Blueprints

"Oops"

God; up there in the sky.(I think)
I know he's a busy man and all.
and I ain't got nothing on god.
it's just, why did he have to have wet hands while he was drawing me.
while I was just still a concept.

He was eating a burrito.
A big open-ended one,
the kind that drip out the bottom.

Well some of that dripped onto my blueprints.

Some sour cream (Godly sour cream) plopped right onto my legs
and smeared them up to my knees and called me nonathletic.

I was supposed to be a football star, you know.

My elbows got drowned into my shoulders,
ruining my to-be quarterback throwing arm
and everyone knows when your shoulder is as uncoordinated as your elbow.
well....
everyone knows...

God tried to lick up the lettuce and beans that fell onto my face.
now hair grows on my chin and my eyes are as beautiful as the inside of my ears.
I get chancres on my face instead of inside my mouth.
and their full of puss. And they're ugly. And they multiply if you touch them.
because there was a little mold on my blueprints
God left it out, unrefrigerated.

I was going to be a model, you know.

my tongue bled down into my stomach,
now i can't give speeches without getting butterflies.

I was supposed to be a senator, you know.

Some got in my eyes,
I need glasses first of all, not to mention the clouded judgement.

I was supposed to be Supreme Justice, you know.

Where my brain was
smudged in red greasy taco sauce
smudged down, down into my heart.
I guess that's why I've always thought with my heart and not my brain.
a little got into my hands too.
I think with my hands and wrists and heart.
Words flow from my heart
and out into my finger tips where they linger.
and sometimes disappear.

Fingers don't have a memory, you know.

My heart still thinks he is a brain.

Silly heart.

Silly God.