Little girl, run!
I know your scared and you do not know me. Just for this moment I need you to look at me.
This closest has become the place, of manipulations dwelling space. Yes, they are family but sweetie mom, dad and uncle are not what’s best.
Inside them is something deeply hurt, unable to scar a gaping wound, pulsing from an evil place.
I know it hurts and it’s hard to understand but no one is allowed to hurt you this bad. Little girl listen to me, run!
I hear mom screaming and getting mad she jealous they want you instead. It’s so sick and twisted but facts are facts please look at me honey times running out.
Little girl, little girl they are coming please come with me. I’ll let you in on a secret I am you plus 33, I beat them and won. I now know what to do forget who they should be and run to who is true.
There you go grab my hand. On the count of three. One. Two. Three. Little girl, run!
Pain that heals.
Boundaries let go.
Fantasy deep within my soul.
A need, a want.
Pulsating internally at the touch of your hand.
Blocked by life.
Disruption of fate.
In my mind we continue the play.
Until the tide stops turning,
and the sky turns grey.
Forever I will miss you,
disturbed since that day.
Memories keep me yearning,
longing for your voice.
Your touch, your skin
and so much more.
I need you now like everyday,
one day soon we will be together, finally.
What is wrong?
“Nothing” she said.
The farthest truth she every said.
Lies to comfort the ones she loves.
No doubt, the truth would destroy his soul.
“Goodnight, I love you” instead.
She rolls over and to hear a familiar song.
In her head the record plays,
“Your a pathetic husband and as your wife, I go to bed lonely each night. He doesn’t love you, it’s easy to see. His heart and mind is with her, time to accept defeat.”
Neither tonight or tomorrow will she admit the truth, just to keep him near nothing more than lies and fake truth.
It is time to let go. Take out your pen and paper, it is time to purge your soul.
Built in the holler.
“Mornin’ Y’all” momma says.
Yuns keep it down, pops still in the bed.
Todays gonna be a hot one boys get to cuttin the hill early.... “Yes Ma’am.”
Gravy is done, and here’s the biscuits.
Sissy when y’all get done, load them dishes.
I gotta run, mommas got to get to work early.
While paintin her face, and rolling her hair, momma stops to look in the mirror.
“Lord, I ain’t got a clue how I get today done. I needs some help, if you gotta a lil more strength to give me. While I’m working keep an eye on these young’uns, watch over my old man while he’s digging. Oh yeah how about you take away these dang wrinkles, and look at these grays on my head now I no good and well you had better intentions. Anyway I holler at you later, I thank you father for the life you give me.”
She kisses them babies and says she loves them, then pours herself one last cup of coffee. Belly growling she notices the number of biscuits, pops ain’t ate yet so she just keeps it moving. “Love y’all and see you later.”
Out the holler and up the mountain, she’s sipping coffee and singing. It is what it is, and ain’t what it ain’t, all that matters to her is getting em’ raised, working hard and loving her ol’ man. They might not see it but that’s alright, maybe when she’s dead and gone they’ll understand. She fixes her face one last time, “I swan there’s a new wrinkle.”
Then at work she smiles and greets all the people. On her feet 12 hours a day, making to-do lists all day. One for home the other for here, no place in either for herself.
Appalachian women, born and raised were gifts from God to be unnoticed slaves. Overlooked by the world, stamped by the world as ignorant and dumb. Nobody sees the work she does. Masters diploma, eighty hour weeks, momma, wife and full time volunteer. The tears she cries from the loneliness she feels. She longs more than anything to be seen like them pretty girls on TV, not for the wrinkles but the work she does. The selflessness, strength and compassion she shows.
“Suck it up sweetheart, the day ain’t done bed at midnight then up before the sun.”
She pulls up in the driveway, smiles as the dog rushes out the door. “Lest you get excited to see me get home.” Kids did the chores and in the recliner her old man sits, she leans over to give him a kiss. Eyes fixated on the TV, never noticing the person she is.
“Time to cook supper” she whispers to herself.
What makes me so unlovable?
Unorthodox. The one who gives, never receives.
Shouting loud: Just look at me.
Overshadowed in disbelief.
All I’ve done and all I do.
Ensures me, forever I will have you.
I presumed you’d duplicate.
Yet, more I give and more you take.
Here I am unconcealed, depleted and alone.
Wondering where I went wrong.
Emptiness from handing all I had over to you.
The picture show
Come with me.
The mirror says.
Let’s journey to our far away land.
The village of the “should haves.”
More frightening than anything.
Hurry now, can’t you see.
The show will feature you and me.
Cinematic plots and twists.
Will leave you shattered in past events.
The credits roll.
Written by me:
Produced by sentiment.
Production of “The should have events”
Forever haunting till the end.
I’m crawling now.
Lips chapped, with the weight of the world on my back.
Aimlessly and for so long.
Chasing this place from a distance.
I now can hear it speaking.
Babbling down the stream.
I can’t go on, until I get one more look.
The sight of you gives me strength.
Just one drop is all I need.
“Though I’m not a father, we are forced to make due. I’m sorry you had to help, and glad you called 911. At seven years old son, your more of a man that this mom deserves.”
“I hope you both know I’ve tried my best.” As I look up at my sons. Honor roll students, top notch athletes but most of all wise men since day one.
“I’ll never hit a woman.” “Keep that bottle away from me.” “Me and my brother started a business at 14.” “Here ma’am let me help you.” “Thank you mom for making me the best man I could be.” “I, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic”