To be continued..

In retrospect she was meant to be forgotten. Oversize feet, meaty hips, barely there tits, prickly legs. All the makings of a spec of the past. Lips that are a shade too pale, skin that is salty from the Texas sun. Cellulite on the thighs, ratty hair, wobbly knees a prototype defect. Assembly line trash. Made lovable? No, that would require blessings from the gods. A god, any god. Any idol worth worshiping. Good luck doesn't just land into the lap of a gal like her. Any present is coated in grime. Any well intention is hidden behind bad intentioned human beings. Miracle? What is that? In her world the earth was scattered with bad news. Miscarriages, abortions, relationships gone astray, what is there to live for? Maybe the thought of living has become too abstract. Blink and you might miss the art at hand. She wasn't sheltered, knew the shape of a dick by age 14. No, she wasn't outdated, she was far ahead of her kind. She thought of the bigger picture, the Picasso's at large. Cigarette ashes scattered her dashboard, she gripped the world with her index finger. The chipped polish in all it's glory. She knew she was going somewhere. The road maps burned, the compass shattered. She knew that she could piece back together a journey, one that had yet to be completed. So she sighed and changed the awful radio station, foot on the peddle, eye on the prize. To be continued she wrote...