White Noise (some of you will know EXACTLY what this means)
I don't even know if I can do this successfully.
The whole point of this space for me is to be able to open my mouth and let the pieces fall where they may. I've been tiptoeing through the tulips for too damn long and allowing other people to plant signs that read QUIET in MY garden.
This right here though...what I have on my heart right now...feels like the potential for a legal battle or a battle on the playground, but either way I feel a fight coming. Along with breaking my silence, I'm having to learn when it's really necessary to speak. Right now, I don't know if it's wise to even so much as whisper what I know or whether it really needs to shouted from the mountain tops.
People take me for a fool from time to time, mistaking my youthful appearance for immaturity all the way around. I am not a child and don't expect to be treated as such just because my parents passed along good genes. One has nothing to with the other, and though age is nothing but a number I often feel like I need to wear a t-shirt that reads "No, I really am 34." While people are busy thinking they're getting one over on me, they forget the truth always comes to light, whether by candle, flash or spot. What folks also tend not to recognize is that I am protected and no matter what, you will get yours. It's a karma thing, I don't have to lift a finger--though sometimes it is rather satisfying to bitch slap a person when they get a little ahead of themselves. Sometimes it takes a mean backhand to remind you that you ain't shit, and some of us need to be reminded of that. It's not because I think I'm better than you but because you've expended a lot of energy throwing shade on me and others thinking that you're better than us all. Guess what? Yeah...
So, here I am left to struggle to get these words out using invisible ink because I don't think this is really the place. It hurts me because this is MY place. I bought and arranged the furniture here. I picked the wall colors and sent out the invites to my home. Because my home is public, with no doors, I have found myself in yet another arena where I have to censor myself. It might be time for me to transport myself into a Marvel Comic and follow their lead. Perhaps a nice mask and a lycra/spandex bodysuit to match my new alias would do the trick. Then I can fight crimes against humanity by night and keep smiling in the faces of snakes by day. Maybe not... These snakes don't even do you the courtesy of making eye contact. It's all good though. Everything in the food chain can wind up on something else's plate. And some cultures consider snake a delicacy.
Watch me move.