First Nature.

I have tweezers in my house they say.  Just adding that last bit of personal responsibility to ease my discomfort.  Your home, in reality, is at risk. Daily, we lock our doors to keep people out but no one ever thinks about what good we could let in every day.  I thought of this carrying them one day.  Foolish as it may seem, I’m a woman of only twenty living in a big city and while the good could come inside the bad could too.  That hardly bothers me and I take that risk every day that I wake with the rising fog from the dingy underworld that supports my spoiled lifestyle.   I wish every day for that good to come and when I removed my deadbolt from my door now seven months ago I wonder if that my beckon will ever draw the hopeful good that I yearn for.  I wake to drone of city traffic and sleep to the coughing and mourning of our common people all too unlucky to box themselves in from the elements.  And with each day my door way un-breeched by a stranger my fridge calls to me in the worst way.  With an out of town number.  I hate this. Work never wants me to take out town calls and I know my bill is astronomical in comparison to the few months before he got my number.  But every day at the stroke of two as I begin my first descent in to my future fantasies daydreaming my post lunch break work stretch my phone rings.  I only answer half the time and when I do conversations consist of menial pondering and completely unoriginal ideas he wants to run by me.  Some part of me figures he just wants to see how much I’ll put up with.  I won’t come home tonight.  He thinks he’s got me but I’ll go to many lengths to distance myself.  As a result of this action my friend offers me their couch, comforting me with amenities like tweezers and roast beef.  A couch?  How shallow do I look?  A young beautiful woman like me can have more to them than interests in couches or tables.  I know I’ll have to face him sooner or later.  The boulevard I walk home on is lined with underside of my culture that I ignore while I rehearse what I’m going to say.  You think I don’t know their struggle? Offering your hands out like I don’t know society chooses to forget what it doesn’t want.  We think that people in mass quantities differ than people on a personal level.  A person is good and a mob is evil.  I would prefer a mob.   Impersonal and flightless. Fear and hatred.  Stupidity and filth.  We toil day in and day out to stave away the dirt of the world and when I finally open up to invite it in nothing comes in.  I stare deep in the vagabond’s begging eyes.  He knows what he’s doing.  The world is indifferent to you, man in torn clothes.  We’re not just walking past your pleading hands, we’re walking past our grime.  You’re just like me.  You just refuse hide it.  Opportunity awaits you six stories up.  I leave for I can no longer stand to be here, staring at myself.  Oh, how I long to be an appliance, to see wonder in the simplest things, to live at home, to never want more than I need.  But I’m stuck here in my selfish carapace. My groceries must go somewhere and so must I.