the sea queen
a Robin Hood,
hiding in mirrors
reflections of youth
old, Merry Men laugh
my visage, invisible
It doesn't rain where I live. I hate it. It feels like I am living on the moon, assuming the moon was a place where people from all around the solar system go to get stuck in their cars on their way to desperately trying to become famous.
I know this is going to sound like the skinny girl who complains about not being able to gain weight, but I am absolutely sick of the constant sunshine. It truly depresses me, to my core, in the same way constant rain depresses others.
The weather is just so annoyingly vapid. There are no moody, dark clouds or thunderous rumblings or even sunshowers. I'm willing to acquiesce on the sunshine if L.A. would just meet me halfway with a shower, but her wicked response to my request is an endless stream of smiling suns on the weather app.
As a result, everything is dry and destitute and devoid of color in a concrete, strip-mall type of way. To counter this, I surround myself with plants both inside and out, but the earth is so dusty that the plants outside seem to be dying even when they're not.
The plants inside are faring the same way I am - they're surviving as long as they don't leave the house. This may be an okay way for an African Violet to live, but it's not working out so well for me. There are days that I feel like I am dying, even when I'm not.
Maybe I am feeling this way because of the recent heat that is ridiculous even by Los Angeles standards. Perhaps it's because I am just tired of being in traffic, all the time, stuck staring at the colorless concrete that is this city.
More likely it's because the sand surrounding me feels like the sand inside an hourglass. It is going down and down rapidly, while I am caught inside looking out, seeing right in front of me that there is so much more to life, but not understanding how to break free before it's too late and I am buried alive.
I'm just trying to figure it out, like everyone else.