Confessions of a Pink Cupcake Eater
I wake up, sometimes, with a start. Not knowing why, really, but always with a dark feeling that things aren't right. It's during those heart-pounding moments that I get the distinct feeling I'm the brunt of some cruel and terrible joke. Everyone knows exactly what the punch line is. And, everyone knows that the punch line is me.
I am keenly aware that this thought- when passing through my brain- serves as a flashing, neon reminder that I am, at times, nothing more than a scared sixteen year old girl who forgot to convince herself that she didn't care.
As I sit here on my bed, legs tucked beneath me, and laptop before me-- I wonder when, exactly, that 16 year girl will retreat to the past-- and stay there forever. And, I wonder why she is so persistent in her longing to be heard.
This all seems so unnecessarily complicated and dramatic to me, but, unfortunately, I am stuck here. Again. Trying to shake the residual effects of a bad dream. Wishing the joke would be over. Wishing I were somewhere else. Wishing I knew all of the answers. And wishing I didn't have so many wishes.
Pink cupcakes. That's what life reminds me of. They're always so inviting. They promise to be good. Delicious, really. But, pink cupcakes are always bitter. Have you noticed that? It must be the red dye #41, or something. But, I always wonder why I thought they would be so tasty.
The problem is that the world keeps offering me pink cupcakes. And I, foolishly and eagerly, keep excepting them. I gobble them up. And then, with pink stained lips, and a bitter mouth, I cry out to my Father and BEG him to show me what went wrong. And, so, ever patient, He shows me a mirror. He points out my pink lips. And reminds me that the pink cupcakes will always stain and always leave me bitter.
But, again, I forgot to remember. And so, with pink lips, and a bitter taste-- I sit here-- lost in myself and my doubts and my sixteen year old insecurities. Wanting to run, wanting to hide, and wanting to know what the joke is.
I ate the pink cupcake. I guess I am the punch line, after all.
posted by Unknown at 1:52 PM
4 Comments:
I am familiar with the pink cupcake and have tasted it on numerous occasions only to find, it too was bitter. Yuk. Let's taste something else, my little chickadee.
Great Blog.. If you do not mind I'll bookmark on this Blog...
this reminds me of something someone else was talking about... choosing life, over death. how we choose death so often
(sorry, incomplete thought...)
Reminds me of the apple...it wasn't as nice and tasty after that first bite. But even though the apple was bitter, there was a lesson to be learned. You aren't the punch line, but the woman to be delighted in - forget the 16-year-old, she wasn't all that wise. You're many cupcakes and apples ahead of her and will just continue to grow into a beautiful and fulfilled woman. Bottoms up, my dear ~
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