Though They’ll Never Burn
I hate my upstairs neighbor.
She lives in the smaller apartment above mine and again, I hate her. She's heavy-footed and granted two left feet but is committed to virtual Salsa twice-weekly. She sings a blatant two octaves higher than the artist debuted and the walls here are so thin. Though she could penetrate through concrete if she tried.
She's too busy-minded to use her own stove so, like a good neighbor, I let her use mine. She's around more than I appreciate. She talked me into it and now she always uses my stove, my warmth, my center like it's hers. No matter how many deep breaths I blow her way, she's oblivious to the cues to leave. Annoyed, I watch her consistently check, check, check again, and check once more on the goods she bakes and she still takes them out too early for the fear that they'll burn. But They'll never burn because she's too scared to turn the oven up high.
At a quick glance, She has wild hair as if she was the daughter of static, an oily nose and painfully rosy cheeks. Her clothes weigh her down, and the smoke of her cigarettes attaches to her like a tail. She talks too fast and jumbles her words and dabs her nose and has a small stutter and seems to always be slightly out of breath as if she was gym fresh. Although she’d never been seen in a gym out of fear of who was watching her doing her last set or tripping, or sweating too much, or whatever she said.
She's lived in this building as long as I have and we've become unfortunately, uncomfortably,unpleasantly close. She calls my job sequentially and reminds me not to mess up in my meetings. She’s pushy at social events and shoots daggers at me when I laugh too loudly. My actual friends warn me that she's a bully to me and I have to let her go but for some reason, I can't. It's a secret that we grew up together and she knows me well. We have a tough relationship to explain. She's here to protect me but isn't sure how. So she does what she knows.
I try my best to keep her at home but she claims she's here for good reasons that I don't quite understand. I look forward to the day she moves and my stove is mine again. But for now, I share my space with my loving abuser, my shaky bodyguard, my anxiety.
It Will Never Burn
I hate my upstairs neighbor.
She lives in the smaller apartment above mine and again, I hate her. She's heavy-footed and granted two left feet but is committed to virtual Salsa twice-weekly. She sings a blatant two octaves higher than the artist debuted and the walls here are so thin. Though she could penetrate through concrete if she tried.
She's too busy-minded to use her own stove so, like a good neighbor, I let her use mine. She's around more than I appreciate. She talked me into it and now she always uses my stove, my warmth, my center like it's hers. No matter how many deep breaths I blow her way, she's oblivious to the cues to leave. Annoyed, I watch her consistently check, check, check again, and check once more on the goods she bakes and she still takes them out too early for the fear that they'll burn. But They'll never burn because she's too scared to turn the oven up high.
At a quick glance, She has wild hair as if she was the daughter of static, an oily nose and painfully rosy cheeks. Her clothes weigh her down, and the smoke of her cigarettes attaches to her like a tail. She talks too fast and jumbles her words and dabs her nose and has a small stutter and seems to always be slightly out of breath as if she was gym fresh. Although she’d never been seen in a gym out of fear of who was watching her doing her last set or tripping, or sweating too much, or whatever she said.
She's lived in this building as long as I have and we've become unfortunately, uncomfortably,unpleasantly close. She calls my job sequentially and reminds me not to mess up in my meetings. She’s pushy at social events and shoots daggers at me when I laugh too loudly. My actual friends warn me that she's a bully to me and I have to let her go but for some reason, I can't. It's a secret that we grew up together and she knows me well. We have a tough relationship to explain. She's here to protect me but isn't sure how. So she does what she knows.
I try my best to keep her at home but she claims she's here for good reasons that I don't quite understand. I look forward to the day she moves and my stove is mine again. But for now, I share my space with my loving abuser, my shaky bodyguard, my anxiety.