Stepford

by

Candi Timmerman

I've been hiding lately, under trees, in my clothes...I find that the happier I am, the more I question myself. Of late, I find myself doing up my hair up like some bohemian stepford wife and laughing a little too loud for sincerity.

I ponder the recklessness of my past, the lies I've told to quench my thirst for innocence, the abandon I took in my search for information, and the laziness with which I approached my relationships.

I was told once that I seek being a victim. It's a valid statement. As a scientist, I longed for a tangible answer to the quandaries I found myself in and always refused the burden of proof. Word salad spews from me each time I engage in conversation and find my companions lacking. There is a serious absence of dissection and circular conversation in the "real world", and outside of college I am floundering. I must go back. Seek more degrees, find some sort of purpose for a mediocre writing, high-thinking, hyper-thoughtful, novice scientist with no specialty and pseudo-self-confidence. Where do I fit? Am I just shifting blame once more?

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Couger
by: Amanda Marcus
from: Albuquerque, NM, US

To visit all of Candi Timmerman's poems, click HERE

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