Freewriting (Seeing a girl walking down the street with dyed orange hair.)
She.
She.
She.
She the girl with the orange punk rock hair. Orange hair pulled back into ponytail. Thin, wispy, but not stringy or dirty as one might expect. it looks light and fluffy. Wisps sitting pulled back on her hair. Not like fire. Fire is full and wild. Hers is baby fine. Too bright to be real.
Girl with the orange punk rock hair.
Her left leg is covered in tattoos from anklet to hip. Mary Magdalene, Jesus, snakes and symbols. Is she being ironic with her punk rock hair and punk rock clothes and religious iconography? Cut off jeans and a old punk rock shirt, right leg bare and white and smooth. Left leg covered in green and blue art, contrasting the orange punk rock hair.
She is mismatched.
She is chaos and punk and edge. Edge, how I hate that word. Like Holden Caulfield ranting about the word Grand. For our day, the word is Edgy. Such a fake word, phony.
She is the girl with the orange punk rock hair. She is fake and I cannot make her real. Just a sight to be seen walking down the street.
She.
She.
She.
She the girl with orange punk rock hair.
The girl who is just a figment of my imagination and my world.
Fake to everyone but me.
No comments:
Post a Comment