Dad’s my hero

Pretty sure genetically, I’m 99% my dad
1% mom

When I see an angry young man
I see my dad
and in that, I see myself

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Furs, feathers, skins, and bullfrogs

I miss the woolly mammoths
They look so majestic in the waning sunlight
How do little mammals survive arctic winters?
I wanna distribute shelters to all of them
Poor shivering babies
They’re all so amazing and it’s wondrous to
Acknowledge that they live and accompany us
In this world; so diverse
From deserts to forests
Where a bullfrog lives
Under a green canopy in paradise
Content with zen eyes
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Street dogs and humans

Amid a pack of male dogs who gather around a female and have a hormonal frenzy, there’s also a street dog who walks besides a human that he claimed, or that claimed him, vice versa. They sit on the stairs to the closed store at night outside, and when the human figures that it’s time to head back home to his shitty life, the street dog gets up and walks next to him. They walk slowly at night; the man with both his hands in his pockets, and the dog agilely on his four little legs. They disappear into the dark. There’s packs of dogs in different gangs who cry together at night, who howl by the moon, and little rascals who tip toe cunningly inbetween moving street car lights. They sit by the roads, they walk with the humans. They bark at each other when there’s disputes with other four legged archnemeses. The world flows like a dog that zig zags inbetween cars and moving people. The world chills like the dogs that cuddle next to dirt by the side of the road. There’s humans who walk on four limbs from disabilities, and there’s dogs who walk on three limbs from injuries. Yet they’re just there; chillin like villians. These dogs are so smart and badass; even if they may have a short life span. It’s much better than getting your balls cut off and being put on a leash or cooped up inside containment for the rest of your life. Or get put to sleep by the hands that feeds them. The street dogs always seem a bit rough, but they’re so much wiser and free. Life isn’t easy for them, but that’s what makes them striking.

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Beauty intervention

“Big sister, how do you like my hair?”
She asks sweetly as she touches the puff of hair on the top of her head. Her hair’s chemically treated straight and painted black.
“Looks good dear” I respond.
She gets up and stretches down the tight skirt she’s wearing, as I stare in disbelief. I can’t believe she has the guts to walk down the street wearing that. My aunties are aging and busy caking makeup over their faces in the meanwhile. They’re gonna walk arm in arm with her proudly down the street so that everyone can stare at them. All of a sudden, they divert their attention randomly at me and talk about how horrible I look.

“Wear some makeup! Dress better! Fix your hair! Don’t you want to stand out?”

Those days are gone. I’ve lost that kind of interest. I’m no longer a teenager. I don’t need that type of attention anymore. Everything feels too late. It just feels different nowadays.

I say, “Don’t need to” apathetically and continue to recline on the bed. I feel like a faded, colorless fish. The fancy and glamorous girl in me, dead for years.

My aunty’s large eyes grow massive and she comes to grab me by the arm, “Get over here! I’m not going to let you embarrass us!”

My aunties hold me down and style my hair, smoothe out my eyebrows, and give my clothes a fitting. I enjoy beauty sessions with them. However, I managed to get away with not getting my face caked with makeup.

“Oh my god, look at how pretty she looks now!” they all congratulate themselves. They rave about how much they’ve improved me.

It’s an odd yet a special feeling. Around my young-at-heart aunties, I’ll always be a little kid that needs fixing… no matter how much we all age together…

My aunt grabs me by the waist and makes me sit on her lap like an overgrown baby, and we pose for a picture, with genuine smiles.

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Needy soul

Missing people when they’re right here
Thoughts of missing people when they’re gone
Memories of people and missing them
Missing people when they’re right here
Thoughts of missing people when they’re gone
Missing what could have been
Missing when there’s nothing really missing
Missing people when they’re right here

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Stepping into the rain drops with my cat

You wouldn’t expect a rainy, cold, dark day around summer time. Everything’s back to freezing, and I hate having to wear winter clothes that I’ve put aside once more. The cat himself is a bit confused and is circling around not knowing what to do. I pick him up and smother him with love, and I know he hates it, but he’s so cute and fuzzy. We have a battle where I brush him up and he gives me an attitude with a couple of scratches and a play bite. To be honest, I’m more of a dog person anyway and he’s not really my cat anymore, but he was beamed in from a spaceship into this household long ago and now he claims it. Now and then I imagine him in zero gravity, and that’s enough said.

As I step into the yard to throw away his ball of fur, he follows right behind and sneaks out. It’s a drizzly cold day, but the trees and the plants are so green and my orange boy looks so vibrant. He sniffs a couple of plants and tip toes with the subtle rain drops. We walk amid the green lush, and he searches with his alert whiskers while I breathe in fresh air. We roam and explore a new world outside, and we don’t want to go back in.

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