Remember not to forget
This is why you’re leaving.
Because no one truly
Wants you here.

Remember not to forget
This is why you run to men
Who don’t look at you
As more than just
Young meat
Ripe
And vulnerable.
Because it feels better
To experience
Their desire
Than to feel alone.

Remember not to forget
This isn’t your home anymore.
No one wants you here,
They’re counting down the second
Until you’re gone.

Something inside of me
Caught fire
And now I can’t breathe

Summer solstice in a dark
Basement kava bar.
An army of drums
Rolling my brain around
In an intoxicated blur.

There are things no one understands
Hiding in me.

Things
Made of a foreign Fiji beverage
That makes your tongue numb.
Hanging glass tubes
Filled with feathers and herbs.
A bar,
A traditional toast,
A friendly conversation.

I hide myself
In the blue walls,
Mimic the gold designs
Until I disappear.
It’s hard to be anywhere,
Hard to forget,
But I’m here.

“I am hoping
To hang your head

On my wall
In shame-“

I let my body become breathless,
A battered rag doll
Willingly letting
The life
Slowly trickle out of my nose
Drip down my lips
And vanish
Into the musty air.

“I want to wear

Your smile on my sleeve
And break

Your heart like a horse
Or it’s leg.”

I have a small life,
It only stretches a span
Of about five miles.
My bed
To my job.
It used to go on
For hours
And find you
In your darkest moments.
I would travel on grungy
Public transportation
Just for your
Sunshine smile.

“I want to call you thine

To tattoo mercy
Along my knuckles.”

Tattoo mercy
Across my neck,
Plead for the life giving
Powers
Of my own throat
As I feel the oxygen drain from me
In all too familiar
Panic.

“I hope

To have you forgotten
By noon.”

You were my
Most consistent
Safe place.
I wanted to cradle your dreams
And worries in my arms
And restore your love of life.
I love you.
You were the first person
I could look at
And know that my love for you
Could cause a moon landing.
And I never want
To forget that feeling.
I go back to it
In the middle of the night
When I feel incapable
Of doing good.

But you’re trying to break my heart.

And that will not stand.

Linoleum floors,
And water damaged ceilings.
Second hand clothes
Riddled with an array of allergies
To choose from.

When I was a young girl,
I was very firmly warned
That no good and godly man
Would want a woman
Who was
“Damaged goods.”

The isles of plates and cups
Look like a glass castle.
A shining fortress
Of colorful china
And distorted reflections.
Chipped,
And worn paint,
Or just out of style.

No one wants a woman
Who’s been used.
Your body is not your own,
It belongs to your future husband.
At least
That’s what they told me.

Leather jackets
That smell like cigarettes,
Boots with scuffs,
And faded curtains.
Always inspect CDs before you buy them.
An army of electronics
Lined against the wall.

Behave with a man
As if your future spouses
Were in the room with you.
Don’t touch each other too much,
It leads to
“Other things.”

Obsolete books
Colored on
And ripped.
A used book tells more than one story,
The one written out in ink,
And the history
Of the hands that have held it.

Hold a flower
In the palm of your hand,
Now crush it.
It will never be
The same again.
That’s how it is
With your virginity.

Dolls with faded faces,
Aged and off colored plastic.
Suspiciously sticky children’s toys
From the eighty’s.

I think I belong here,
I’m used.

First,
Second,
Third
Hand.

But I love thrift store finds.

I slammed the dishes around
The sunlit sink,
Covered in bubbles
Up to my elbows.
“I can’t believe he did that,”
I sighed
As I angrily scrubbed muffin tins.

My boss looked up from dicing
Sweet colorful peppers
And pushed her glasses
Up the bridge of her nose.
“Well, at least now you know you made the right decision,”
She replied.

I turned around
And leaned against the stainless steal counter,
A customer entering the store
Caught my eye.
“I hadn’t thought of that... you’re right.”

“I like to rev my engine at the top of this hill,”
He said.
You would’ve said
‘Hey look, someone with no ****.’
He has a big truck,
And a doofy smile,
You have a sleek little car,
And a goofy laugh.

