metal walls
I think my inner child is afraid of me
and I don't know why
but it's hard for me to find her at all
she knows the terrain
of the lost libraries of my mind
and she can hide well in there
while I can't even seem to find
the way in, half the time
hello?
but all I hear are echos
or sometimes, not even that
my voice is just sucked into the darkness
I think she's built walls and cages
flat grey silver bars and chained locks
to keep me out
or maybe it's the other way around
and I built them in my sleep
to keep her in
hello?
I want to talk to you
I think
I just want you to be happy
but I don't know how to find you
and it feels like
I've lost something
Soda
To the pretty girl in the soda aisle of k-mart,
I hope you know that your skirt is cute and your winged eyeliner is sharp enough to slit throats and when I saw you I fell a little bit in love with the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.
In the moments before I glance away and mumble an apology our eyes locked and it felt a little bit magic though to you I am only a little bit forgettable.
In another life, we sit in the park at midnight and you teach me the constellations-
but in this one, the only stars are the ones scrawled in pen ink at your wrists.
A girl told me once that I didn't love enough, and maybe she's right but you wouldn't know the difference because I didn't say anything.
In another life, I press a daisy chain into your outstretched hands as our paths cross and mumble something about the finer things in life, and you blush and I laugh,
but for now, we glance away,
tucking what could have been into half-empty change purses, among pennies and last week's receipts.
To Tears, With Love
She looked up at me as she cried.
I gave her a hug and wiped her eyes.
I saw a fear in her that couldn’t be explained.
How do I tell her she would never see her father again?
Dear child, why do you cry and weep?
God has come and rocked your father to sleep.
He knew you would come to see him and not realize,
why he’s not talking to you, and he apologizes.
He told me to tell you, he will see you again one day.
Don’t worry about him, in the time that he is away.
He said he will watch over you, and watch you grow.
He said he will be at every graduation and ballerina show.
He told me that you might not see him because he has to hide.
He said name your favorite teddy bear after him and put him on your side.
So whenever you need to talk to him, or need a fatherly bear hug.
You can hug this bear from your father sent with his love
sun and moon
how could i not look at him
as if he placed the stars in the sky
when like the moon, he brings
the light to my nights
and as if im the sun
he brings me to my knees
at the end of the day and i do
so eagerly because who else could
etch their name on my heart and
in my veins without even
touching my body
beforehand
i call him honey
when he steps into the sun
his skin is golden, and his eyes
are no longer black, instead they’re soft
brown and streams of caramel blend
into them, seamlessly
his words are sweet, as if honey drips off
of his tongue while he speaks
and i can taste it when i kiss him
goodnight
his heart is honest and understanding
when i lay my head on his chest
i hear the tune of the way that it beats
“for you” he says, and i believe him
he is everything i need and more
and for the first time in my life
i believe this is love
hands off
(t.w molestation)
i try to tell my mother,
only when i open my mouth to speak
my voice does not comply
because my brain won’t let her
this is going to break her
i cannot watch her blame herself
or shed the tears that come with
learning that your child's
innocence was stolen from someone
you were supposed to trust,
at such a young age
i cannot explain what he did
to me when no one was around
to a courtroom where
my family will sit and listen, i
am not strong enough and it has
been killing a part of me
this has been my secret for far
too long and with each year that
passes, i get more and more guilty
that there is only this one secret
that i have not told my mother
who knows absolutely everything else
about me
will i ever have the strength?
Lust to Dust
I died on a warm August morning.
Took the coronary people six days to find me keeled over in the backyard, all moldered up and decayed, the crows having pecked out my eyes. Unceremoniously, I was hauled from the premises in a black thing that vaguely resembled a garbage bag, the flies dancing around, desperate to infiltrate. My wife was out of town, in case you were wondering. I’d like to think she would’ve noticed my absence had she been home; but I doubt it.
Honestly, with how the past two years have gone, things would’ve probably played out the same. She’d flit around the house, head in a dream, singing softly to herself, playing games on her phone, or maybe texting him, her brotherly coworker. The whole “he’s like a brother to me” part is her shtick. My opinion holds a bit different.
Brothers don’t typically drape their arms over their sisters’ shoulders like that, or lean that close to whisper into their sisters’ ears. Brothers don’t typically undress their sisters with long, lingering glances. And he does. I’ve seen him.
Oh yeah—and a brother doesn’t typically poison his sister’s husband by slipping arsenic into his morning tea. That was a lovely surprise. The day after Tanya left on business, he showed up on my doorstep, looking like a lost puppy. Said he’d had a fight with his girlfriend and thought maybe I could give him some advice. So, having nothing better to do on my day off, I invited him inside to share my breakfast. That was my first and last mistake.
He must’ve spiked it when I got up to get more napkins. How anticlimactic can you get?
And now I get the pleasure of watching their story continue without me. Yes, watching. I may have died but I didn’t go very far. Reverse the old adage and you have it: “Forgotten, but not gone.” Devoted as my dear spouse was, it took her a whole day to move on. And then she was off to find comfort in the arms of who else—Ted McGhee, her brotherly coworker. The pretense kinda’ dropped after I left the picture. She stopped calling him her brother and started calling him all the things she used to call me.
They were married three weeks later. By then I’d learned a neat trick. If you concentrate hard enough you can move stuff as a ghost. It’s a dimensional thing, popularized by TV and apparently applicable here. So I started following them, knocking stuff off the tables. I’m a pest like that.
