvet. You may ask if I wash it and the answer is yes. Every week. Yet once I lay the duvet across the bed, making sure all the wrinkles are out, my little dog jumps on it like superman making the noise of an old man grunting as he golfs. She looks at me then rolls on her back attempting to bite her feet. Like a magnet, the hair sticks to the bed as she squirms leaving a trace of tan inch-worm length strands behind. And it just so happens that I had taken the dogs on a walk and she knows EXACTLY where the smelly mud is that she walks right through. Old dog poop on the trails that has been molded into the regular dirt is like walking through Macy's to my dog, spraying the different perfumes onto the neck and wrists... 'dog do-doo' is probably what it is called and my dogs love rolling in it. Its gotten to the point where Febreeze is my new best friend. Like a sale you feel really good buying it and then realize that you don't like it all that much when your bank account statement comes through the mail. Like the febreeze you spray it on the sheets and cuddle up into the lavender fields of vanilla and somewhere during the night you smell a spot that the Febreeze either missed or couldn't cover the odor and it wakes you immediately and disgusted you sit up and say, "Oh my GAWD who took a dump on my pillow!!" A normal person with no herd of dogs would take the sheet off and put in in the wash. Yet I, who owns a pack of beasts, doesn't take off the sheet yet moves to the place where the febreeze did land and rub my nose into that spot trying to escape back into the fields of lavender. Somewhere along the way my nose got immune or I started sleeping with glade candles up my nose and realized that my duvet will never be clean like I want. I am doomed not only to being single my entire life, but having a duvet that looks like big foot. At least I will stay warm at night with all that extra hair.