We rode around for hours
Just talking.
That’s not an unfamiliar concept to me.

He pulled over
And pulled me close,
And I remembered when you pulled over
And told me to get out
And look up,
Up,
Up,
At the stars.

“You know,
You help me,
I help you.
You said you were going crazy.”
In the back of my head
I heard your voice say
‘He just wants to get into your pants.’
Which I wanted to yell I’m okay with.

“It feels so good, I don’t want it to stop,” he moaned.
You don’t moan,
And I recall you saying
‘You’re not good at handjobs.’

I’m trying to suppress
Your voice.
It has a say in everything I do.
In every man
There’s comparison
To you.
In every kiss,
Every touch,
Every lonely night...
You’re hiding,
And giving your opinion
From the sidelines.

I’m actually not okay.
I’m saying I am,
But I’m really not.

I was drunk a few nights ago,
The real
“Can’t walk without help” kind.
And I called him
Because I forgot
We had broken up.

“Are you happy with your decision?”
He asked in a calm
Gentle voice,
Patient as always.
“No.”
No.
“But I wouldn’t have been happy either way.”
“Okay.”

I didn’t text him to apologize,
I thought about it,
But that’s as far as I got.

“Do you feel better or worse?”
My friend asked.
“I don’t know.”

I’ve only been single since
Thursday,
And some guy already asked me out.
But all it did
Was remind me,
That I don’t want someone else.

I’m an animal
On a leash
Attached to a pole.

I know I’m trapped,
But I see the glimmer
Of something maybe beautiful
And I run for it,
Only to be yanked back,
Coughing and panting.

I’m a beast,
Held back by my own
Sadness,
And I keep forgetting it’s there...
But it’s there.

I wore red
Thigh high
High healed
Boots
Last night.

“Could I please get a whisky neat?”

The night was deliciously cool,
The air was fresh and green.
Twinkling soft yellow lights,
And neon signs.

I just want to forget
The lonely feeling in the back
Of my head
As I watched you two
Play darts
For the first time,
Laughing and kissing.

“Could I get another whisky neat, please?”

I laughed with a girl at the bar
Who had bright red hair.
I’m trying to learn how to do this,
How to meet people,
How to find someone else
To help me forget about him.

The two of you
Fit together so neatly,
So effortlessly.
You got nervous
(We’re only just twenty-one)
And forgot to order
The shot to go in your Diet Coke,
So he ordered you one,
And dumped it in on the sly,
So you wouldn’t be embarrassed.

“Another whisky, please?”

I made it down the stairs
And pretended
I was in control.
I didn’t want to be in control,
I don’t want to be in control,
I’m so controlled.
My heals tapping
On the bricks outside,
I merrily lead the way
To bar number two.
I want to do
Everything he said I couldn’t.

“Could I get a pint of the Hopshire beer, please?”

New places,
New faces,
Movies make this look so easy.
Soft yellow light,
Exposed brick walls.
It’s a little fuzzy...
I don’t want to think about him.

I don’t want to think about him.

I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT HIM.

I always thought I
Was above this sort of thing,
But my head was spinning,
Our glasses were clinking,
And my boots
Got harder to walk in.

You’re so happy together,
And I wish I had that.

It was then,
Laying in bed
In a dark basement room.
Brains blurry
Recovering from mild intoxication.

It was that night.

Nothing was the same
After that night.

The basement
Had that damp cooling air
Of being under the earth,
It was pleasant on our
Bare bodies.

Your rented suit
A crumpled heap on the floor
And my dress
Tossed aside.

A lone candle  
Flickered in the dark,
Casting light into our wine glasses.

Our breathing had only
Just slowed
When you told me
You thought of leaving,
Not that you’d ever do it,
But you’d thought about it.

If you ever want
To preform
An autopsy
On our relationship,
Cut into the inner workings,
Inspect the organs,
Find out how it died...
You’ll discover a cancer
Left over
From that night.

I never looked at you
The same way.

Our wine glasses glowed red
With the contents of our first
Bottle of wine.
We were drinking
The maroon
Slow acting poison of distrust
And resentment.

