There’s something about the need to escape.
There’s something about not having anywhere to go.
I like to chase myself in my mind.
The setting: an apple orchard (How romantic).
I picture myself in a dress: polka-dotted blue, maybe red.
How hard it will be to camouflage myself in the clear sky or bushes.
The only person you can’t hide from is yourself.
As the chaser, I see myself decked out in a tux – overcoat
unbuttoned, red bow tie untied, saddling my neck.
How cute it’d be to watch myself fall in love over and over again with the perfect person.
It’s so difficult to name my characters, when deep down, I want to take the credit.
I’ve thought about her being with her, him being with him, him and her wanting me.
Dialogue flows naturally when a character is based off of you.
When it comes to looks, I hesitate.
I don’t want my readers to circle, highlight, underline
any action or word that resembles me.
A character’s mannerisms become embarrassing when you have self-doubt.
I’m sassy, give her a smirk.
I’m defensive, cross his arms.
I’m unhappy, break them up.
I hate mirrors.
My reflection reminds me how cliche
my facial expressions are.
“That is so you;” raise my right eyebrow.
“Stop that;” bite my bottom lip.
“What is wrong;” don’t move a muscle.
I wish I could meet someone and not think about them fictionally.
I replace myself, in the dress, with friends and enemies (same thing).
In my mind I chase them, because I am unhappy with what I already know.
Their voice, eyes, laugh dally in my palm just to fuel my pen.
The relationship grows; the word count grows.
Sequels are silly; I lose interest in whatever we had.
All associates are guinea pigs.
The moment we make eye contact,
I imagine you snug, between the sheets.
If you think bed sheets, you must not realize
how hard I’ve tried to charm you.
More people cuddle up with books
than they do in bed.
No one likes a coward.
This was written for my voice,
but spoken from your lips.
Everyone hates a coward with a notepad and pen.
I bet you can’t look at me the same now.
Oh sorry, you can’t look at yourself the same.