i am here.

[emptys]

i go out, tonite.

i am home, with the smells of christmas baking,
the gingerbreads, the tea cakes ...
russian or mexican ... i dont care

there's nothing for me out there. i play some,
i come home after being called beautiful,
and find something odd on my wrist, something
blinking in my pocket, a yellow kerchief from
referee's at the club. *shrugs*

its not what i want. i know what i want. its not
there anymore. i'm empty.

i am empty.

the cold does not touch me.
it would if i had body, but i don't.

nothing for me.

but i will bake tomorrow, i will make more, to give
to others. not to complete me ANYMORE, but to gift
something which I MAKE, not that i buy. rhugala,
mija, breads, cheeses, more cookies, more sweets,
cheesy potatoes, some odd beans....

cause afterall, its a time to GIVE,
and much as i have nothing,

i have more than many.