when the rigid mass that gnaws at your stomach
is really the heft and poison of a sullen heart

What does it feel like
to walk into a home
that used to bring you the joy and warmth of being swaddled
delirious, but tranquil moments before a safe slumber

Everyone looks the same
smells the same, talks the same even
The home still upon its' sturdy bricks
You sit there
You try to act the same, be normal, be normal. BE NORMAL. *******.
Your words foreign.

It's gone and infiltrated everything
The suffocating weight of its presence in the air
It loiters in the roar
of laughter while we dance to our favorite songs
It sneaks into the tune of "Happy Birthday"
In the excitement of congratulations! WELL DONE. You got this!

Equally as present in the quieter moments, as in those of celebration
When everyone gathers in the living room to say their goodnight
          You find it in the fire that warms our cool September nights
It lurks in the familial embrace before a long drive
It sits there with you at the dinner table, mocking the life you once loved
Permanently staining each photo with it's awful hue

The grief of a death whose shadows still grace this earth, breathe this air.

you thump around with all your glory-
unwarranted authority
masses smile, clap, to great your eminence
masked grimace
before the roar, silence at the door-
     click
the terror mute
no one there to rebuke

breathe.

oh what it must be like to be a male

A stationary girl that makes everyone else dance

You said
That she is but a stationary girl
whose rigidity provokes the unwelcome dance of others. The solemn waltz. A sultry sorted salsa. But who is to say she can not dance
That she does not dance
A brazen fire of amorphous movement

Temporarily chilled in quiescence

Contained within the confines of a fabricated box
An assembled ballerina chained and bonded to the metallic rod of society’s construction. La construcción tuya. You need but open the lid to hear my song. To see the girl that both spins and stills.
DANCE ALONG.
I implore you.
DANCE ALONG
You must
DANCE ALONG
To the counterfeit steps of the inexorable womb waltz

In the mornings I
think I will accomplish one
maybe two, probably not three
things

Euphoric peak that
diminishes with the un-
invited solar noon and fixed
fate

Eight. 9. Try 10. Maybe eleven. No. 12:30 pm? I guess. The bed below me vanishes. 

Life, ha. Oh, life. I didn’t know you had it in you. To create company so poor. So contradicting. Soul devouring;

                          limbs for dessert?

To let me drown in the company of another. To invert my innards, remove my senses, and spin me around.

Ready, set, go.

Down I go.

I used to dream in black
A nightmare with a dark hue
Faces fleeting fast
all under the suspicion of
an indistinguishable mask

A world without empathy
Humans hidden beneath
a silhouette of self-absorption
Tenderness terminated by
an uncontested abortion

I'm no longer asleep
Rapid eye movement supplanted by
the torment of heavy eyelids

I stare out into the mean and bloodthirsty chasm of life
Up at the misguidance of individualistic rulers

This is reality

Brains are fickle things
Mine is a skyrise
With fifty floors

There is an open sign
It reads:
twenty-four hours,
seven days a week,
no rest.

Seven thousand zealots
Devoutly at their keyboards
Tap, tap, tap,
enter

Eureka!

Each floor oscillates in rhythmic unison
With the pulse of their caffeine ridden bodies

Eureka!

“Tell The Boss”

“Have you talked to The Boss?”

Whispers emerge:

“The Boss can’t appreciate our work”

“She is lazy”

“Our ideas are worthless then”

“I hate her”

Work isn’t mandatory, but it won’t stop. It can’t stop.
They work too quickly for me.

Robert brings me his last report.

“You are undeserving of this place - of our ingenuity - a waste of its capabilities”

Ashamed, The Boss hangs her head.