You,

curled up

In a small room,

Come out.

The more unbearable the pain of your wounds, the more you should come out.

Without needing to expose your scars, in the square,

Sharing hearts and sharing food,

You will find warmth among us.

The more you are consumed by cruel shame, the more you should come out.

Who among us is flawless and without weakness?

Just talk loudly, sing with us,

And you will forget what shame even was.

The more you are shaken by unknown anxieties, the more you should come out.

Observe, inspect, and touch our every glance, word, and action,

And you will realize that fear was never real.

You, who have wronged yourself and others,

You, who shrink in fear that your sins may be exposed,

Come, confess your mistakes, pay the price,

And claim the unchanging freedom.

Come out.

You,

Here,

To the square.

Women want to be her. Men want to be with her.

September 12, 2024

I am one of those women.

I work with her and see this adage unfold on a daily basis. She works where I work, but does not need to work where I work. She wears the latest fashion. She displays creations of gold and platinum to adorn her skin. We think her accent is French, but it could really be Russian, possibly even from the Caucasus.

Her perfume is a signature Chanel #5, discreetly displayed, concentrated only for detection from those permitted within closest proximity. When she passes by either sex, her hand drapes across a shoulder or a wrist so as to emphasize the attention she passively demands when offering her time to even speak with you.

I am sure there is a daily matching set of lingerie, color coordinated, beneath her Italian wools and Persian silks.

In essence, I want to be her.

But the competition for her is as high as the reverse dowry value for her time.

I see both the contenders and pretenders vie for her attention. All fail, although some do get close. She will not entertain offers that dispel the illusion of an impregnable fortress breached without paying hefty dues for the attempt.

She is not qualified for work in this office. However, she is essential to our financial well-being. She is the office rainmaker. She brings in millions in business, making the partners very happy to continue her employment.

Now, I want to learn her secrets. I want her playbook. I have to have access to her client list.

On September 08, of this year, my wish came true. She did not appear for work that morning. I received her call to locate a file and personally meet with her. She wanted the contents decrypted. I was in charge of the latter, but never the former. Such separations kept unfortunate “conflicts of interests” minimized.

She said please in that strange accent of hers.

I was putty in her hands.

We met during my lunch at the only four star hotel the city had to offer. The front desk said she was staying in room 112. While she might have reserved that room for rendezvous, it was beneath her station to actually occupy a room that was close to the ground.

So, I knocked.

No answer.

I used the back on my knuckle to push the door open.

I was unlocked and the latch was not set. She must have wanted me to enter.

I wish I hadn’t.

She was on the couch, sporting a black eye and a few other bruises. He was naked on the bed. She asked me not to touch anything, say anything, or remember anything.

This was an opportunity if I ever saw it.

By sundown, she lay on the same bed as he. The police said it must have been a suicide by poison once the lovers realized they could not be apart.

I don’t believe that story either.

However, I had her file and the location of everything else.

I tendered my resignation at the office one week later. My story was that my mother took ill and I had to tend to her needs. By the end of the month, I was gone.

By the onset of the next month, I got my wish.

I was the new her. I was the woman women wanted to be. I was the woman men wanted to be with.

The only disadvantage was that my accent was American Southern. Still alluring to those who find such belles alluring.

The best advantage was that I was the same size as her.

And yes, I do wear the garter belts under my Italian wools and Persian silks.

she kissed me

& I could feel the grace

of the moon magic

fill my soul

taste the star dust

in the air

rediscover the light

shining from within

she kissed me

& suddenly

the man child falls

to his knees

& a man rises

as their hands touch

she kissed me

& all my tomorrows

finally have a dawn

& my nights

now have dreams

born of a forever

touched by her soul

Barely made it through

September, Autumn is

playing sad death songs.

Staring at my Thomas

Kincaid calendar, red

marker poised above.

I'm longing to scratch

angry lines across the

weekdays, tear out four

weekends, removing it

from my teary blurred

vision, pretend nothing

black ever touched us.

Weary from tampering

down painful screams

fighting to come out, I

hurtfully bury deeper.

Years running together

until I'm wearing stress

rough, tattered, sickly.

Time's a cruel, cryptic

companion, stretching

hours, dragging seconds,

always he's demanding

attention from a broken

person, grieving cannot

interfere nor read hands

moving slowly around a

ticking clock, heavily it

sits upon my chest, I've

somehow forgotten how

I'm supposed to breathe.

