I said to my friend today – how could I connect with someone, when I need to connect
With myself – healthy drama turning its sitcom reruns in my head.
 

 Like a mixed up Happy Days when Ritchie tells me to find myself, Fonzie’s obviously hitting
On me when I tell him to ‘Sit on it.’
 
 

I feel, there’s no doubt about it, I feel unreal, uneasy, quezy, but then again, we all do that.
When I lean over to drop the videos in the overnight box and a breast falls outta my tank-
Why should I care if anyone saw that, It’s me – did I do that? In reference to Urcle on Family Matters
Oh not again.
 

I can’t face reality – then again I talk about everything that is real to me.
Probably just fleeting infatuations – in knowing I’d never be alone. On average…
The bat phone rings – when Kelly needs to rescue.
 

Yet sometimes; the straight jacket restricts me; it stifles me in its binding leather.
 

I know that by writing this – It loosens the ropes.
And I can’t help the preconceptions that society lays upon me.
I never notice till I feel the non-connecting eyes that can’t even look at me.
 

But really – ‘Here I go with reality again.’
Who am I?
People tell me who they are all the time – And I take them as a muse
Pet them, and wish them good luck.
 

Wish sometimes, I was the girl that never has thoughts.
Then again – I need to connect, right?
I need to pull the foggy stigma from my eyes.
 

I suppose I’m trying to say that even though I fall flat on my insecurities
I rise high in the eyes of those who behold me.
Cause I’d never sell out and ever disconnect again.
 

Kelly C. O’Donnell ©2001