You weren’t ever supposed to leave,
And I wasn’t ever supposed to want to.

The blankets are waves.

I’m a small sliver
Of a silver fish
Trapped in the current.

I’ve had sunlit days
In my rolling waves,
And I’ve met terrors in the deep,
Been held down,
Unable to gulp water through my mouth
Hungry
For oxygen.

I’ve been chased by monsters,
Befriended golden fish.
I’ve had dreams in its depths.

My bed is an ocean.

A sun soaked,
Dark,
Beautiful,
Polluted ocean.

A thin layer of dust
Has fallen over me.

Draped itself
Over the pathways in my brain,
Coated every toe,
Every pore,
Every inch of me.

I’ve put myself
Up on the shelf,
Closed a cupboard
Door
Over my individuality.

I’m just trying to survive right now.

It baffles me
That there are people in this world
Who just
Do
Things.
Just do things,
And only question if they want to,
Not agonize
Over whether or not
It’s the right thing,
If the action’s
Equal opposite reaction
Will destroy some aspect
Of themself,
Or others.

I question
Every moment
Whether I’m wrong,
If I’m hurting something.

It makes me afraid to move.

So I let dust collect
Over myself,
Perfectly good joints
Rust solid,
Eyes glaze over,
Body fossilizes.
Because that’s
So much easier,
Than picking myself apart,
Trying to be perfect.

It’s so much easier
To be nothing
Instead of
An impossible
Perfect something.

I think about death now,
Not in the scary way.

Not in the burning rage
Of hating myself
And my life.

But in the quiet loneliness,
The silent solitude.
It doesn’t burn,
It soothes.

Death feels like some magical
Place
I could escape to.

You know when you’re trying
To spread frozen butter
On a piece of bread
And it keeps ripping
At the slice?
It’s silly,
But that’s how I feel
About everything.

Death isn’t a scary
Last resort to me
Anymore,
It’s a comforting
“Just in case.”

I can’t stand to be forgotten,
But I don’t want the responsibility of existing.
Maybe I would prefer
That the world
Would just disappear.

Run my fingers
Down my own body,
Find the peace of my own company

I’m all alone.

I’m all alone,
But my salt lamp is glowing a pink lowlight,
And my sheets are fresh and soft.

I’ve trained myself
Not to miss anyone too much,
To keep my mind busy
With responsibility
And various fancy,
And to care for my body
With my own soft hand,
To not need a man,
Or a woman,
Not anyone.

I’ve learned how to live
In the lowlight
Of my bedroom
On my own,
To romance myself,
To tuck myself in,
To keep a pillow
Laying beside me
To hide the need
For a second body
While I sleep.

Technology is amazing,
It can make us forget
How sad we are
With artificially induced
*******.
Human touch
Is no longer necessary,
There’s a hundred different ways
To mimic it.

As long as I stay distracted.

As long as I keep going...

I won’t miss him.

I won’t think about
Not feeling like enough,
Or being too much.

I can find peace
Between my own legs.
I can hold myself.

Take a spoonful of expectation
And stir it into your coffee.

Let the steam encircle your face,
Leak into your ears
And up your nose.
Let the promise of the future you want
Poison your today
And your tomorrow.

Hopes are just pieces of paper
In a furnace,
And goals are ants
Under a spyglass.

I’m trying to cope.
I’m trying to move forward,
It isn’t working.

It’s not my home anymore,
Just a place I live.
Childhood is a long rope,
And I’ve hit the end.

It’s not good to come home
Anymore,
It feels better to run away.

According to banking Research
This county’s living wage is $14.28,
Which is a whole lot more than I make,
But I’m still supposed to get by,
And I do.

They sigh when I come home now.

I’m a burden,
And unwelcome.
I’ve reached the end of childhood,
And I fantasize about looping the end of that rope
Into a noose.

Im parked in our driveway,
Hoping they’re still asleep
So I can just slip in
Like a shadow on the wall.
It’s not good to come home anymore
I look for any excuse to get away.

It’s not home,
It’s just a house that I live in.

I was naked today
In front of a crowd of people.

I danced naked,
The colors of my skin
Caught the light,
The curves of my body,
The secret parts

I was naked for an audience.

