I was born into this life time with no money but I swear I must’ve been rich before. Not once or twice rich, but a thousand times rich, like over and over. The piss of it is, I’ve now been reduced to the life of a voyeur. As I peer through the looking glass, I feel my pulse slow down. That familiar calm washes over me. Like when I walk down a super-wide chestnut tree lined street with mansions and manicured shrubbery. I feel perfectly at home. Fancy restaurants don’t scare me. On the contrary! I feel magnanimous. Especially when I get up to go to the bathroom. I glide past onlookers, keeping my eye on the tall windows that overlook the moon lit water, thinking the whole time I’m beautiful and free. Then, when I’m washing my hands with lavender bubbles and dry them on a perfectly folded laundered cloth—I’m a flower and I come out taller and with a sense of purpose. Five star hotels and quiet white sand beaches make me purr like a cat and all I want to do is nuzzle up with someone and think about making love. There, in the riches, the sun is always out even when it’s raining.
My life’s not easy now. I get smacked with guilt because my mind wanders to my past lives with such deep, deep longing. I chastise myself and try to convince myself that I must learn to master the art of compassion for the common man. That in mundane drudgery I’ll find God. But, I don’t understand their humor. And if you can’t laugh then you’re just a sorry shit.