I grew fifty more feet in these two years, my balls hang quite low for a woman with such right cheek bones. Figuratively.

Coward to say all those miniscule things so quietly, hushed and hiding under rocks with pebbles of truth to throw to whomever read. Until you tap into the source of your fear.

My fear was any and all whom associated with a god like facade I had made my monster into being.

I will fault myself instead of claiming victim roles, though fitting, never suited my countenance quite well.

Strike down those not in favor.

Whats just above them, over them and beyond them?

Your aim.

Start there and don’t faulter dear girl.

Sincerely,

Your future self.

a.b.Carleton

#consciousthought #antivictim #role #womanup #divorce #truth #prose #shortstory

I took a long drawn out drag of a cigarette and with it, I thought of every fiber in my lungs gasping for oxygen. Why do we do this to ourselves? Rip away oxygen for a quick feel good feeling? Literally omitting life with each breath?

Why the hell not? What a fucking circus. 

We are victims in the beginning. A literal crap shoot of whether or not we are born in a Country with famine and war. Why did there even have to be Country's in the first place? A toss up between a beloved mother or an asshole father and vise versa. Or, parents at all, let us not forger the babes we throw to the side. I find I personally love those ones the most. 

If you're one of the lucky ones to skip past oppression and all the ugly things we choose not to see. Then God bless. 

Oh but wait your turn. We all bend over once or twice, and pay for our time here generously. Perhaps you've tasted the love we all chase after? You drank it's sweet nectar to only realize it was just one more rape from life? It wasn't love was it? 

You're goddam right it was. But we manage to throw it all to shit because we are all out for ourselves. Every single person is born to think instinctively about their own well being. 

Until, love.

We soar so high in the first baths of that sweet euphoria. We say things to each other that we choke on in looking back. Get tainted enough in love's muck and we can't even recognize the person we once were. Why does this have to happen? Because things fade and we give it up so easily because what once was an easy labor is now a quicksand of unsaid thoughts and meddling idle minds. We are our own downfall. When the beginning excitement is gone, we ask why, instead of dying to our selves and seeing the person in all their good ways. We end up getting so far gone, it almost feels best to let it go completely rather than put forth the labor and ache it would take to restore. Oh the heartbreak to witness it, where once unity, now worlds and empty spaces filled with imagination of greener pastures that only exist in quiet imagination.

So we have been reduced to the little vices like a wonderful drag of a deadly cigarette to seem a lot like something familiar, and we keep puffing in hopes it fixes the pain. 

Or ends it altogether.  

Perhaps only to just pass the time until we figure out anything that seems to make any sense at all.

a.b.Carleton

I had no preconceptions of what this was. Please do not insult my capacity in awareness and come up with an excuse as to why you are choosing to leave this. Save that for the ones who accept such sentiments and gulp down pain like a child and act as though they haven't been crushed.

You stumbled upon me in a time and place where your presence had such precision in being exactly where you needed to be in my life and where I needed to be in yours. I cherish the beginning and I've hesitantly taken the lesson in the end. I regret absolutely nothing and I thank you so much for being the glorious person that you were. I believe I see you in such a way, that you almost began to view yourself in the same light, but you fool, you retreat so quickly in hiding. A boys fate fights with a mans desires. I felt I was losing you a while ago and that's okay, I pulled away myself. Make no mistake of a woman's intuition and her cunning strength in self preservation. How unfortunate something so beautiful doesn't flourish the same way it once did in the beginning. That's where the wisdom we walk away with hopefully comes to fruition in the future. I pray nothing but happiness for you and your journey. Should you ever need a friend in the future, please don't look for me. I gave you too much of me to ever entertain just a friend title. I gave you those intimate parts of my soul in the most vulnerable point of life, because I saw so much beauty in you. You gave me those parts in you, and you can trust I've kept it safe and will continue to do so. We shared something sacred in those firsts, and now it scarred over and where once there is a scar- only a lesson can be learned of how not to get burned going forward. I once said this with so much reckless abandon, and confidence. Too bad I say it now somberly and for the last time. Take care my darling, I truly love you.

What if Wonderland loses it's wonder. What then? I entered in a whole new world, filled with beauty and terror but it was the terror that excited me so. The new creatures to see and take witness to. A glamourous new world to feast my eyes upon. My mind already a haven for the curious to play, each new step in that new world and every sense of mine catapulted to a new dimension. Complete and absolute immersion, I let myself go into it. Not one moments hesitation.

