Breathe
Breathe in ! Breathe out! Close your eyes.
Imagine the life you are obsessed with, is what you have. The elegant parties, Charities, experiments with wine as a connoisseur, oiled body shirtless in a private beach writing or reading a book or may be featuring in a block buster movie.
Imagine you are talking to a bastion of people telling them how perfect your life is and how they should live theirs.
Breathe in ! Breathe out ! Open your eyes. What do you see now? How far off you are. How fast you want to get to the lengths and breaths of your obsessions. Time seems not to be ticking even though years are passing by.
I feel the same way too. I am trying so hard to breathe. I am taking in more air than I can carry. The excess carbon dioxide due to my recently chain sawed Pear tree does not help. The air is chocking me.
I am holding on to the last straw but even the softness of the straw is piercing my once coarse skin. It’s because I have been moisturizing my hand frequently preparing for the life in my imagination.
For the very first time in my life last week, I saw a penguin clothed in white and black apparel.Not a sight you expect to see in Nigeria. I saw that very same enigma in my dream the day before.
I am either mad or getting closer. whatever the case may be,each step definitely comes with shortness of breath!
Unrequited
You first invaded my thoughts almost 30 years ago.
We locked eyes across the room.
An electricity pulsed through me,
Instant connection without having said a word to each other.
I thought you felt it, too, during our flirtatious dance.
There were a couple mind-blowing encounters.
Kisses and caresses charged with chemistry and desire.
Then, out of the blue, you told me there was someone else.
That we didn't have a relationship,
It was only a few dates.
At least, that's what it meant to you.
I tried my hardest to move on.
But I was never able to feel the attraction I had to you.
Years later, you still creep into my thoughts.
Though to you, if anything, I'm a distant memory,
If you even remember me at all.
This beautiful destruction
He saw her, what a pity that was.
The pale man stared at her, the yellow-haired girl who stood at 5'4 with dry lips that wore a pathetic excuse for a smile, waiting for her overpriced coffee. She was tired and small, and his sad, little eyes never left her frame. He wanted to smell her, hold her, need her.
And God, did he need her.
He steps followed her to her apartment complex, a cheap place, nothing special. The man didn't care, he just wanted to consume. So he did.
It took a hot minute but he knew everything there was to know about her. Simple things like where she worked, who her boyfriend was, her name. You know, all the boring stuff. He only cared about the seven things he learned about her in those small three months.
1. She went to that dreadfully expensive coffee shop every Tuesday on her break.
2. She always wore something blue in every outfit, always.
3. She annotated her poetry books. How literary.
4. She likes to dance to the Guardian of The Galaxy soundtrack at night.
5. She goes to improv classes.
6. Shes a master at cooking Meat Loaf.
7. She loves the Beatles.
She was perfect.
Like I said he didn't care for her name.
He made himself perfect for her. He memorized all the lyrics to every single Beatles song know to man, he watched Guardian of The Galaxy twenty-two times, he learned to eat Meat Loaf without throwing it up. (He didn't care for that either.)
He was perfect, all he needed was an opening. It didn't come, not one that fit his requirements anyway. So the pathetic eyed, pale man got a job at God foresaken coffee shop his little birdy was so fond of.
They offically met on a grey Tuesday. Her soiled eyes glanced into his, she asked for a Vanilla Ice Latte. She felt tired like always, he felt fate was finally working in his favoring. Like all was meant to be.
They made small talk about the Guardian of the Galaxy. She named Drax as her favorite character, he pretended that he didn't know that already. They laughed and smiled, as if there was a spark. He wrote his number down on her cup.
She never called.
What a pity that was.
The man wondered what it was all for. They were meant to be and she threw it all away. He was meant to consume her.
He destroyed her instead.
It wasn't hard, his birdy wasn't a fighter.
He whispered all his promises to her.
She fell into nothing.
Red and blue lights came for him. He didn't care, he destroyed himself.
What a pity that was.
What a pity that was.
What a pity that was.
Dollar dollar bill
Dear self,
Why did they trust me?
All of them that voted for me by a landslide, because I was popular? You know it was only by default. Your white skin, blonde hair, blue eyes and "so they say" nice ass was the reason more boys voted for you than girls. Why should a birthright judge an outcome of trust and acceptance?
When you taped the poster on the high school hall wall, "BONNIE FOR G.O. TREASURER" it never occurred to you what winning would mean or what the job description entailed. Neither was on your radar. It was suggested, by a forgettable someone, that you should run for this position, Treasurer, even though you daydreamt your way through all your math classes, thinking only about your latest paramour, an antidote for your latest bruise or verbal assault. As if on auto pilot you said "Sure. Why not." A yes girl unaware of purpose and place.
