Paper Girl

Paper. The howl of the last person to put their pencils in their pencil box. In this truth, I experience. Paper within paper. You could boil it. And boil everything gone. And eat the leftover mashed paper. I have several sparkly pens. They are just so nice. If I could write for a few hours at a time… I would turn off the stove and order take out. Splashing around in the words. Laugh and turn the paper into a crumpled ball. I don’t think anyone really does these things. The weariness, the scribbles. Paper strains all water, if it gets dunked in. I miss my sister. She likes things like magazines, and books. And me. I’m a paper mache girl! Wild, and made of scraps. Looks real, so real. All that paper can be.