What I didn't expect, or ever fathom was why Alice always went back to reality. All wonderland was for her, was that temporary escape needed. She only went there on rare occasion. A dream, a quick trip. Why? Because like anything else we know, the new and the different are exciting. It's just a quick escape of the subconscious to deliver us from the perils that reality seems to bring us.

The creatures and the beings who took our attention away for a moment, who made us think on levels higher than we ever dreamed, were there to keep us from losing it altogether.

Wonderland can be a diversion of your life in it's current path. We all go insane from time to time, and if we (or you) don't, then clearly you are meant for this world and reality(and I envy). I remember vividly each time I've escaped into a reality far from here. It was merely self preservation and a path diverting me from the one I was currently on.

I seem to be the only one who leaves, I am a new person each time.

I've been away to Wonderland. I made the mistake Alice didn't make. I stayed, and now slowly I make my way back to reality and find nothing is as it should be.

I've heard hell once described as isolation. Imagine if you will, and eternity in darkness with not one other contact. Just you, alone in a black expanse, with no one to find comfort in, other than yourself.

The creatures of Wonderland are already there, and they are all mad. Nothing to resemble home in them. After a while you see with awakened eyes, that they've all gone mad long ago, and in madness, you see they are in their own hell. You find, you need to find a door to return you back to home you suddenly long for. The very reality you thought you needed escape from. You miss those who once missed you. Find the person who validated your existence and perhaps you can call them home. Wonderland is in fact a dangerous place. Any place to escape, and make your senses sing is a beautiful thing. Visit those friends just enough to keep you interesting. Just be wary when you are there, not to forget the reality that changes right underneath your nose... at home, while you were out.

The barista flicked her stir stick one last time as she poured the remaining espresso into my cup. She passed it to me over the flawless marble counter top with gold trim. 

“Bonne miss jour,” She said.

“Je vous remercie” I reply. 

I take my cup an walk to the quaint terrace overlooking the Parisian hills. My Louis Vuittons click-clack gloriously the rhythm of my peaceful stride against ancient cobblestone. I can hardly help but lift my chin higher and let the my red lips crack a smirk.

This is the life I have made for myself. I make it to my seat across from Carter, who reads the New York journal with his tea still in mid steep.  I sit back and the morning sun kisses my cheeks. Still  a mild chill in the air, for late April, but not the slightest wind. I look ahead to him and watch his hands. His hands always kept me intrigued. They were without blemish and they were far smoother than I could ever dream for. They were tanned, and just as they were smooth and feminine in look and touch, they were just as masculine when he went for what he wanted. I make my gaze upward, taking in and agreeing with every precise pick in both button down and vest he chose for today. How does he do it? dress better than every gay man I dress on the runway! Yet here he is, mine. Well I suppose he’s mine and I am his. All that matters is that I know he is here now. His jet black hair and brown eyes, his 5o’clock shadow and chiseled jaw, and to make it hurt only a little more; one dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. How many times have I kissed that spot. He hates it, always wiping away my kisses. 

I stop the thought and reach for my phone. I turn thirty four this week, and the ever pressing absence of a Tiffany engagement ring on my polished finger reminds me that this could be the year he proposes. I punch in my password to display he and I in the Himalayan Mountains on my iphone screen. I tap to facebook and check us in -

“Just a leisurely morning with my main squeeze in Paris, life is good”

I hit post and then head over to Instagram. I hike my skirt just a little more and position my legs crossed towards Carter. I place my delicately hot cafe’ in proximity to the shoes I want to make sure get captured in the photo. I align it all just right, Carter and his jaw, oh and perfect his rolex watch I got him in Barbados catching a slight reflection and shimmer from the sun. The hills behind him and that gorgeous hair of his. I snap and capture the very essence of the beautiful life I have made. 

“I’m the lucky one” It will read.  I slide through and decide on the Valencia filter.. Post!

“God dammit Alena, enough with the pictures already. You can’t ever stop with the pictures and checking in.” Carter says in a low tone. 

I roll my eyes and sip my coffee. It’s gone cold. I watch the screen of my phone light up with notifications. Ah, Mary says, OMG can I please be you!!. 

Gretchen that fat whore says; Rough life eh? when will he put a ring on it?

“Ha, Carter look on instagram, what your ugly cousin Gretchen has said”.

A long and drawn out sigh from him and he puts down his paper and grabs his phone beside the tea.

He reads and chuckles to himself. “A ring eh? That’s cute.” 

He put his phone down and shakes his head side to side. I can’t help the burning sensations lately in my stomach. The end is near Alena, I think to myself. 

