cream corn

dear somebody called me a whore in my dream diary,

i got upset. i have not a clue why that would upset me. i really don't. you can call me anything- in my dream or when i am awake- and it really doesn't make me feel one way or the other. it concerns me more that it bothered me in my dream- cuz it wouldn't bother me when i was awake- so i think it must mean something more. sticks and stones do break bones and put huge dents in things that are metal- they'll bruise your skin and make you bleed and you can prop your door open with the big ones. words are different- they are soft and with them you build stories. you link them with others and set them up and watch them start their worries. you stack them up and slide them out and if you are a good farmer- you can make other words pop up like plants in the dust- and oops you grew a field of leafy literature. don't try to hurt me with words- grab a stick- words are my friends. but remember- i carry a can of corn in my purse.