Strip me of my thumbrings

These past few days have made my heart beat to a thousand different melodies. Phone call from my dad and I laughed while he told me about my future nights of sleeping in teepees with alcoholic strangers. Hiking for miles every morning and then maybe after 45 days of un-needed therapy and incurable homesickness, kacky shorts and rehab, sleeping bags and diagnosis, maybe then he will finally look at me like we have the same color eyes again. Maybe then he will remmember all those nights I sacrificed to hold him. Remmember how I gave up on my Neverland so I could dry his tears when all those pretty blonde bimbos broke his heart. When sweet sins came back to haunt him. I'm not bitter.

I am not broken.

And yes when I hung up the phone I fell to my knees in the Idaho sunshine. Charcoal eyeliner making art on my soggy cheeks. Head in my hands and praying to whoever could hear those lovely whispers coming out of my chapped lips. Where do I go from here. Where do I go. But even though I'm on my knees I know soon I'll be standing tall again. In my tan leather boots and blue floral dress. Smelling like vintage perfumes and singing Fleetwood Mac and knowing that this is a miracle in disguise. This is a canvas I will fill with beauty. Show the world what I created out of all those shattered peices of stained glass I found on the floor while I was on my knees.

Flying home on Tuesday and as much as I want to see their smiles again I know nothing will hurt as much as saying goodbye for the second time. Knowing the pain that has plagued me these three weeks at the end of the day. Coldplay CD in my walkman but the batteries are dead and the only songs filling my head are the ones that remind me of home. A few days and I'll be back. Looking at all I have to fly away from. Feeling that puppys wet nose again. Riding shotgun of that shitty car. Sliding on the kitchen floor in mismatched socks. Waffle House at three in the morning, eating grits and falling in love with our chinese waitress.

Some of the most amazing people in the world work at Waffle House at 3 in the morning.

Who else could put up with red eyed teenagers, booze scented party girls, and pot bellied truck drivers for minimum wage? Flipping flap jacks with a smile. Those are the tiny things that give me faith. I'm not ready to give up on this mixed up human race. Not by a long shot.

So I'll repack my bags and take off all this jewelry. They can strip me of my thumbrings, bracelts, peace sign necklaces and Buddah earrings but this girl isn't going anywhere.