I used to long to be grown.

I used to want to wander into the world alone.

But, I finally found the great unknown

The day I turned twelve.

I used to be shy, but then again,

I used to be mean just to fit in.

But, I finally appreciated the skin I was in

The day I turned twelve.

The year, the moment, the day I turned twelve,

My connection with God grew deeply heartfelt.

I longed more than ever to just be myself.

I lunged to go for it instead of regret.

I knew in my soul I would ever be young.

No longer longing to do something wrong.

Enjoying each note of my life like a song.

The day I turned twelve.

Old men with boxes full of pretty princess hand sanitizer, greedy women clutching toilet paper like it's her very breath of life, people hoarding bananas like the monkeys have come to visit...

"Your total is fifty-three dollars and seventy cents?" the cashier asked with her last ounce of draining enthusiasm. "I know! I know! Don't rush me. Just shut up and let me concentrate! Don't you know it's the end of the world here?" the woman yelled, viciously stirring through her purse, "Just shut up and let me find my dang-on money, lady!" The cashier looked up behind the rude woman to see a long line of angry-looking customers clenching on tightly to their packs of toilet paper and bottles of hand sanitizer. "Huh," the woman huffed as she threw a fifty dollar bill onto the counter. "Excuse me, ma'am?" the cashier gaped in shock, "You gave me the wrong amount." "Keep the change, though you don't deserve it," the woman scoffed, walking away. "No, I mean, this isn't enough," the cashier called, "You still owe me three dollars and seventy cents!" "Don't you raise your voice at me! This generation never learned how to respect their elders?" the woman screamed, not even looking back. The cashier stood in total disbelief holding the fifty dollar bill.

"Ma'am, I'm next in line thank you," a man said in an authoritative tone. "I'm sorry. It's just that now my drawer is going to be nearly four dollars short," the cashier pouted. "Heh, not my problem, lady," the man laughed, "Now ring me up, will ya?" Shaking her head, she placed the fifty dollars into her till and began scanning the man's items.

After ten more rude customers, the cashier began to feel woozy. "Manager assistance to register two," she called weakly over the intercom. "Come on now, you don't got no time to be talkin' on no phone," the next customer said, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum. "I'm sorry. I was calling the manager," the cashier breathed, "I don't feel well." "AWWW heckie nawww! Don't tell me you done got that corona," the lady screamed, "Okay, tell you what, don't touch none of my stuff, okay. Just put it in manual." "But, ma'am," the cashier started, attempting to use her nicest voice, "I need to see the barcode so that I can type in the number." "Uh uh. No, you don't. I used to work in retail. It's a button on the register," the lady said nonchalantly. "But I'm supposed to scan each item for inventory purposes, and to make sure I'm charging you the right price," the cashier retorted. "Pfft, girl, please. I know the prices of all this stuff. Don't you got a sales paper up here? You can just go off of that, can't you?" the lady said shaking her head. "Well, ma'am, I'm going to at least need you to remove the items from your cart," the cashier pleaded. "Naww," the lady said in disagreement, "You can see what I got from up there, cain't you?" "I actually can't," the cashier drawled. "Well then you blinder than a mug," the lady clicked and turned, pushing the cart directly through the doors without paying. The sensors went off, but the security guard waved her through with a smile. "Oh, come on! Seriously?" the cashier whispered to herself.

"Ma'am," a voice called from the line, "I'm trying to be nice, but I left my children home alone, my husband is at work, and I'm freaking tired of standing in this long line. Don't you have any help?" "I'm sorry, but everyone called off sick today," the cashier yelled back. "Wow," someone else added, "Can't you call a manager?" "I did, and they haven't got here yet," the cashier puffed. She tried to breathe, but her lungs wouldn't take any air. The dull lighting began to flash all around her. "Well, lady, aren't you going to start ringing?" the next customer shouted. The cashier reached for the bottle of hand sanitizer and tried to scan it on the belt, when, suddenly, she blacked out. Clutching her stomach, she fell back onto the tile floor. "Hello? Seriously?" the customer smirked, "Is this some kind of joke? She just fell out on me like that? Who's going to ring me up now?"

Concrete beds wrote tales of stone

Frigid air waked flesh and bone

Breaking bread, humbled, alone

I blessed each day the sun still shone

Crying skies lent ballad’s blues,

Gratefulness for leather shoes

And sanctuary’s wooden pews

Kept confession’s tears from view

Tiny blossoms sprang with hope

Pen to paper’s how I’d cope

Haikus carved in cardboard coats

Cleansing me though sans of soap

Summer sun’s gold elements

Tempered my discouragement

In villanelles, weeping laments

I found my heart’s encouragement

Leaves decayed on brittle grass

Shortened days, gold never lasts

As naked trees stood, unabashed

I held my head high, this shall pass

Winter never broke my will

The passion raged inside me, still

Frostbit fingers gripping quills

“Homeless” only honed my skills

Until today, with fire waned

This finale verse drips from my veins

Graphite scratches, lead leaves stains

Of dying words, I pray remain

A cup of change from skipping meals

Sharing what no streets can steal

I signed my obit., stamped and sealed

Expressing death and how it feels

“Precious stones capture our gaze

But, only flint yields fire’s blaze

Growing cold in worlds of gray

Without my voice, I died today”

First of all, folks, I don't care for milk,

So why would I mind if a little is spilt?

