the wonders of selective grammar usage

Leaves flit and flutter in the breeze
Each one covers just a bit of earth
falling in a almost mathematical, surely
divine pattern around me
Trying to shake the needles out of my hair
nestled in the thick of things along with errant thoughts
Standing up
brushing imaginary dirt
tangible burdens off my clothes
Watching the little patch of green I left behind
slowly blend into gold and brown

"You'll always have me right here," he said,
resting his hand over her left breast,
approximating the size of her broken heart.
She nodded and smiled, with the look of someone
trying to understand why the sun rose and fell beneath the sea.
"Yes, but you won't be right here,"
and her hands opened,
palms adrift,
tears crucifying her to an unkempt bed.

I know my voice isn't better simply not only because I can't sing along to my favorite songs, but I can't even mouth the words to them without my throat hurting.
I'm breaking out like crazy. It's as if I've got a five o'clock shadow of blemishes.
I can't drink water -- it just burns on the way down. I've also got a cat's tongue, or whatever that little saying was about one's mouth burning easily, so I'm really reluctant to drink anything hot.

Even though I can still have a good time if I'm voiceless, I didn't want to be like this. I was going to laugh on the streets on Manhattan, cut loose while singing in a soundproof room, take pictures with me actually in them liking the way I looked. I wanted to be able to tell him that I love him and have him hear it as well as know it. Damnit. I wanted everything to be perfect.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

fingers following, tracing lines
a multitude of imperfections reflected in the mirror
in my eyes, in my heart
a spiraling cycle of nagging self-doubt
grading on my curves
finding everything unsatisfactory

I had to run to work today to pick up the cell phone that I'd, as usual, left in my half-apron. On the way out, I uploaded some pictures to be printed at the photo lab and stopped by Electronics, where I traced the lines of the box art for We <3 Katamari and Indigo Prophecy, leaving evidence of longing and financial hardship on the glass. Shawn and I talked for a few moments before his lunch, and as I was walking the very short distance to my car, I bumped into Mo.

We talked for a bit, all short nothings full of everything available to us, and then Shawn emerged from the double doors on his way out for lunch. They weren't any different than I'd expect them to be in front of me, very cordial and pleasant. As we all parted ways, they shared a small peck, to which I made some offhand comment. It was probably an awww. I'm full of them.

One of them said, "Aw, you're just jealous."

... and they were right. I am.

fingers running across fine wales of corduroy
across the welts on my arm from the pressure
across seven hundred and sixty-eight miles of pinpricks
trying to remember how to feel