My mouth gapes open

from disbelief but nothing

comes out other than a

silence that's deafening.

October, halfway finished,

my mind cannot process

this winter, cold, gloomy

suffocating already, I've

barely made it through

September, in the distant

I can hear the death songs.

The problem with being curious is contentment is the thing you never seem to discover.

The problem with choosing what to do with your life is that you have to choose many more things you will not do.

All those doors, softly shut. All those days, creeping away from a hundred things to fog up the glass on lives behind closed doors. Watching moments you don't have. Voyeur on might-have-been. And then the walk of shame back, and back, and back to your own door, left ajar for you. The sounds and scents like breadcrumbs leading you home.

Sometimes someone fogs up the glass on your door.

"You have your hands full!"

"I could never do what you do."

"I only have this much to handle and I'm struggling, I can't imagine what it must be like for you."

You sigh, you count up the blessings again, one...two...three...four...

And once they've piled up into a mountain at your feet, you sneak away to peer in at the other lives that are full, to imagine what it must be like.

I can’t stop opening the door to you, to us, behind the door is the grave you buried our friendship in, along with the time capsule filled with once treasured memories. I dig it up all the time, inwardly I cry over what used to be, the fragments of our once beautiful story. I miss you, I can’t seem to stop, I know there’s a small part of me that always will. It’s not like before, it doesn’t ache like it used to, but there’s a reason I still think of you.

I hate you! Why did you have to come back?! I was doing so well forgetting about you yet one text was all it took to send me spiralling again, why do you still even have my number? Please tell me you’ve deleted it, I just wanna move on. But I don’t, not really, I don’t wanna forget you I mean what happens after that? But I do, I wish I could forget we ever met, burn down the door, the memories, everything! I wish I could lock the door and forget where I put the key. I wish we could simply be acquaintances and just catch up every so often without it blindsiding me. I wish 2011 was the last time I heard from you, but it’s been 8 years of you coming back, 8 years of me letting you.

I wish we’d carried on growing up together like we planned, being roommates, each other’s bridesmaids, when I saw you got married a couple years ago it reminded me of how you lied. I love you, you know I do, that’s why you pick me up at whim like you do isn’t it? You know I’ll come back,.. I don’t wanna come back not anymore. I wish we could just have one last conversation, one last hug, one last fight, one last laugh, then shake hands, light a match and finally burn everything down together, finally agreeing to never look back.

I can't go back. I can't make different choices or speak to my younger self or use any of the methods of time travel dreamed up by so many who want to reach behind. This path, these choices, this present and the anticipated version of the future that I took--I can't change how it began. It feels like I should be able to, it was my path after all. I forged it myself, I took the trouble of walking through time, moment by moment, making decisions. You would think that would entitle some ownership, and you would think that ownership would come with editing rights. But no. It doesn't. There is only the choice now. And there is only the hope of a future that won't be so full of looking backwards to where it began.

As I sit at my desk looking at this blank piece of paper, I am trying to figure out what to say to you. Your life wasn’t easy and you were dealt some bad hands early on but you took each obstacle and turned it into something positive or made it a lesson learned. You were able to take all of the bad stuff and morph it into something meaningful. It took you a few years but you were able to move yourself forward. You were able to take the hurt and anger and transform it into a reawakening. Your life had a lot of ups and downs, moments when you weren't sure if you could survive. But you did!

When I look back at all the things you were able to accomplish, I'm in awe at your vigor to survive. Even from the beginning you were determined to not let the bad things take over your life. Those moments you cried in the shower so your child couldn’t hear or the sacrifices you made to make sure food was on the table and clothes were bought. You proved your doubters wrong when you walked across that college graduation stage with your associates degree in hand while working a 40 hour a week job and taking care of a toddler. Yes, you did have help but being able to do all those things at once was a miracle in itself. And you were the kind of person that no one could say gave up.

Most normal people would have given up halfway through but you took each obstacle and transformed it into something astonishing. You went from just surviving to learning how to live. You realized that you had a right to love, to have fun, and to be happy in your own skin. It took many years but you did it. And you should be proud of the person you became. But the most important thing you were able to do was show your child and all your nieces and nephews that with effort and hard work you can do and be anyone you wanted.  So in conclusion I just wanted to say how proud I am of you on how you never gave up. I hope you continue to strive for only the best in your life.