I'm lactose intolerant, or so they say.

But I don't like the taste of that stuff anyway.

It comes from the cows, past the pigs and the ducks,

And away from the farm, to the city in trucks.

It smells pretty funny and tastes kinda grossly,

Why'd I even decide to buy some from the grocery?

I don't like to pour milk into the bowl first.

That method is terribly, horribly worst.

I pour cereal first, topped with minimal dairy.

Any more, and I fear that my stomach gets wary.

I’m sitting here on the floor of the bathroom throwing up MOSTLY into the toilet. I hope I’m not coming down with something. My stomach’s been queasy, my head’s been dizzy, and I haven’t felt like myself at all today. Maybe it’s the late hours at work. They’ve been holding me over WAY past my typical shift. I’ve been working from 7 to 7, sometimes beyond. So many of these new, young, fly-by-nights have been “hired” but never seem to notice when their names actually appear on the schedule. Maybe I’ve worried myself sick about that pile of bills lying in my email box. Instead of “overdue” papers, I have a boatload of failed auto-payments accumulating late fees. Even with all these long hours I’m working, the money never seems to be enough. Maybe it’s this hot guy I fell in love with. He bit his bottom lip and convinced me to elope a couple of months into dating. He says he loves me. I believe him. He makes love to me at least twice a day. I started thinking that he might just be an addict, but he assured me that he only does it with me ’cause he loves me, ’cause I saved his life. Turns out, he’s tied to all kinds of shady deals behind the scenes. He loves me and all, never hurt me or anything, but it’s just the life he was living has now crashed into my already hectic one and I think I’m on overload. Maybe I’m just tired. All these weird things going on that I never thought would be happening. They say that stress can kill, so I know I must be dying.

I manage to finger my wavy hair out of my face, struggle to my feet and rinse out my mouth. I half wipe down the bathroom before throwing on a navy blue hoodie and heading to the corner drug store. I raid the shelf of multiple pain killers, cold medicines, flu fighters, and some pink stuff in a bottle that I hear is good for nausea and upset stomach. Briefly glancing at a label while standing in line, I realize that most of the medication in my hand cart is suggested to be avoided when pregnant. Suddenly, all types of thoughts bombard my brain. I see the woman ahead of me cooing at a two-year-old sitting in the buggy seat. I am NOT ready for another stressor to be added to my already overflowing plate. When the cashier calls “NEXT!” in her understandably slightly annoyed tone, I step up.

“Uhh, ma’am, hi. Ms. Hattie?” I fumble, trying to read her nametag while simultaneously looking around for any familiar witnesses, “Do you know where the--”

“Pregnancy tests are?” she finishes, producing one out of thin air and sitting it on the counter.

“How did you--”

“Suspicious looking young girl in hoodie browsing through the medications?” she chuckles, “I’ve been working here for thirty years, honey. Nothing’s changed.”

“Okay,” I pout, not feeling any better, “Well I’ve never bought this kinda thing before, so...”

“It’s 5.99 and no. You don’t need to waste your money buying two. These things are proven to be 99.9% accurate on the first reading. Plus, nine times out of ten, if you even think you need to buy one of these, deep down inside you already know the answer.”

“Are you sure?”

Ms. Hattie smirks, glancing towards the door. “Child, that woman who just walked out the door bought one of these from me about three years ago. Do the math.”

As I upchuck half onto the seat, I cringe despite myself. He’ll be home any minute now. I wonder what he’ll think. He’ll probably blame me for forgetting to take the pill that morning. He’s doesn’t take responsibility for doing anything in that regard-- except me of course. And, I’ll admit, it’s good. Like, out of this world. But he’ll probably want some tonight and I’m really not feeling it. I’m staring at these two lines and praying its a false positive. Deep down, I know Ms. Hattie was right, and either he’s gonna have to deal with it, or I’m gonna end up a broke, single mom, begging my parents to let me move back in.

Suddenly, I find myself waking up, sunlight hitting my sensitive eyes. “Babe, you awake?” I hear his voice crackle. I try to arise and push off the covers from the bed I don’t remember climbing into. I turn to see him anxiously staring at me with his bright, brown eyes, seeming to hold back tears. “We can do this, right?” he smiles. I squint in confusion. My head is pounding, and I vaguely remember anything. “Are you okay with it? I’m okay with it,” he sniffles, biting his lip in that sexy way. “I love you so much,” he gasps, pulling me into a hug. Behind him, I can see the drug store bag on the floor near the bathroom, lit from the light I forgot to turn off. Suddenly, the memories come flooding back along with involuntary tears. “You know about it? You saw it?” I cry. He nods his head, still holding on tight to me. “We’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. I smile and finally breathe. Maybe the stress isn’t so bad when you have someone fighting by your side.