Skirtz

Bling Bling Chickenwing and Waffles. Where's my syrup? Toothpaste and chocolate; Can't get enough of it. Soggy Spinach and bacon; I'm up an Waken. Poetry and crack: Animals talk back. Cellphones and beepers paging; New musical sensation. Whole red bull pack; Ugh... Nuff of that.

I am pale. I am very pale. Unlike my sister who has our mothers' Hispanic tan skin, I gained my fathers lily-white French skin. It reddens; It burns, And did I mention the never-ending plethora of freckles? It is not a very funtional skin. But it is my skin; My own. From conception to dust. I like my skin. My skin is pretty, Like a reverse universe. The paleness, the endless void which takes in all light. My stars: black holes; eclipses; a nova! So I am created, so I be, So I love my looks.

Spurn me with my wickedness; Douse me with your flame, But do not mock Him To say I was created in vain. Our creations are mere trinkets; His, the lifeblood in our veins. Forced to Him we are lost. Forced away from Him we are lost. Where are our souls then?

A stigma, A mark, A fingerprint upon our minds. A blessing, A curse? Both. Don't bother questioning. We see it everyday. How it tears our senses from our minds And throws them to the wind. Would it be better were we the gray blob So sightless and yet happy From 'A Wrinkle in Time'? With our sight, do we see art as it is? As it should be seen? Or as an eye candy which has a monetary value with it? Sight has stolen our ears. Our minds. Our souls. Aimlessly we stare at the fuzz before us, and wonder "I wonder what's on tonight?" rather than "I wonder what wonder I might find?" Sight is such a sad state. A convenient state, bu