Your first assignment was right after the football game. Someone, a supervising school official, I suppose, said "follow me," directing you to a small room, the size of a closet, and when we arrived he said, "sit there," as if there was a choice of seats, pointing to a solo wooden chair and standard desk. On the walk down the hall, you didn't question what he was holding in the bag, didn't consider its contents, you just followed as you do. He pushed the bag towards you and said, "Count the bills, put the coins in the rolls inside the desk and keep the door locked. Press the buzzer when you are done and I'll come get you.
"Simple," you thought, until halfway through your fervent counting, a dollar bill fell off the desk onto the cold vinyl floor. The fervent counting stopped and your mind went to a place you had never been with the thought, "Who would know if I slipped that dollar in my pocket?" If boys were an antidote to your painful home life, theft in that moment became your miracle cure. So you thought. You also thought how dumb it was that you were locked alone in a room just asking for sudden temptation. With one quick grab and a flick of your wrist, you became a thief. Momentarily you felt like you had climbed Mt Everest and were knighted king of the world as you slipped that first bill in your jeans pocket, just one, but that would not be the one and only because once a girl without purpose feels their first high, less is not an option.
So what are you sorry for, self? I am sincerely sorry for stealing from my class treasury, and I cannot forgive myself for that, but I am not sorry that I didn't get caught. In your case, the embarrassment and humiliation would not have taught you a good lesson. It would have further eviscerated you, the way the people you were supposed to trust did. You did not go on to become a criminal. You left that behavior locked away in that closet. You also never climbed Mt Everest, continuing to stumble through a life of functional dysfunction. But a true apology cannot be realized with any buts. You know that, so no excuses, I am sorry, and since you never made restitution for a crime committed almost 50 years ago, you are not forgiven.
Mach1e
Desperate to be a parent,
Not happening.
I found a rescue group and fell in love at first sight.
From the moment I welcomed you home, you were my baby.
I loved the distraction of you, taking you for walks.
The pride when you were housebroken.
You were by my side when I got the positive test, the first to know.
You welcomed your human sister, even though I couldn't give you the attention that I once could.
We had almost 16 years together, sharing life's ups and down.
You lost the ability to use your back legs.
You lost interest in your food.
Daddy and I took you to the vet.
It was time to say goodbye.
I held you tight and kept repeating over and over, "I love you."
All too soon you were gone from this life.
Mach1e, my sweet dog,
You may no longer be on this earth,
But you live in my heart and I will always love you.
One True Friend
Dear Me,
I am very sorry I made the decision to ghost my one true friend. It was not her that I wanted to get away from but the toxicity of someone she was closely associated with. Cutting her out of my life was not the right decision in the long run, but I did it for my own sanity during that difficult time. I know that as much as I will always care for her, there would be the shadow of her friendship with that other person who was and still is constantly trying to destroy me and everything that I care about. Due to this closeness, I would always wonder if she was discussing me with her, intentionally or not, providing more ammunition. I will always wish that I had the courage to explain this face to face. Instead, I pushed her away and said hurtful things that I will always regret. However, at the time, I had to put myself first and my need to disassociate from the drama. There is a lot that I wish I had done differently so that the friendship could be salvaged. She did not do anything wrong and was never the one I wanted to hurt. But, as others have suggested, it is time for me to move on, accept what happened, forgive myself, and treat current and future friends differently in the future. It's time to put the friendship in the past and realize that some things cannot be undone.
Love,
Myself
Con(sense)ual
"But, we aren't having sex..."
Aren't we?
The way your eyes caress me, the way your words undress me
The way our hearts make love in plain sight
The way our souls connect in the night
In the day
The way
You hold me with your thoughts
the way your secret longings and fears penetrate my own
Your attention and compassion kiss me so sweetly
and I melt beneath the touch of your listening ears
The delicious foreplay of a "Good morning" text
And the satisfying climax of "I love you. Good night" on my screen
This is sex like I’ve never seen
Finger Food
“That’s your salad fork, Elizabeth,” Alexandra hissed at her sister, who all but dropped the offending utensil and seized the correct one for her mackerel.
Cheeks burning, the younger sibling lowered her eyes to the tastefully charred fish before her and wished to the heavens they could switch places. The little dead thing had no idea how lucky it was.
An inquiry directed her way made her glance up and blush anew. Reginald, her pompous cousin, was looking expectantly at her with eyebrows raised.
Panic surged through her.
“F-forgive me cousin, I fear I was distracted,” she answered, eyes wide and voice shaking. “Pray, please repeat your question.”
A ripple of derision ran through the company like a fast-acting ailment.