I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat and pick my phone up again. Before I tap the phones password I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The lines around my lips are more and more pronounced these days. I look back to Carter, and the ambiance that we’ve surrounded ourselves in time and time again. Five years we’ve been traveling and drinking the finest wines and making love in the most pristine sheets all the 5 star resorts have to offer. He doesn’t kiss me anymore, and I can’t remember the last time he merely held my hand. The thought of a life apart from such a man, makes my stomach turn. I start to think of all the things I dislike of him, so that when I go to tell the story of our end, I somehow make it out on top. With now an ever appearing ache in my heart, I push the thought away. I unlock my phone, and begin to look at my Instagram feed from everyone back home. The little chubby cheeked cherubs with cereal all over the counter, the newly weds, embracing in a kiss on the beach. One friend has a daughter that just graduated the eighth grade. 

“I’ve booked us a couples massage downstairs at eleven” I say to him. The slight wind brings a lock of his dark hair into those chestnut eyes. He wont look in my direction. 

“I’ll be heading back to New York today, forgot to tell you, it’s business. But you go on ahead. I’ve paid us until the end of the week here in Paris, stay and enjoy it.” He stood and slowly walked around the table over to me. I still sat with my legs crossed, head and eyes focused on the goddam hills. His fingers touched my wrist, and gave it a little pinch. He walked away.

A notification appeared on my phone, from my lifelong best friend. Her Instagram comment; 

Alena, I wish my husband made us travel!! But hopefully after this baby pops out we can join you! love you have the greatest time!

Another boy's file ended up on my desk today. My coffee lost it's warmth and I find I no longer care any more. His name was Andrew and he was seven. He was new into the Foster Care system, only came in 9 months ago, both his parents upper middle class. In that regard I'm surprised he made it into the system at all. Andrew is now moving papers in the Placer County social worker bracket. He would be easy on the eyes,literally a poster child for the good ol' christian Smith or Jones family. He had ocean blue eyes and the purest of blonde hair. I get their calls all the time. The pretentious and desperate home makers who want to keep their facebook status' pristine with all the good and self serving deeds they do while their successful husbands have their young secretary's bent over a desk. I wonder if I can even blame those men. The phone calls are all the same."Oh but we want a baby!!" the housewives demand. My most recent call was Mrs. Miller, I actually commend her for taking the time to actually be forthright in her response. "Ma'am, we are a 'foster to adopt' agency. The children we get have a need, their parents likely will not be back for them and they have little to no family... while babies are a possibility, the majority of our little ones in need range from about age three to twelve." I say, my eyes closing as I hear the horror in their breathing. I've just punctured her bubble, I've massacred the facebook post of her holding her new blonde haired, green eyed dove, that she single handedly swooped in and rescued, all in the name of Jesus! Even though, the reality of this job and lack of baby inventory is only because they are generally overlooked. When the child enters public school, that's when the first of abuse would ever even be a suspicion. A teacher with enough discernment. A neighbor with just enough curiosity."Well, okay.... so what you're saying is these kids, like, they've been through some pretty horrific things? Oh... see, yeah, we already have a little girl, she's 5 and well I wouldn't want my little Ainsley to be negatively impacted by a child who maybe has some trauma... Thanks anyways though, and God Bless!!" and she hangs up. It was the first time a prospective parent actually had enough balls to say what they all are thinking.Instead of a pompous and passive aggressive, "Let me talk to my husband" or "Let me pray and see where the Lord takes us". Mrs. Miller said exactly what she meant and I don't think she even realized it. I simply don't want to burden myself or my family with the realities of those less fortunate. I feel my stomach turn and I drop the phone back to it's receiver.The part of this job I hate the most, are these incident reports. I open Andrews file and begin to read the manner in which the world has wronged him in every, single, unimaginable way. By the time I reach the end, I choke down sobs. I bite my lip to refrain from letting screams and anger take the better of me. This innocent boy,who never once asked to be here, had fallen victim to a gang initiation in the boys Group Home facility. He currently remains in the hospital, in recovery from surgery to repair the damage.I press my eyes shut and try to swallow down the blood from my lips, bitten in my restraint attempts. I wish I had Mrs. Millers foresight. I wish I never had this need to be in this field. I wish I had the guts to have pursued a life that didn't have me so weak and powerless. I would have triumphed in a role, made beautiful with just the right decisions, that society lays out beautifully for those who conform. Conformity, could that possibly be the secret, in being able to turn a blind eye? I secretly envy Mrs. Miller's little Ainsley. I live in a world where I see all the demons that walk among us. She will walk in the same world, but one in which demons have been kept from.