Ted always prided himself for his machismo, or whatever you call it. I learned very quickly that it was all a facade. A few moving pieces of furniture captured by our glitchy old security cam and he was out of his mind. Tanya was the one having to comfort him, and I could tell the luster was already fading. The thing about people like Ted: they’re good at pretending, but give them something real, any taste of conflict or fear, and they fall apart. I downed a lamp and he dove for cover behind the couch; first making sure nobody was around to see.
I didn’t consider it revenge so much as entertainment. I was bored and lonely—predisposed to both in life, but they were even less tolerable in death. My mind began playing with the question why. Why was I still here? What had kept me from crossing over? I wasn’t the one in the wrong. And my heart wasn’t really revenge-bent, as one might’ve assumed. If Tanya wanted this guy, who was I to stop her. I knew more about him than she did. And I knew them both enough to know that they deserved each other.
The answer arrived on a warm August morning, almost a year after my passing. Ted wasn’t feeling so hot, so he’d taken off. Tanya was away and he was alone in the house. I overheard him on the phone with someone, and I could hardly process what followed.
“Yeah, she’ll be out of the picture real soon. I just gotta’ work a few things out. The spark’s gone. There’s nothin’ in it for me anymore. Plus Tanya’s old hubby was worth a small fortune. Get her dead and we’ll have enough to spring for a royal-tier wedding. We can retire nice and comfy in the Bahamas, just like you wanted.”
A million thoughts pounded in my skull. Not only was this two-bit hustler looking to kill my wife—well, I guess ex-wife—but he was talking to this ‘other woman’ like they’d been seeing each other for months. I couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been planning this. Probably since the day he and Tanya tied the knot.
By the time Tanya got home, Ted had a nice candle-lit dinner ready and waiting.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, red smile stretching, bouncing on her heel with that adorable enthusiasm I used to love.
I knew then that I couldn’t let this monster kill her. She wasn’t mine anymore. But she didn’t deserve to be his.
So when he offered up her tea, I promptly knocked it over. She let a frightened squeak, and he nearly jumped out of his socks as per usual. Upon recovery, he went to get her a refill. I prepared myself for round two. It was going to be a long night.
Seven refills came and went before Ted got fed up. Angrily, he flipped the table so hard and high that it struck the window. Noticing the gaping hole it left in the glass, an idea crossed his eyes. He grabbed a steak-knife off the floor and lunged at Tanya. I knew then that he was going to stage it and make it look like a breakin.
Tanya was small-framed and fragile. She didn’t stand a chance. And that was what dogged me most about cowards like Ted: they only preyed on the weaker. He would’ve never tried a thing like that with me.
Gathering all my concentration, I sent a vase crashing into the wall. It missed Ted by a hair. I figured if I could incapacitate him, maybe that would give Tanya a chance to run. I hadn’t even bothered to look what vase I’d grabbed. Imagine my surprise when my own cremated ashes puffed everywhere, like a smoke bomb in a riot. They blinded Ted, and he staggered around, refusing to relinquish his grip on the knife. By the time the ashes cleared, Tanya was already out the door and running up the street. Ted made a break after her, but he failed to account for our elevated threshold, and tripped out the front door, landing facedown on the porch. When he rolled over, I saw the knife had stuck in him, and blood climbed thickly from both sides of his mouth. As he died, it was almost as if our perceptions brushed for a moment, him staring directly into my eyes and me staring back ever-so-calmly.
“It was kill or be killed...” he muttered in delirium, in what was the most unconvincing excuse I’d ever heard.
That’s what I call a twofer’ one then, I wanted to retort. But I maintained my class and upheld my silence. No need to lower myself. He already knew that he’d lost.
The life left him, and there I stayed, stranded on the porch against a world that I was no longer any part of. I’d helped save Tanya, but I was still here. Nothing had changed.
And then I saw it, a light in the distance, so radiant it couldn't be natural. I ran toward it the fastest I could manage, and as I collided with it all became new. I saw a great many instances, the proverbial life flashing before my eyes; and it all ended with Tanya hunched over, panting and tearful at the end of our street, and a half-muffled “thank you” stirred off with the wind.
Note: This is strictly fiction as I do not believe in ghosts, nor do I condone fighting with cremated ashes, not even your own. Peace. :3
#fiction, #strictlyfiction, #donttrythisathome
Oh no, no
When I saw you I felt something I never felt
(Not love, I felt weird, very weird)
When you were sweet to me,
(No no this is not another YA romance.)
I felt something so pure. So soothing
(No, I won't romanticize the wind blowing my hair when I see him
My hair’s always a mess and I don't blame the wind for it.)
(No don't leave)
I wouldn't romanticize our some silly moments
You always make me laugh
No, no I am not going to describe you as the world's most handsome person
You're simple yet so soothing. (He's good looking.)
No, I won't sugar coat his talks
Your talks are very simple, funny, sweet, and calming
(No, I don't like him, duh!)
I'm making a list of reasons I shouldn't like you, like Ross
But I wish I could say it worked
(No, it didn't work)
No, I don't have a crush on you
(It's just ahh attraction?)
No, no, I will get over it.
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What is this piece?
Oh, No. No. I am tired to write something better. Tho I am not satisfied with this but something is better than nothing. My eyes are soaked in tiredness, will close the eyelids to enter into another world. Maybe I could write a better piece in that world... Ahhh I am sleepy, and this is a disaster ahhh, but i love disasters *winks*
