Electricity

My mother plugged me into the TV as a baby. As a child I powered myself up with fruit roll-ups and beer. During my teenage years, I constantly shocked myself at night, when everyone had turned their bodies off. At school teachers didn't understand my electrical nature, how my handwriting carried currents of unstable knowledge, how my pens' static charge made girls' hair stand up. When I entered the workforce, I blew up the reports with exciting phrases, galvanized the readers back to life with my zappy phrases. Now I listen to all the people typing on computers, writing their secrets in e-mails, publicizing their lives on blogs, and I feel I can electrocute their longings, be the lightning bolt that unwraps their unconscious, so their mummy can walk around in photons, signaling hope with bandages of light.