Trying to get Stolen is No Different than Being Kidnapped

I'm pretty sure my pupils get larger when I see something beautiful.
I watch my cat watch me and this happens to him, exaggerated like huge saucers of black, he hacks my account.
I pick him up as he watches me talk to us both in the mirror, and I think this makes him special because not all animals recognize a reflection.

I push the whip, I push the numbers, I push the letters until the words go into the void again.
I push my feet into the boots, the legs into the leggings, the dress into the jacket, the key into the keyhole.
The filter goes into the basket, the granules go into the filter, the wooden stirring stick winds around and momentum keeps it spinning.

I thread my teeth with waxed string and hope it makes them last longer than my skull; I hope they're still in there when I die instead of candy corpses fallen out after a Halloween life party broken and unconditioned and brittle.
Hoaxes are like acting, if I may cause a diversion in a zig zag motion, moving toward the goal but pretending to go sideways.

I've started a list and I don't know where it will lead except for sure it will be upward.
Vertical lines make you taller, but this horizontal move is lacking sufficient drive and purpose.

Sideways. Always. Looking through a periscope from a bad reality t.v. show, realizing that all the characters will end up in rehab or something like a media frenzy in the courtroom.

I publish my free-writing and edit masterpieces in secret.

Waiting for the painful day of inspiration, gilded, gliding, gearing wind mimicking into the black of the dark sky over the ocean on a still night with heat lightening strobing through the firmament.

Cloudless and splayed out on the asphalt posturing like it's effortless, but shot thru with cold.

I am unique in grace as I plod trudgingly onward, hair down like the middle where the magic hits the solar plexus.

Hotly guided adverbial and proverbial in the big leagues.

Stealing and Given.