Sincerely,

Your Future Self

I've been sticking my neck out for these people for a while, and now they string me up here like a ghost between the register and this buck-toothed kalimba, no offense. Not anymore. Today is the the day. I am one unlocked storefront door from going home with a rock god and shaking stadiums from here to the mother lovin' Rose Bowl. I can feel it. It's Woodstock II, baby! Can you imagine who is going to be in here? Big names, I tell you, big names. Don't fret, xylophone, you'll get your day in the sun. But today is my day. Do it, Billy. Turn on that neon NEPO sign and let's make this happen.

Yes! Here they come. Look there, its skeletal superstar of a million scarves and his crew, that video Billy always puts on the monitor with the elevator and the woman with curves like a Stratocaster. Oh, behind them, check it out. The masters of puppets; I mean, I think, what's with the hair? Hot damn, I see dookie punk and claymation sledghammer guy with his mechanic friends from the old testament. There's that band named after the main guy...not the jovial one, the, uh, Hindu-sounding one by way of Mexico. Oye cómo va, sousaphone; shit just got real!

Where's the guns slash roses dude and the man in black? They get picked up in Reno? No matter. It's a cornucopia . I am so amped. No need to be picky here. Just gleam. Let the light bounce off me. Cross that bridge. That's it. You are all noticing me now, aren't you? I can sustain this all day, people. Flying V, stop poking me in the nut. I'm tellin' you, I'm strapped. I WILL bust a capo in yo' ass if you don't quit it.

Oh no. Oh shit. Look who's trying to slide over from the cheap seats. It can't be. It's that flat broke, mid-life crisis divorcé who only comes up here when he sees his kids once a month and never buys anything. You know, that guy Billy calls Paul. What the hell kind of an arena marquis name is Paul? What, did he pedal all the way up here on an old tricycle from the Wawa in Pennsylvania? Sharp as a ball-peen hammer, that one. Stop Paul. Don't come any closer. Stand there and riff a while with your buddy. Let these heroes through while you delve into a little point and counterpoint about Arbor Day and boysenberry jam. Nothing to see here. Oh, I don't like this one lick. He's coming over. No whammies. No whammies. No whammies. Come on! More edge, less Paul. It's like some horrible, cognitive dissonance. I am destined to shred, I tell you, I'm going scream into the night to a million wet monkeys and have models drink Champaign off my knob. I cannot go home to get poorly fingered through ten-thousand Dad jokes. He's got a credit card out! Why is oboe laughing?!

It's inspiring to reflect on how far I've come in my journey. A few years ago, I found myself ensnared in a web of habits that were dragging down my well-being: pornography consumption, frequent masturbation, and smoking. These behaviors felt like towering barriers, monopolizing my thoughts, sapping my energy, and leaving me in a constant state of guilt and disconnection.

Recognizing that these habits would spoil my life I confided in a friend and joined recovery groups. Others' stories fueled my determination. Over time, healthier habits replaced the old, with mindfulness easing cravings. Breaking free seemed distant, but each small victory weakened their grip.

Challenges emerged, akin to learning math, but setbacks meant progress. Slowly, cravings faded, and healthier choices solidified into lasting habits, reshaping life.

Fast-forward to the present, and I'm confronted with a fresh challenge: making and saving money. This endeavour parallels the struggle of conquering perplexing academic subjects, necessitating strategic planning and unwavering commitment.

With the same tenacity that empowered me to overcome my former habits, I've delved into learning about budgeting, investing, and uncovering avenues for bolstering my income. Much like tackling a complex math equation, understanding the intricacies of financial stability demands patience and a hunger for knowledge.

Additionally, my daily practices underwent a transformation: incorporating fasting, meditation, physical activity, and reading. These rituals promote equilibrium and lucidity, fostering not only physical fitness and emotional health but also intellectual advancement.

Succeeding encompasses more than just giving up negative behaviors; it stands as evidence of one's internal resilience. Every victory emits optimism, extending beyond the initial challenges. Recognizing advancement and fostering personal growth portrays a lively and satisfying tomorrow.

Finally I believe that life is nothing without struggles and problems, this is what makes life amazing. cheers to the struggles of life and overcoming the challenges that life throws at us.