try again


It's raining.

She's regretting missed chances the way only a Canadian can -
clutching a hot cup soon to have its rim rolled up,

and pining for lost loves the way only a twenty-something can -
watching grey drops roll down glass and writing bad poetry.

Except she is no longer Canadian nor twenty-something




She sips, remembering.


"Most of my poetry is bad",

they said,
to each other,
as if to explain away the kind of person that would do as curious a thing as write down feelings.




Instead they sat a little too close
and said all the things except the one Thing. 




She puts down the cup and dawdles pen on paper.




Someone once told her
"reading and writing so much is a waste of time. it's not natural."




Old-world echoes. 




The same voices that say girls should wear makeup, boys play with trucks and don't cry, and girls don't belong with girls.




Another sip of coffee.




she writes,



the rain washes away the sadness/it's only a crush after all/
and I find strength to break free of old ideas/and try again

No. Crumples it away. 

Bad poetry.

Nursing her coffee, she hears faints lyrics from the speakers in the corner

'Here's your medicine', [the Chinese doctor] said,
'If you not smile at [her], then someone else will.' *




She sips the last lukewarm drops.




loves me, loves me not?




Unfurls the petal - 




Reesayez, s'il vous plait.




lyrics from Ben Folds Five "Hold that thought"
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