i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

i want a girl who forces me out of my habits

ready when you are

i constructed thoughts of what to write from a slight hangover headache remedied by ibuprofen, coffee, tv, mariquopa.  they tied together like a birthday package that had been unwrapped, large shiny ribbon pulled violently apart, ornate paper torn with surprise and irregularity, gift peered at, then recreated and rebuilt around it again, for transport, for a show of nicety and convenience to the gift giver.  my thoughts sutured without the help of tape, but only a clearly seen and recognized rip, pieced together.

i thought of how the thought could become creative, translate to others, drip onto paper.  how it could be sung in song, hiccuped over beer.  how it could be cooked with potatoes and garlic, how it could be smoked or flushed down the toilet.  but it'll probably just get driven over multiple times, scraped against the worn curb as i parallel park repeatedly, if i could only get it on the first try.

coffee is my tired and expected metaphor, "coffee is my inspiration".  windex is my eyes, clear tape is my curiosity.  a good stapler is my curiosity, a good stapler is my creativity.  new curtains are my future.  slight pains in my foot, my knee, and the side of my left leg are my challenge, my buoyancy.