Forcefield, Forcefield

Forcefield, Forcefield

“Forcefield, forcefield!” My dad likes to mess with me.

I have quirks, so sue me.

I just don’t care for anyone invading my personal space.

When you get tripped and smacked for the Hell of it, you get a little jumpy.

Paranoia isn’t innate or genetically passed down generation from generation,

It’s formulated over an extended period of time. Sorry.

I don’t like buzzing things. It throws my equilibrium off-kilter.

I don’t like his hairy fingers in my face. I love him to death, but I hate hands in my face.

It makes me shift uncomfortably when people hover around me.

Sit down and move around, just don’t move…..around me in the corner of my eyes.

Paranoia isn’t the prettiest of colors.

I think it’s like…a random arrangement of colors that flickers from the next.

But without ever holding a pattern or rhythm.

(Which explains why I hate watching people who can’t dance, dance.)

Blue, green, orange, purple, yellow, red. Crap that doesn’t mix well.

I don’t like that. I like warm hues that mix well together. Nothing too static-y.

“Babe, you’re gonna have a hard time with me with you bein’ so damn jumpy!”

“Just warn me before you do it! I don’t want to have to swing on you in self-defense.”

She laughs. And it’s perfect. Her laugh, I mean.

But I really hope I don’t have to swing on her ‘cause I’m being tackled from behind.

That would be incredibly awkward and probably—just a little bit, painful. For me, more than anything.

I don’t punch that hard.

I bite my collar when I write and I close my eyes to shut out the distractions.

Or simply walk away.

Poetry is an alone thing for me. Well, unless I’m staring at an inspiration.

But when I’m surrounded by family,

Voices are everywhere.

Don’t be alarmed if I zone out.

Or, y’know, stop whatever it is I’m doing on the spot to write.

I’m not a poet, but I kind of am. I just don’t call myself one.

I think I’m too much of a dork to be one.

What poet you know wears Dallas Cowboys New Era 59Fifty hats (That he doesn't even really like) with bandannas?

So I’ll stick with callin’ myself a writer.

And also, don’t be alarmed if I zone out or snap at you for invading my personal space.

It’s just that my “forcefield” is where I keep all of my ideas.

I don’t need anyone poking a hole in my infrastructure.