isadora

pulse of my heart.

the only reason i'd ever want you smaller is if i could shrink you to pocket-sized and have you live in a mouse nest of yarn in my purse, so you could come with me whereever i had to go. i'd smuggle you in, put you in my mouth if i had to like a hit of acid, you could dissolve on my tongue and then paint cave-man pictures on the roof of my mouth. run your tiny fingers down the slick backs of my teeth. i'd put you in the hood of my jacket to dry off afterwards, and find you a patch of sun. but you'd have to be able to rebiggify yourself for teh sex0rz.

you are cuter than you will ever allow yourself to know. you could hannibal lector a kitten, tear it's fuzzy face off and staple it to yours and i would pet you and think you were weird but i would miss your eyes, your nose, your cheeks and your chin. and your lips. yours and only yours, they're all i want. they are perfect as they are, as much as you disagree.

one day, some rich and famous movie star or artist or someone will see us and give us the fifty grand we need in order for us to live off the interest and let you be a housewife again. i don't want you to be a shoe bitch for the rest of your life. i won't let you. or maybe a new tattoo place will open next door or across the street, and they'll need a counter girl and you can have a job that you'll actually like. i can visit you all the time and we will make their sterile rooms become dirty with our thoughts.

and then i'll make friends with all the fashion students, and they'll give you all the skirts they've designed, and you'll have a new skirt for every half-hour of the day. but they'll never stay on that long.

and you're at work right now, because i can't afford to keep you yet, my pet. and i miss you. and i love you.