I read my poetry
In a lowlit room,
With art covering the walls.

I was emotionally naked

The audacity of humanity
To constantly attempt
To imitate perfection
In so many forms
Is baffling,
And yet
Beautiful.

The car is parked in the driveway
The keys hang loose in my hand
My forehead is pressed
Against the steering wheel.

Failure.
A word sticky on the lips
Like cheap lipstick,
But it stays like stain.

Come
Let me show you
What it is to be inside
My body.

Experience having hot blood
Rush to the back of my neck
And color my cheeks
When burning anger and shame.

Feel the tattoos
Carefully grown in my hours of darkness
Seeds of ink
Planted
And coaxed to the surface.

Feel the balmy spring afternoon
Bring shining droplets if sweat
To my forehead.
Let me write my body around you.

Breathe the harsh toxic fear
And feel it in my lungs.
Fill my nose with the smell
Of green growth
Before the sunrise.

Feel what I feel.

Live inside my skin with me.

Because I don’t know how else
To explain myself to you.

Old men
Sitting in the freshly brewed
Sunshine,
Sipping their black coffee
Talking about copper wires
And rusted cars.

We have a wonderful
Amount of windows,
And a musical tin roof.

Coffee and butter
Are the aromas that waltz together
And scent the morning.

Everything is warm here.
Warm, white, silver, and blue
From the sunrise.

We have so many windows.

A grey cement floor,
A bucket, a mop,
My red happy shoes are squeaking
On the damp floor.

Making circles
Of magic mirrors
Around where I stand.
The sunlight reflecting
On the glassy floor
Distorts my vision
And my image in the water

The water and soap
Scrubbing away
Coffee conversations
Of past days,
And mud from boots
That carried the forest in.

There’s a magic in the bubbles
And the water
Dancing with the light,
Becoming one.

We have so many windows.

I wanted to write
Something perfect.

But,
“Pobody is nerfect.”

Every sunbaked afternoon,
And rainy day,
Every crunch
Beneath my feet
Of salt and snow,
Every deap breath,
On my way
To an hour of safety.

Did I ever tell you
That I liked to
Stare intently at
The fiber art on the wall
Of the third floor waiting room?
There one that looks like a waterfall,
One that looks like eggs,
And one that looks like
An angry speech bubble.

I remember being young,
And not telling you
The whole truth,
Then growing up,
And shifting uncomfortably
In my chair
While being more honest
Than I knew I could be.

You had a white electric tea ***
On your windowsill,
Kept company
By a stack of colorful mugs,
(The orange one was my favorite.)
I recall sipping tea with you
When I had a cold.

Pobody’s nerfect.
Who is “them”?
Feel your feels.
I am a mountain.

I talk a lot,
And I mean a lot...
I’m sure
You already know that.
But I don’t have the words
For years
Of smiling,
Crying,
And bad words,
Growing up,
Smeared makeup,
My first job,
And learning
To love myself.

I hope you have
A tea ***
In your new office,
And your cat clock.

I hope someone else
Gets to grow up
With your help,
And remembers the things
That I remember.
I’m sure many already have.

Thursday’s were for breathing,
Tuesday’s were for closure.

I’m going to live my life
Carrying your words
Tucked behind my ear,
And I’m going to make you proud.

Thank you,
For the high speed
Emotional
Puberty.

-Layna

My body is walking around,
Functioning,
Doing what needs to be done.
Work, laundry,
Showering, cleaning,
Waking up.
But my mind
Is a dark blue balloon
Tied to my wrist
Trailing behind me.

You don’t belong
In old photographs.

You weren’t meant to exist
On paper
Trapped in a frame.

You belong in a garden.

Your pristine
Manicure nails
Belong in the dirt,
Digging for bulbs
And roots.

You’re too colorful
For a scene
Of black and white,
Too intricate
To be a memory.

I watched
As your body became
An object.
I saw you stop being you
In a hospital bed.

You looked delicate.

You’ve never,
Never,
Been delicate.

You’ve been feminine
And beautiful,
But always along side
Strength.

