Escape Artist

Tue, 11/25/2014 - 17:17 -- Dlw858


Pay no attention to me, awkward girl
behind the others. My name is Dorothy 
and they laugh because I’m not in Kansas
anymore. Never was, but it doesn’t matter and I am 
allergic to dogs. Same joke, but I smile back, approval-craving
makes me anxious and I cry to my mother why not Sarah,
Katie or Anne. Why not invisible. She says
it's tradition, but I dislike large gatherings and more 
stones hold my name than people.

Pay no attention to that small, young girl. I’m twenty-five, 
I whisper. Sit with my back straight so I look taller, wear
thick make-up to look older. Click of heels against
tile and I wonder if anyone notices that I’m less than 
professional. I would toss the shoes and run in a moment.
Wear my hair down with paint stains. Travel the world
with one car. But my face laughs with the others, eyes
hiding dreams of art and music and magic. When
did it happen that corporate means copied 
and artists hide their scars. 



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