contrivance

I repeated myself because I didn't think you heard me. It didn't take long to realize your elevated expectations.  I answered all your inquiries, even though they seemed strange. I knew you would wilt if exposed to truth, so there were no questions as to your intentions. I watched your reality play out. Again you dismissed my reaction. Now I'm expected to relate to you. After you've shifted the topic three times away from the original conversation.  You wave the wand of approval to anyone who reacts to your emotional contrivances.  Still you wait for me to react to such nonsense. 


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

That's Different

Wishing things were different. It turns out the difference is the problem. When I see you acting different, I know you understand, but when it comes to me there is the difference again. You know I can see the difference, and that makes me different. You think I understand your game. I can't. I don't know what you are thinking. I only notice a difference toward me.  If this could be different, there would be no difference. My odd quirks wouldn't hold you fascinated. You would act like you are being paid. Trying to act like you aren't being paid.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Let's play tag like the person who is (it) is going to kill you.
You shouldn't speak that idea into reality. It can cause it to happen.
Your old world superstitions take the fun out of everything.
Fun? What's fun about being murdered?
No one's getting murdered.
You want to create an adrenalin rush to have fun pretending like you could be murdered.  You are trying to tap into primal fear, and I'm old world?


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Behavior modification

Do you remember you told them I was crazy.  Not the zany have a good time type, but the straight jacket, shock treatment, padded cell definition.  I took it literally.  You became upset when you realized I wasn't going to talk to you anymore. You pretended to cry and told them I was your friend and you missed me.  Now you drive by my house monitoring how I let me weeds grow.  The rabbits, the birds, lizards, and cats walk through my yard.  I see grasshoppers, crickets, and bees, and spiders. I was too loud, or was it too early?  What you choose to judge is a moving target.  Unwritten rules known only by you. Enough time has gone by and you want to call me crazy again.  The pattern is yours, has nothing to do with my sanity.



It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

The revolving door

I never understood that joke the reason it's hard to get through a revolving door when you have a spear through your head.  I never thought of your situation because I didn't care. I didn't need to care. You can talk like you acted for a higher spiritual purpose.  You tried to change things you knew nothing about.  I remember your antagonistic voice. Your chest pushed out. You were telling people you didn't know, they had stupid opinions. You called them ignorant.  Years later the hypocrisy,  the end justify the means. You created a stage for crime. The human condition, uncredited actors.  Your buddy drove around with a gun in his car. I don't know why he needed it. I wouldn't have known about the gun, but he pointed it at me and told me to pull my top up. I didn't know why a big guy needed to protect himself from a set of boobies.  That was your friend group. The revolving door of nobodies, anybody's.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Social construct

Remember that house you lived in back in 1982. You had a party, a fight broke out. I got a ride home from a guy.  We stopped at the convenience store. He stole a bottle of alcohol. I assume he was a friend of yours. No concern for the rule of law. I didn't realize there was a type. The type of person that enjoys stealing. It must be conveyed by a look in the eyes. I wasn't aware of the unspoken language of the criminal mind. My face must have conveyed confusion, or disapproval. He took the bottle back inside the store, and changed his mind. Maybe it was his choice and had nothing to do with me at all.  He dropped me off and left never saw him again.  That night was the first time I heard your name. I wouldn't see it again for 32 years.  The newspaper explaining what life choices you had made.  I could only assume I understood. Why would strange encounters suddenly make sense.  I would call you a criminal, but the newspaper was creating an image of an upright citizen living the American dream.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

The price

She picked out several onions and set them in the scale.  Not because she wanted to know their weight. It was a place to keep them as she finished her selection.  A bag of carrots, and a head of cabbage. No particular meal was being planned.  Unaware she was being watched she continued to the register.  The line was short, but the basket loaded full.  Waiting wasn't a big deal, a chance to collect thoughts or daydream. It felt like wind, and she tasted dust. She heard a growl. Not an animal noise but the sound made in a human throat.  She looked around to determine who was making the strange vocalization.  No one was nearby.  Her hands began to cramp holding the vegetables.  They began to feel heavy.  If she could set them down somewhere for a moment. Instead she cradled them on her arms like carrying a baby.  Little vegetable babies.  Her mind wandering: a head of cabbage, she thought how strange it's called a head.  Looking down at her vegetable babies she thought about chopping them into pieces. Noticing the taste of dirt again, she ended her morbid chain of thoughts.  She was able to set her produce on the conveyor belt and pay.



It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96