His eyebrows meet in the center. I can make out the image of a crow just between his eyes. Like two wings. I am in love with someone who is not in love with me back. I wonder why the crow doesn't flap its wings and fly away. He is not good looking like you would think he would be. But I know why all the women want to catch him. At first I said this and wasn't sure. Just last night I found out. It bows and does flips. He shows me the tricks it can do. I grasp it tightly. It stands apart from the rest of his body and stares at me with its one eye. It is ruddy and just huge. Why am I with this man. He creases his brows. I wonder if he is trying to figure out what I am thinking. I am thinking about the crow flapping its wings. I say this out loud by mistake. He is baffled and I am afraid he might find me out. It is much like a dolphin the way it glides. I wonder how I knew before knowing. Women have a sense for these things I suspect. But I am just a girl. She is a dancer. I met her a year ago. She didn't like me and I didn't know why then. Everyone liked me. They stood around me. I was the youngest girl there and easy prey. They all smelled me and wondered who would get to fuck me that night. I am telling him about the first time I ate oatmeal. It is breakfast. She was my best friend. I slept over her house every night when we were eight. She made me spread my legs for her while she pushed two fingers in. Her slippery tongue caught in my mouth. I didn't know. I just wanted a best friend. And her mom made the best breakfast. He doesn't care about why my mom never made me breakfast so I needed to make friends with a girl who took me. He nods and escapes into blonde locks and the way she sprints across a room. I can read his thoughts. The crow tells them to me. Suddenly I am awkward. I have never left the age of eight. My body will fool you with it's sex. With it's Fuck-Me written across my forehead someone once said. And the scent escaping my groin. His groin tugs back and forth. He is trying to make friction to light a fire. And the dolphin lunges deeper than anyone has ever been. Even the friend whose mom made oatmeal or the man who released the birds in the first place. The dolphin see-saws and strikes me like a violin chord. And I shriek. But that is not why I fell in love with him. Of all the people standing there was a shaman. He stood naked and was covered in mud. His hair was brown and he looked at me. He said something about being chosen and entered. I didn't flinch from the pain and there was nothing wrong with him. And all I could see was black birds. Flying flying flying. I met him at a Fourth of July party. A year later and I recognized the bird on his face. He looked muddy and I suspected he was the same man pretending. I made like I drank too much punch and leaned forward towards him parting my legs so he could smell me. That would bring me closer to the birds I thought. I didn't think much of her when I met her that one time. I wonder if he made her oatmeal the next morning. I had no idea she would become my life. Even though I would never see her again. He is thinking of how sweet she looks when she sings. I try to sing but the crow laughs. Making oatmeal must be the kindest sign of affection I think. I will try to capture his thoughts. But it is no use. I will tell him a wonderful story. I will catch him spinning into my tale. He says last night was great and tries to look into my eyes but they are black and he is thinking about dancing. And all I can do is stumble. I am looking above his eyes now. I stopped listening to his words. The bird tells me everything I need to know. The oatmeal is clumping in my stomach. I am afraid I can't set the crow free. My hair is black. And my eyes. I don't know anything else about my body. I stopped watching it after I turned eight and she tore in. It was all worth it for the next morning. Breakfast on the table. Her body is slim and I feel massive. I don't know how big I am since the crow won't say. I feel opposite her. I can see her dance across the room. Her hair following her like a yellow cape. And he is hers. It is bad to love a man. For all the wrong reasons. It is bad to love a man because you want to catch a bird. And I wonder why he is with me at all. He dreams of flowing dances and long tresses the color of corn and light. But all I am is black. The black of my pupils and the black of my hair. And the heavy smell of my groin. He is on to me I am afraid. The dolphin swims laps back and forth. I let out a yelp like a dying cat but he is fucking the dancer. Is there anything I can do to capture the crow. The dolphin must have told him. It must have gone in so far it caught me. I don't know what I will do now that he knows. He says I must have a keen intuition to read his thoughts. The birds are mine the shaman had said. He puts on music and tells me to move with him. I am struck and my joints stiffen. My limbs swell to twice their size and I am paralyzed. He just wants to have fun he says and squints toward the yellow light. But I never wanted to dance. Just fly.
Reason for writing:
"Blackbird Fly" - The Beatles
Birth sign: Scorpio
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