changing gypsy woman

I change my clothes.
I change my mood.
I change my lipstick.
I dare...
Change my stars.
Change my skin.
Change my friends.
Change my number.
Shit, I wanna Change my dress size.
I just want CHANGE
A couple dimes.
A couple nickles.
Buy me phat house
With Windows full of life.
Change would be so nice.

I suppose there comes a time in every one's life when everything thing around you just looks like stale bread sitting next to a almost moldy banana on top of a sad white color counter top and something just ignites inside you begging for nice crisp air and an excuse to buy new housewares for a new somewhere. Or perhaps, I am gypsy by unanimous conviction and I my twinkle toes wanna Scooby Doo over there and just about anywhere.

Since I could decorate- nicely align and hang pictures on the wall- I've craved new surroundings by the year, hell by the seasons! I love the feeling of packing and unpacking. I love waking up under new trees but the same stars. Strolling streets, hearing new beats. Feeling the stricken panic of maybe being lost trying to find just where the hell I'm trying to go under the street lights of a new city. Loving the letters and sometimes broken promises over the phone and message boards of "I'll visit soon" and "Can't wait to see you". Growing apart of a new community and feeling like I'm the new toy on this block. With a smile and simple stare, "Hi, I'm MaRia and we're new here"! to the "I'll see you soon, we live near" I love new homes. Rearranging my furniture atop freshly shampooed carpets and smelling new air. Filling cabinets with my matching plates and dining chairs with new mates. New windows disperse sprays of fresh sunlight on my seasoned soul and the way I look in a new mirror's vanity glow is Bliss! 'cuz I've reached my goal. Utter and Spellbound blissfulness seeing myself in a new zip code.

So you see- I'm thinking it's about that time, yes!, time to move again. This time I want some new flair in my gypsy affair. Maybe mountains, maybe a river, or even an ocean- I can't wait to start a moving van "loca" motion. :) Choo! Choo!

If not, at least I got to flirt and imagine my new dare without the stressful care. Someday, someway, somehow I'll move again- and I'll giggle while I read my good ole blog sitting in a new home in the same computer chair.
My title sounds like a new Indian name, huh? LMAO


American or Indian or American Indian?

The opening thought of American Indian everytime I have to check the little box to identify myself on goverment application is "Am I"? Of course, I live in America and "Indian" but what title would I prefer if I could select it myself? Navajo? Hopi? Pueblo? Sioux? Hispanic? Easier titled as American Indian I suppose but I just doesn't feel right assuming a title given to me by the very people who suppressed my identity. Rebeloius and Stubbon; I know and am but the title just seems to fit on me like a tight pair of jeans I have to wear because everything else is dirty- uncomforting and unflattering.