"I HATE YOU!"
"YOU'RE BEING A BIG FAT JERK!"
"I HATE YOU AS MUCH AS A WATERFALL!"
normally I'd tell the person to fuck off
but when it's my
nine year old
Little Blonde Talking Monkey
weighing all of 54 pounds
screaming it at me
through a face crammed with braces
and wearing smudged glasses
it's all I can do
to just walk away
and defuse the situation
she's not afraid of me
and I don't want her to be
because she's afraid
of her biological dad
and I'm sure one day
when she's taller
she'll tell the neglectful selfish
prick where to go
but in the meantime
she takes her antidepressant
every night after dinner
but everyday is a crapshoot
and just like any dice game
they odds aren't in anyone's favor
but when things are calm
she sometimes sits with me
and tells me about the boys
she thinks are cute
and I point out everyone on the TV
who is Jewish
and she asks if we can ride horses
when we visit Lake Tahoe in July
and I ask her questions about
the rambling stories she
scratches out in her notebooks
and she tells me how she feels lonesome
because none of the kids at recess
want to play imaginary games
with her
and I try to reassure her that
I didn't have too many friends either
and that being different is sometimes
lonesome but that's not bad
and next school year
there'll be new kids
and she'll make new friends
she sobs a little
and I rock her a little
we talk about her new story
she wants to write about five girls
who ride horses
and she's so proud of the title:
"The Horse Riders"
I smile
I hold her
and kiss her forehead
I pray someday
she'll find her place
in this world
an oasis of glorious music
and laughter
and love
where she'll know
how magical she is
just like her Pop-o
always told her.