the smell of
burnt toast
and
cigarette smoke
greets me
with an acrid embrace
i
drag my
brain dead carcass
up the long flight
of stairs
fifteen minutes late
for class
open the door
to psych
get kicked in the face
rather inharmoniously
by a large, hairy
eyeball
some blue-toothed
*******
is in my seat
i plop down next to
shareef
instead
turn my desk
into a bed

sleep.

the thought of laying down and stopping everything in my head
easily,
just sounds way too good
just looks way too good
it’s not until i am thoroughly exhausted that it creeps up
on me finally

because
i remember mornings as a little girl
the smell of bacon and eggs
my grandpa’s voice
the old van my dad used to drive around town
my polka dot dress getting torn from the berry trees in the garden
why do these things still haunt me?
why are these the things i think of most when you are fast asleep beside me?

i remember my mother shielding the homemade apple pie from me
and saying no no no to all the things my hands wanted
an icecream cone from the freezer
a cookie from the side of the refrigerator
a candy from the container but she said
no no no before dinner, and i would
wait

i feel like that little girl now
grabbing for sleep constantly
i just keep grabbing
grabbing and grabbing and someone
keeps shielding it from me, with gentle motherly hands,

saying no no no
and i wait
and i wait
and i wait until my eyelids become so heavy
i feel like i might know what death
could taste like

Don't tell me I have your attention when I don't.
Captivated you in a church dress with the hole in the stockings,
eating salted tomatoes between two slices of bread
feet touching mine under the table
on a Sunday after my Confirmation ceremony.

Don't tell me how naughty a catholic school girl can be
with your hand on my thigh and a thumb on my cheek.
Kissing me hard and heavy, leaving a bite on my lip with a grunt
smiling while you whip your hair back from your tan skin and brown eyes.

Don't tell me you love the way I look when you don't know me yet.
Cigarette drag me out
breathing smoke behind my ears as you lay your hand
out the window beside your bed,
while my mama's sleeping and doesn't know where I am
and my white blouse is on the chair
hanging next to my purity.

Don't tell me how unholy I've been when you don't know faith.
How it's not worth praying for something I don't have any more,
lost in my own disillusions that you created out of words you swear you left unsaid,
with a tear pressed against the part of me that felt like it was falling in love.

Don't tell me that it's all my fault.

Don't call me your lady
when all I ever wanted was for you
to settle down with me like a safety,
anchor your trust in my belly
made to keep my body warm, but your icy cold.

Don't rip or tear or strike out your own mistakes on my body.

Don't tell me how ****** up innocence is
when all I was before you came was a Mary Jane
shoe with some of the leather worn on the sole from walking
too far to find someone to caress my hair.

Don't leave me open and dry
when all this ever was, was an advantage you took too easily
on an infatuated girl who was too young
and didn't know the difference.

Jealousy. Envy. I am the Green Monster.

These are the things I feel and that of which consumes me.
They are running my life..and...It's getting out of control.
I wish to be her. Just like her.

Her beauty.
Her personality.
Her qualities....
I want them all.

But then again, I wouldn't be me, myself anymore.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't really like me at all.

I used to hold dinner parties
Crammed inside my dorm room
And later in our small flat.
Food was served on cardboard plates
And wine in plastic mugs
With plenty of laughs for dessert

I have glasses now
Fragile and polished
And stacks of porcelain plates
All stowed away
Behind glass doors in our cupboard
Where we can admire them

The ashes of love linger on my forhead
of burned up discarded thoughts
like old letters in a fire pit
incinerating to dust
and I watch the fragile remains
drift off onto the block
with hungry little hearts
picking them up
I didnt smile at the hands
who dreamed of pretty doves
I smiled at the children running a muck
Someday they'll know how I have grown
Someday they will drownd their dreams in that little wishing well
and I will apologise and tell them of Santa Claus
How beliefs can be magical
but beliefs they just are
I remember howling with that pack of dogs
but now it's just me the pack ran off
When they ask me, whats the meaning then?
I'll brush them off
like the ashes on my forhead
like the running wild dogs
The truth is it varies for everyone
You have to find it within yourself