New York farm girl,
With a touch of
Glamour,
An elegant survivor.

You told my sister
And I
You would still sneak out to the garden,
And not to tell.
We never told.

You were never meant to be
Less than yourself.

Your blood
Runs through my veins,
Your fortitude in every step.
Your cheer in my smile,
Your movie star beauty
In all of our faces.

You were never
Meant to be
An old photograph.

My secret inspiration?
I’m painting a memory.

I’m painting sun soaked
Pink skin,
And rough wave soaked docks.

I’m skin deep today.
Only as internal
As facepaint.

Your words
Painted my face and body
With dull
Ugly colors.

My thoughts
Painted my face and body
Into a garden landscape.

The early hours of the morning
Are a floor stained with Coffee
And fifty cents in change.

The sky is still dark,
And people are still whiping
Sleep from their eyes.
I’m going to miss her.

I’m going to miss her.

I thought therapy Thursdays
Would never end.

But no more tea in colorful mugs,
No more tears to match mine,
No more meditation together,
No more coming in
Just as you finish your coffee break.

For five years
I wasn’t alone.
For five years
I told myself to just breathe
Until Thursday.

Now it’s ending,
And it’s a Tuesday.

Unroll me
Like a bolt of fabric
Inspect the weave of my pores.
I am a tapestry
Of tattoos
Freckles
And scars.

To help myself
See past my sensible cardigans
And dull colors
I wear superhero socks.
To help myself
Keep from forgetting
The person I fought
so hard to become,
I stay alive in my tattoos.

I keep a secret me
underneath
the sensible adult.
Just to remind myself
while a customer is complaining,
or a manager is scolding,
or my bills are too big,
that I'm still me.

We were all forged in fire,
some of us cooked longer than others
sizzling away in a *******
cast iron skillet,
popping and steaming.
It's sounds like the beginning of a gory old
Grimm's fairy tale, doesn't it?

We all cooked until
we were hard,
and cracked.
Stones,
dull in appearance
harsh in action.
But you,
you are soft.

You must have been born
with a map of the stars
printed on your eyelids,
and silver snowflakes
on the tip of your nose,
the smallest brother.

The air is thick with expectation.
The words people utter into
the atmosphere
all hang in the air like smoke.
We all live and breathe it.
Masculinity,
femininity,
not enough,
too much.
The expectation is in our blood.

But you,
you're laying on the ground,
below the smoke and toxins
on your back looking up at the sky,
and deciding for yourself
who it is you want to be.

Kitchen conversations
in the late weekend afternoon,
my hand pressing a damp washcloth
to your arm.
The summer  had baked your cheeks
into a freckled pink,
we giggled together.

Off the washcloth came with a flourish
to reveal a pink
floral
scented temporary tattoo,
our forearms matched
in colorful decoration.
We wore them with pride
for a week,
until they faded.

You make me better, somehow.

The little things we do together,
my smallest brother
and I,
they make me better.
You've got a healing magic
in your lack of expectation,
your blind acceptance.
I think that's what the world needs,
Temporary tattoos
and magic.

I think
This is what it is
To have a fairytale inn.

To have a well-tread floor
Familiar with the feet
Of the familiar faces.

To put food into hungry bellies,
Remember names and orders.
Remember bits and pieces of lives
Shared over the sunrise.

To see the backs
Bent from work
And stiff from harsh weather
Straightened with cups of coffee.

To smell the smells
Only a busy kitchen
Can offer you,
Wash dishes with dry,
cracking hands.
To ladle soup, and plop cookies
Into white paper bags.

I think
This is what it is
To have a fairytale inn.

A tin of fine herbs
Opened, perfuming the air
Sprinkled into a metal cage
Of weaving wires.
Steaming water
Scalding over me,
Embracing my intense flavor,
Becoming one.

We created a soothing taste
For a while,
But we steeped too long,
He stirred too hard,
And we were made bitter.
The steaming liquid
Was drained from me,
I was no longer left by its heat,
I was left cold.

Then you picked me up,
Swirled these dulled dregs
Around in the cup.
I must ask,
What is it you see in me?
This once potent scent,
Now wasted.

