Butcher's Beauty

Yellow jealous. The kind with sick.
She'll be the bigger person and move on. But like a female comic book heroine she'll harbor an inclusion of angst. Dwelling beneath the layers of her core. Her wit comes standard and fast just like the face she unknowingly makes as a reflex when somebody says something. Her intelligence could never mask her facial expressions.

She was aloof to some and strong and silent to others. She liked to take it all in. The atmosphere, the smells and vibrations of others. She felt them. She hide herself away a lot of for that reason. A word never had to be spoken when she entered a room, she could look into the eyes of others and know their souls. Even if she were blind she felt what she could not see. It was no mediocre talent. To feel an attraction, or affliction. To read someone without an audible decree, people's vibrations spoke miles to their stories. As if the press had printed off a breaking news story to every person she encountered she read them. Words plagued by actions people she encountered lined up to live their words out loud. And she listened. Carefully. Never casual.

Like a secret agent she knew who she could and could not trust. Her downfall, a fat ass and a nice romp. Hesitation laid there. Between the sheets of lovers intertwined like candy on a string, she fell victim to her own erection. She did wholeheartedly want to believe in the good. And a great set of peepers and a smile caused whirlwind in her soul like a tsunami beating against the banks.

But our hero longed to get better. Her essence captivated by thought of being Medusa to her dreams. Cementing them. You don't tame a wild horse. You can't throw a lasso around the Sun. Her dreams marveled low tides under full moons in countries no one really knows. Hiking for days or weeks or months and not being eaten by bears. Her soul was a mind of its own.

She was logic and imagination.