Seven Eleven
Oh! yes
to be born
Seven Eleven
like Pop
Fizzie
Sizzling
'n Burstin'
to Heaven
with Music
to Swing to
'n wild Beats
to Sing to,
Oh! Truly
to be like
your Heart
always filled
with such
gratitude,
'n the Can
Do attitude!
to Let loved
ones Go on
'n Experiment
into the Cosmos
'n Back a
Round again!
while Your
Feet 'r Thumpin'
'n Eyes 'r
Jumping to
See what
Life's
Got as It's
New Great
Surprising!
{ ❤️ Happy Birthday Bunny! ❤️ }
Emily Cummings; A Nursery Rhyme
In a world of whimsy, where dreams take flight,
Where stars twinkle softly in the velvet night,
A nursery rhyme weaves its magical tune,
In the land of wonder, beneath the moon.
A little mouse scurries, its tiny paws,
Exploring the meadows, without any pause,
Through fields of green, it dashes and plays,
In this enchanting world, where imagination sways.
A bee hums a melody, buzzing in delight, Collecting nectar, taking joyful flight,
Its wings flutter gently, a delicate song, A harmonious rhythm that lasts all day long.
The moon shines brightly, casting a gentle glow, Casting shadows on the earth below,
A friendly face, beaming in the sky, Guiding us with its light, as the night draws nigh.
A cat with a fiddle, a merry sight to see, Plucking the strings with a joyful glee, Its melody dances, filling the air, Creating a symphony, beyond compare.
A dish and a spoon, a playful pair, Dancing together, with a skip and a flair, They twirl and they spin, in perfect harmony, Their bond unbreakable, for all eternity.
So gather 'round, children, let your spirits soar, In this magical realm, where fantasies roar, Where animals talk and objects come alive, In the land of make-believe, where dreams thrive.
Let your imaginations run wild and free, In this whimsical world, where you can be, Anything you desire, anything you dream, In this enchanting nursery rhyme, let your heart gleam.
Vanilla
At Starbucks I always got the Skinny Vanilla Latte. Let's frame that in one image: me, downtown, in the black pea coat I always wore, usually over sweatpants, but not on this one particular occasion. On this occasion, I wore real pants, maybe even boots. I knew the calorie count of almost every item on the menu at Starbucks, which seems now like some savant thing, for white girls from suburbia. The Skinny Vanilla Latte was 'safe', a drink I could have and think, I'm being good. This is alright.
A homeless man was outside this Starbucks, asking for change. I walked by him, drink in hand, averting my gaze. He yelled after me, "Rich girl! So important, aren't you?"
Smith College is ranked #13 out of 210 National Liberal Arts Colleges. I had gone there because it was the best school I had gotten into; I was leaving a traumatic high school experience behind and was trying to embrace a new, happy future. But happy at Smith College I was not - my principle memories involve hurting myself, and hurting the people who were trying to save me.
The homeless man was yelling at me on a particularly sad day, the day I decided to drop out. I had been walking around downtown while listening to my iPod, making an internal pros and cons list for dropping out. With the homeless man's words - "So important!" - I was ashamed. I was crawling out of my skin already, and his words hit me right where it hurt. I later realized I was throwing away the very opportunity that his homeless man was talking about - going to a prestigious college, existing with all of my needs being met, and my life even exceeding those means.
Vanilla. That's the word I would have used to describe myself, did use to describe myself until very recently. I always got a Venti at Starbucks, a Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte, and I would continue to make that my regular order for many more years. Basic, my life and my disease. Being a depressed girl in a black pea coat, sipping her low-calorie beverage - who did I think I was? Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla.
I dropped out. I bounced around different hospitals, outpatient programs, homes. I hated who I was, who I had become. I didn't know then that other flavors could exist for me, didn't even entertain the notion that I could be Better.
My friend recently described me as being the flavor "French Vanilla." This is new because 1) I actually have friends now, and am less alone, and 2) I had been promoted, perhaps in life, perhaps even just for myself. I met her in California, where I went to start over. I am a new person, free from placing myself in a box, from defining myself based on a low-calorie drink. I hear the homeless man in the back of my head now and think, that's not fair. That's not fair at all.
We really don't know anything about each other, but we do have the power to change our flavor.