What do you see in the tea leaves?

I carved a pipe
out of my stony disposition
and breathed dreams in.

the smoke curled up,
up,
up,
into my eyes,
leaving my vision clouded,
and head dizzy.

Light me up
a pipe dream.
think me up
an unthinkable.
Let me conceive
with a ****** thought.

My drug of choice
is imagination
and fear of sharing.

I love to dance naked
into your eyes,
and play with your thoughts
all day.
All I need is paper.

Have a hit.

I was a barefoot
Mismatched child.
My hands were grubby and calloused,
My legs were scratched from the bracken
In the tall grass.

I grew slipping between the cracks,
Carefully avoiding the hot concrete,
Thirstily drinking up the rain and sunlight.

I’m not afraid of surviving,
I’m good at surviving.

My legs grew,
And my jeans didn't.
My feet didn't fit their shoes,
And I recall hiding food
so no one else could take it from me.

Weeds are not afraid to grow,
The only chance you get
Is the ones you make.

Touch her spine,
Feel the cracks
And the bends.

Breathe her in,
The soft vanilla-earthy smell.

Open her up
And feel her softness
Within her bindings.

She’ll tell you stories,
Trap you in worlds with her words,
Paint a paradise out of paraphrasing
History.

With time
Her precious smooth exterior
Will be cracked aged leather.
But loving attention
Gives her smile lines,
And she’ll never lose
Her seductive allure.

She’ll leave you,
Feeling that you’ve finished
With her,
But you’ll be left lonely
In your own head,
Longing for her
To weave you
More wonders.

She’s a temptress,
She’s a liar,
She’s knowledge,
She’s wisdom,
She’s a universe,
She’s a limitation,
She’s an opinion,
Or a truth.

She’s a book.

I couldn’t get the people in my life
To care,
So I tried winning the hearts of strangers.

You lied about your past,
you woke up the morning I was gone,
and the past you created
to gain my pity and fear
was wiped clean.
Just graphite on paper.

I didn't get to wake up from mine,
I merely added to the list.

Bare skin in the snow,
She wasn’t prepared to be here.
Something decorative, out of place
In a transitioning landscape,
The darkness hides her footprints,
So she doesn’t have to remember the wrong turns
When they’re hidden in the night.

I don’t know how I ended up lost here,
But I can’t remember not being in this wood.
The air tastes like decaying leaves
And attempted young life,
The barren trees scratched at the sky,
Trying to hook their branches into something beautiful,
Perhaps because they remember that they too
Were once beautiful,
And harsh reality made them envious.

The trees were once breathtaking,
My youthful thoughts and emotions
Were once a kaleidoscope of warm pleasure
And entertainment.
But that’s all I remember of them,
I cannot remember comfort, or the introquet
Design of enjoyment.

It’s been what seems like an eternity now,
This place of cold wandering
Feels like the only life left to live,
It was hard enough to become accustomed to it,
How can she let all she knows be taken from her again?
She built her own small fortress out of branches
To keep her from having to look at the unsettling
Righteousness.

Trees are like emotions and circumstance,
The thicker they are… the more dense,
And you cannot see a way out of where you are,
You cannot possibly know
That there’s another way to go.
It makes it tempting to leave it all behind,
Bathe myself in the tranquility of nothing,
Feel the complete apathy
Wash into my mouth,
Flood my brain,
Swirl my hair around my forehead like a halo
So that I might tell myself
It’s right to not try anymore.
Cloud my vision in murky water I can die in
Instead of harsh branches, I can hide in.
All I am is lost.

She had found a way to feel comfortable In ice,
If you don’t know what it’s like to be warm,
If you don’t… Remember.
Why would you leave certainty for the unknown?
She became at ease in her woodland,
Her lost disposition,
Her unclear decisions.

I stumbled upon death on a path in the wood,
Examined the inky black
Soft and littered with water droplets on the ground.
It was only a piece of what had once been free,
And here it was,
Unresigned to it’s fate.
I turned back.

The wing flew back into her mind,
She knew in that moment
A lit up pathway out of the place of in between
Was a gift
That others lost here
Had fought for.
It was time to move on,
Even if it wasn’t clear where.

