She’s All That

"I'm supposed to be the man," the narrow minded thought can't help but emerge. I mean - I did say that, once or twice? As a joke. Regardless, the thought persists. The smile on my face grows. It's so funny.

I snap my sports bra to remind myself it's there and real. So, how did I fail?

Outdone?

Outdone?

OUTDONE?

OUTDONE WITH NO QUESTION!?

Oh, how refreshing. The reality settling in tethers me to reality, as a gentle warm breeze says hi to my face. I smile hi right back at it, begrudgingly. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Just on the resume, man.

All to be outdone. Flawless social skills, pleasantries, perfect resume appearance, outdone for a less qualified, 'better team fit'.

The humor in the fact I over-qualified myself for 'entry-level' but 'under-qualified' without 'entry-level', supposedly...? Appears to me as plainly as the stench of the mass amount of rotting apples around me hits my nostrils. Yup. I always forget how the trees grossly overproduce, the excess fruits dying off en masse, those highest apples spoiled, naturally, as a part of their individual life cycle. The proof is in the proverbial pudding, as well as the sad attempt my feet have of avoiding street-style applesauce.

"Maybe life is more like a cartoon,"

If I'm ugly or something... I guess, would someone tell me?

"Would I be an ugly cartoon? Oh, some sort of offensive caricature, of sorts?"

As I near the end of the mystical, mythical orchard, I see the white and blue top of the bus stop sign in the distance.

"And this morning, in the mirror, I saw an offensive stereotypical caricature staring back at me," Oh, what an insidious mind, inside what is apparently sometimes a lady killer body. As I stroll past the equally rotting field, placed perfectly along a growing zone and city limit, isn't that an offensive stereotypical caricature? The forgotten corn field parallels an equally forgotten soybean field.

"All that food, gone to waste - I would've eaten it if I had known I was allowed to," The sweet release of an innocent thought reminds me to again, ground myself in my own reality.

Ahh... unemployment. More like, "Isn't this supposed to be funemployment, amirite, ladies!?"

I force my hands into my pockets to feel my empty wallet. Oops. That is not fun or funny.

...But really, to some, it is. As the blue and white top transforms to a full sign, and joins the grey steel pole to the ground, I see him. Oh, joyous day!

It's the homeless man who calls himself God but is the nicest sweetest guy ever - like to the point you kinda... he... excuse me, He. Let's all respect my view of God in this poetic... probably... I mean. If God says He takes many forms - anyways, how lovely the sight of H-him is!

Looking at the flaking, cracking leaves of the decaying yet standing stalks, the deep yellow ochre shades, the black mold shades, the baby yellow hues, the big orange patches scattered throughout... how grounding and mentally stimulating.

"Hey, God!" I call out to Him. [Thou shalt bear no false idols, in sincerity.]

"Ah, my Child!" He calls right back as He rears up from what I had assumed a sitting position, reaching his natural seven foot tall height.

"God, your Earth is surely, naturally, Created - Glorious and beautiful!" I need a really good windup for this one.

"Child of Mine, you are Blessed with the Gift of Plain Sight," Throwing His arms out to welcome me into the final stretches of reaching the city limits bus stop, He booms His support of me.

"Yes; But Father, mine cup runneth dry."

"Surely - You Jest, Child!"

"Father, I solemnly swear this is no jest - I was out-butched in a job interview. I don't even know if you know what that is? But you call me She, I assume you can see how that may not be the easiest thing in a man's world."

"...Surely. You Jest, Child."

"Father, I really need the regular ribbing right now, no jest, I am still unemployed."

"Child."

"Yes, Father?"

"Surely, I Solemnly Swear, Ye Was Out-Butched Two Times Today - In Quick Succession, As Well. Your Father is Your Mother."