The table held a good dozen people each dressed luxuriously in fine gowns or crisp, red uniforms with well-polished boots and brass buckles. Each female was the picture of affluent civility; hair was done up in elegant piles and jewelry glittered on throats and fingers. To them conversation came easily, as apparently did the knowledge of which fork to use for their fish.
In this part of the country etiquette and tradition were put before all else and was of the strictest importance. Anything that strayed even slightly from the preordained path of politeness and purity was considered strange, and asking someone to repeat a well-articulated question was a near insult.
“We were discussing the ball tomorrow week,” Reginald replied stiffly, “and my query was with whom you will be attending.”
Of course, they could be talking of nothing but bane of her existence, the dreaded ball. As if she could forget. It had been the single topic of discussion within her family’s social circle since it had been announced nearly four months ago.
The annual event where an individual’s status and prestige was flaunted openly like a prized animal held a place of utmost terror in her heart. Unlike every other maiden who deemed balls as the very pinnacle of existence, Elizabeth recoiled at the very thought of them. Crowds of any sort - including ones gathered around dinner tables – made her anxious and the added pressure of dancing in the midst of one while expected to look perfect was positively petrifying.
“I, ah, am not engaged of yet,” she answered with as much nonchalance as possible although she did not fail to miss the second round of disapproval that passed through the group at her response. Her heart began to pound with mortification.
Not having a partner so close to the date of the ball was unbecoming at best; Alexandra had been secured for weeks by the captain of the regiment, Sir Harrowsby, an honor that had made her the delight of the house. Indeed, they had been inseparable since and had spent a good portion of the night indulged in gossip. The man seemed unable to pry his eyes from Alexandra’s golden curls and sky blue eyes as if amazed he had snared himself such a fine trophy.
Elizabeth had known she would not be so lucky. With her uncharacteristic black hair, dark eyes, and tendency for solitude she knew her company was not readily sought. Her appearance alone categorized her as strange and her love for literature and isolation further singled her out, which in this particular household was definitely not a good thing.
“Perhaps a book shall be accompanying her instead,” her brother Edward chimed in. The jab earned him a disapproving look from their father, who sat at the head of the table like a great silent owl, but the damage had been done. Suppressed snickers and smirks ricocheted around the party.
“It is no surprise she has not been asked if the candidates are anything like you lot,” Alexandra defended, which quieted most of the chirruping but Elizabeth knew they had a point.
To attend a ball without a partner was highly improper. Only widowers and young people being introduced into society were allowed to go unaccompanied; being alone for the reason that no one made the effort to ask you was downright humiliating. She would not want to bother showing her face at that point, although ignoring the invitation would be seen as a slight to the hosting family and the height of discourtesy.
There was no way out – she was trapped by tradition and bound by protocol.
She somehow made it through the rest of dinner without incident, although it took effort to remain composed. A bubble of fear and anxiety was expanding behind her ribs and growing larger with every disapproving glance cast her way. The bone corset cinched around her waist amplified the sensation until breathing became difficult. Why couldn’t she just do what she wanted and be left alone?
By the time dessert was over (some kind of glazed sponge cake that she barely touched), Elizabeth could barely restrain the shaking in her hands. The conversation around her sounded distorted and she no longer knew nor cared whether or not any of it was directed at her.
Scenarios were flying through her head unbidden, all of which revolved around becoming a prisoner within her own body, forced to become society’s doll. Dress like this, behave like that, dance flawlessly when asked and always look beautiful. Marry well and have copious amounts of children. No free will, always under the watchful eye of someone else to make sure she knew which utensil to use. (In this case, the small dessert fork.)
As soon she felt it was acceptable to leave she excused herself. One moment further spent in this room and she was liable to go mad. Stumbling from the area with the grace of a peasant, she managed to gather her skirts before she tripped and made a further fool of herself. Modeling a black eye would do nothing for her already shredded reputation. With that happy thought, she hurried to her bed chambers. All she wanted around her was four walls full of silence. No more talking, no more being judged.
The labyrinth of corridors and stairways of her family’s estate flew by in a blur as she fled to the familiar wing where her sanctuary was located. Once inside, she only dared let out a sob when the door was securely shut and locked behind her. The servants had lit the candles and prepared the fire in the hearth as usual and she caught sight of her flickering reflection in the dark glass of the windows opposite her.
Fear and distress had transformed her into a different person. A few strands of her black hair had fallen in her face, stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin, and her cheeks and eyes held a hollowness that had nothing to do with being tired. The colorless gown she wore further fed the image of an apparition and the tight binding around her middle served just as well as chains. One thought of the bloody ball and it constricted a little further.
The only silver lining to the cursed evening made it bearable – there would be ample finger food.