Is it really even irony at all? I've had these conscious thoughts and connections in my head. Perhaps Mandolin, the reason for being so goddam aware of your surroundings. Maybe there is more meaning behind the fact that I don't merely just "meet" people. 

My soul breathes a breath of life into yours. My energy awakens the stagnant wind in your sails. 

My presence shines light in the areas you've kept in darkness. Only to find the light brings forth warmth, and no judgement. Soon, these people come to realize they have something more here for them. 

With the new life they stand a little taller in, the warmth surrounding their aura, their life changes and they are able to be the same person I once was for them.

Maybe I won't be here for too much longer, is where my mind goes. They say I have an old soul- wisdom enriched. If so perhaps many souls dwell within mine and each one with a job to do. And when they are finished, maybe my time is up. 

And finally I can awaken into a life that doesn't have to always go so fucking wrong, just to be the example people watch for strength.

When you open yourself and your life up to one person, remind yourself that people change. Opinions change. The only certain thing you have in this life is uncertainty. The risk you take in giving someone their fair share of your skeletons. What I have found was that they never, EVER fully grasp your reasoning. 

Maybe I write this to remind myself. Is it even fair to give someone that much of yourself to carry? Listen and hear me here for a second. I have done things I will tell no one of, I have done things that I had to do for survival. I know myself well enough to know that I did it so that my children would still have a mother at the end of the day. 

I let just one person in on that knowledge, and they will only receive on their level of perception. This is now where they cast judgement. Perhaps you can convince them of why, but can you ever fully trust that they understand?

No, you can't. 

How does one repair a mountain? One doesn't. So instead of cascading and shaping the mountain with your dynamite of truths. Let it be... and become a fucking insane writer, with a circle of knuckleheads for friends. 

In the end they are all out for themselves. So they don't even hear the genuine "you" in the first place. Save yourself the trouble.

The one constant I can count on, the obsession that simultaneously lets me down over and over and yet also brings me the most untainted elation's of my entire life would be that, my oldest friend, time. 

Perhaps far too conscious at a young age, to know of time and the sting of regret if you let it slip away. Amidst chaos it seems to slip away even farther. No secret, Alice in Wonderland was my movie of choice as a child. The idea of escaping this world to have my feet land in a world far from here sounded like a dream come true. Where madness reigned and logic departed. Be still, my heart.

Yet, the whole premise of Lewis Carroll's direction was that this young Alice was chasing a white rabbit. A rabbit with whom she couldn't quite catch up with. The underlying message never escaped me. The rabbit was in a constant state of sheer panic, as his clock ticked away. Always heading to a destination to which he was going to be late for. Even as a child, I watched that rabbit miss all of his surroundings and I would think to myself how many instances he's robbed himself of a life that could be monumentally different. How even just one encounter can change the entire course of his little rabbit life. My mind would go farther and farther out to a sea of thought and, "what if's" for an irrelevant rabbit in a waistcoat.  What can I say, I was an old soul even at age 5, but I digress.

I am obsessed with each minute ticking away from you, and from me, and we don't say all the things we long to say to each other. It's an ache in my bones, yet it is the ferocious beating of my heart. Time, it is the pull in my being, to yours. 

I often wonder, if we as people truly grasped that this is the only life we get, how the fucking hell do we live a life of stagnant conversation and indifference in regard to that other obsession we all chase. Love. 

To me, time is Love. Time is how I receive love and how I give love. Time in my humble opinion, is the most selfless gift you could give another.  If we all took a moment and thought back to one person we no longer have and long for even to this day; The time that we did have with them, is more precious than any other thing we can give monetary value to, because it's priceless. 

Here I sit though, on the eve of my divorce court date. I think back to a marriage of ten years and I find my obsession rears it's ugly head. Did I make the most of every single minute that I had with him? I believe I truly did. My obsession worked to my favor this time around, I try to imagine what another ten years might have looked like for him and for me, and I am grateful for this obsession. This time. I am able to walk away from this, with my head intact. The heart? Such a fickle creature, I guess dear time will tell. What I do come away with, is that it is such a rare thing to know someone who fully grasps their purpose and can tie it in with the wisdom of knowing the sands eventually run it's course through the hourglass of life. Perhaps my obsession will keep love from me, or do just the opposite and provide me a life enriched in a love so deep, time fails to have any relevance whatsoever.