My name isn’t Bill, nor is it Ben. I don’t grow flowers on my head, and underneath all my pottery, I’m just like you and him. I know kids sometimes cry when they see my face, but I’m crying right with them.
I can’t go out at night, but it’s nothing to do with photosynthesis. I just can’t see baseball bats and wrenches all that clear in the dark. I did work at an office, but they said I was better suited at a garden centre. I currently sit at home and watch television most days. Okay, everyday.
I once lost my leg when I fell trying to catch the bus. I also lost half my head when a kid pushed me in the playground back at high school. Despite my fragility, I repair okay, that’s something, isn’t it?
Relationships strangely have never been much of a problem. My weakness creates intrigue, and all that easily shattered pot? It’s something to fix. But it isn’t long before we wake up next to each other, and there she is, looking into my eyes. She opens her mouth and says ‘I can’t read you.’ It ends soon after. When I look at myself in a mirror, I can only agree.
All things considered, life hasn’t been all that bad. I may have no friends, I may have no love, I may have no job, and I may have no bones, but at least I can come alive on Halloween.
It’s the only day that counts.