It's not a real puppy; I know that. But it's a French Poodle! She is looking right at me, too, and smiling like she has a joke to tell. There are tiny sparkly jewels on her pink collar and a pink bow on the top of her head. I love her!

Mrs. Benyon always gives me the nicest things! She says it's because she never had a little girl and while that is kind of sad, I am glad; then I get the nice things! She says I am "her little girl," because she babysits me while Mom works. She comes to the church to get me from kindergarten every day and then we walk to her house because she doesn't drive.

I love Mrs. Benyon, and not just because she buys me things. Sometimes we walk right past her house and go straight to the park where she pushes me on the swing. I have never been to the park with my mom but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't push me on the swing.

As I twist the white curls on the French Poodle's ears, I try to think of a name for her. Like lightening it comes to me - Marie! It sounds very French and it is also Mrs. Benyon's first name! That is perfect!

I pull the blue skirt on over my dress. The button on the waistband is big so I can thread it through the buttonhole by myself. Then I need to turn the skirt so that Marie, the French Poodle, is right on the front.

I look in the mirror and see Marie looking back at me. This skirt is so pretty! The fabric is sort of stiff, so this will be a good "twirling" skirt, even though I don't have enough room in my bedroom to twirl it now. The blue of the fabric is what I think the ocean must look like. It's not the Navy blue of my Dad's uniform, or the pale blue of the robins' eggs I sometimes find, or the green-blue of my Rosary beads, but the exact color of the glass candy bowl at Grandma's house. Blue.

Time for a fashion show! Even though the top of my plaid dress is showing, I can show off the skirt by using my hands like on television. I practice, running my right hand over the poodle and then turning my hand over like on the commercial when they show how smooth Dove makes your skin. No one will look at my plaid dress top if my hands are doing all that!

To add to the "look," I put on a string of pop beads I made. The top half of me looks like Mrs. Eisenhower; the botton half looks like Annette! But it will do.

I am giggling as I walk downstairs, thinking of how fun this will be! I find my folks in the kitchen where Dad sits at the table. He sees me first and smiles when I twirl. Mom is at the kitchen sink so she hasn't seen me yet so I say, "Mom, look!"

She looks, but before I can twirl, she says, "I told you not to wear that!"

"I am just trying it on to see it twirl. Watch!" I say, but then her wet hands grip my shoulders so I cannot twirl. I see Dad looking down, like he is reading, but there is no paper there.

"Take that off right now! I told you! You cannot wear blue. You have brown eyes! The only brown-eyed girls who wear blue are Italians or sluts."

She's a little rough unbuttoning the skirt so I back away and say I can take it off. Away from the kitchen, away from Mom, I slide the skirt off and take it back upstairs to my room.

I don't get the thing about the color blue. Mom wears blue but then she has blue eyes. I wish I had blue eyes so I could wear blue. I know we are Irish and Mom hates Italians, but this is a French Poodle. I don't know what sluts are.

Such a grotesque emotion. One who has regret, is one who has truly understands their past. Regret can be constructed of love, hatred, anger, and many more emotions that make each of us feel, and act as humans. Regret is not only a curse, but a cure. A cure for weakness in which regret is formed from. Anyone can regret, few can learn from it.

I was born with this

Insight of burdens

A strong back

Carrying your bag of stones

The things that drown you in the water

This gift has been given to me

I am not the gift

A mere helping hand

Just so you can understand

Understand that these stones are meant for the ground and not your soul.

Love is not the feeling you get when you kiss for the first time.

Love is the second chance after coming to end of your gasoline soaked skin

ready with the match in your hand.

Love is the bath that washes it away

that slowly hold you and tell you, you are okay.

Love is the hope that brings lovers to their knees only to rise them up

Life only comes after death but that is love

Love is not a liar

Love will keep its word.

If Love lets the devil brush you with his tail, it is to sharpen your wisdom but

remember love does not lie it will be there, sharing your pain, helping you

along and provding the light in the darkness.

Love is not pain but the endurence through pain.

In our life we come across a trumendance amount of pain.

But like I have said Life does not come without death.

See the devil twists our minds pits us aginest ourselves.

binding us to a wood slab like a midevil torture device but Love, Love is

freedom. Freedom as wide as the sky.

Most importantly Love is forgiveness.

The one true attribut the devil himself lacks.

Forgiveness to say "all is well"

Love is universal 

I wonder if my definition of love is actually love.

With bumps and bruises

I've grow accustomed to the now dull pain of contentment

the conformity of ideas

my changing brain compromising my worth

just to taste the bliss of a lover

the lover with snake fangs

with a stomach for blood

Have I chosen death over life?

Probably.

"I wanna cry with you"

She replies "why?"

"when someone cries they are typically at there most vulnerable.

I wanna cry with you, see you for you and love it."

There's a different side of authenticity when someone is crying.

No bullshit just another human being oh so human.

I guess it does depend on what you're cry about, right.

I'm talking about the cry that comes from deep down.

The wonderful emotional blend of beauty and sadness.

Romanticize Depression