scribbles

i'm so scared to write about you, because you laugh at me when i try to dress nice. and you eat the last cookies before i remember they're even in the fridge. and you tell me to shut up, because i embarass you in front of your friends.

though i guess i'm scared all the time, anyways. so here it is: i'll let you have the last cookie every single time. i'll leave the best slice for you, but i won't get up from the couch to get you a glass of water.

what your friends think about me won't affect how they think about you. you're a cool girl, and you know that. so i'll be the goofy older sister. and you'll tell me off for being annoying. and your friends will think you're just soooo cool.

but on weekends when we come home late, the car's engine humming steadily and the radio playing lady gaga, i'll let you lay your head on my lap while i lean on the door. i'm scared to say it. i love you. i wish i could say it without you laughing at me.

what makes the world spin?

the boy with the red glasses says it's gravity. gravity pulls the planets together, and makes it rotate and whirl and go all around the sun (which is a star, by the way)

you ask the pink lipped girl in the bathroom, she says its probably god, or something

your neighbor (the widower, not the lesbian) agrees with her. in all my years, he says, the dirt beneath my feet never moved. little lady, god spins this earth like a little toy and we won't ask why.

but you want to ask why. if god spins the earth, why does he do it? why doesnt he just stop, and find another toy? maybe a rocking horse this time.

at home you ask your brothers girlfriend. she laughs and says you shouldn't be thinking about that just yet. would you like me to do your makeup?

she plays with the curls on your head while she colors your lips. maybe this is why the world spins. because on it there are fifteen year old girls in black skirts who like to help little girls like you with red lipstick.