Only a matter of moments
Going the wrong way
Around the sun
Would take me back
To before
Your identity.

One day I woke up,
And you were bleeding
other people.
In a million different colors,
And never ending faces.
I woke up,
And you were no longer small.
You were something that
Could put planets on a leash,
And puzzle piece together
Entire new people
In your mind.

But little brother,
I still treasure
Your simple inexperienced lines
From long ago.
The crooked hand,
And the claw like
Umbrella
Seeming to crash down
On a raincoat figure.

I spilled water on the sheet of copier paper
You printed your masterpiece
Out on for me,
Smudged the rainbows,
Bled yellow into the raindrops.
But I love it.

This beautiful imperfect
Reminder
That you were once
A child.

The worst I can get
Is no where,
And I’m already here.

The ugly Monster energy hoodie
She wears every day,
Her hair swept back in a greasy mess,
A knife with a mushy handle
That was left in the sanitizing water too long
In hand
As she gingerly dices lettuce.
She always gets quiet when she criticizes me.
I’m just trying to earn my minimum wage,
But she had a bad day at home,
So she’ll find fault in whatever I’m doing.

Go home and fall asleep,
It’s only 10am,
My sheets are fresh,
And my clothes aren’t.
Then he calls me and tells me to wake up.

The kitchen has miniature milky ways
floating around in the sunlight dripping from the windows,
It smells like dinner from yesterday
And alspice.
My mother is still wearing her maroon bathrobe,
Her hair is a tangled halo framing her face in imperfect curls,
She’s sorting the spices.
She doesn’t understand why I’m unable to keep up with her busy chatter.

It’s a habit to repeat what I must do to stay alive to myself,
As if I’m both child and mother, giving a list of instructions and dragging my feet to follow.
“Brush your teeth,”
“Wash your face,”
“Take a shower,”
“You haven’t eaten yet today,”
“Do laundry,”
“Go to sleep,”
“Talk to your friends,”
“Pay your bills,”
“Go to work,”
“Wake up,”
“Don’t go back to sleep,”
“Drink water,”
“No alcohol before 5pm.”
Keep going.
Somehow, keep going.

My evenings are spent
With my hands tenderly ******* the long neck
Of a beer bottle.
My lips pursed,
Kissing the brim
And savoring every golden drop.
I try to distract myself from the absence of company,
Tell myself I like to be alone.

I go to sleep alone,
I try to fill up
The part of my bed he should be in,
And not think about it.
The cotton covers wrapped around me
Mummifying myself
In mindless sleep.

4:45am alarm,
And it all starts again.

Have you ever seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?
It’s a classic.
It’s a classic because of the intense plunge into chaos.

The mean reds.

The mean reds is what she called it,
And I can’t think of a better term.

Heart pounding,
Face flushed,
A cavity
Where my stomach should be,
And I can’t find a distraction
That works.
No music can play back
This shaky yet still feeling
And make it make sense.

The mean reds she said.

I have a case of the mean reds

If I could brew
Relief into
His cup of coffee
I would.

All I do
Is make the coffee in the morning,
And ring him up for a dollar fifty,
I’m not really part of his life,
Just his morning routine.

But I’m the one he tried to buy
Yesterday’s paper from,
Because it had his son’s obituary,
And I refused to let him pay.
I wish that wasn’t
All I could do.

I’m sorry Tom.

Dear Him,
I hope someone terrifies you.

I hope you have nightmares
That wake you up
Screaming.

I hope that you won’t be able
To wear clothes
Without thinking twice.

I hope that standing next to men
Gives you
A panic attack.

I hope you’re always
Afraid of seeing
The person from your nightmares
Behind you.

I hope people ask you
What you did to deserve it.

I hope your loved ones
Call you a liar.

I hope you cry when you finally tell your mom
After years of silently living with it.

I hope you blame yourself.

But,
I hope it never
Actually happens to you.

I hope you never
Have to live through
The ****,
The molesting,
The groping...
None of it.

I hope no one ever does to you
What you did to us.

Because no one,
NO
ONE,
deserves that.