I was there
in the world of
hate
discust
abandonment
and lies.
He was there
a man of care
understanding
safety
and dreams
To be back in the world
if only for an hour
there is no question
where the sickness came from
All of those vampires
with their tentacle stare
couldn't help themselves
when they were tempted
with my beautiful air.
To be put back
into the world I escaped
was a fate worse than death
And for my man of the light
to be a villain of the night
was something even worse still.
That looming presence
of someone there that is gone
was what morphed my sweet dream
into the nightmare
And for his light to be
snuffed out
with nothing left to illuminate
save their reflection.
That was all he was
in that moment
was a mirror
reflecting the life
the world
the time
that I so grudgingly deny
but so fearfully remember.
The time
when nothing was real
and everything was wrong.
I couldn't bare to go back
so he went instead...
There he embodied
all of the pain that was
and cast it back at me
so that I would never return.

“You’re overweight,” he says, tapping his finger against his chart of heights and measurements, thighs too big and fingers too plump. I already know. I nod, and continue nodding, listening to the word echo and then fall onto the ground, bouncing and bounding, restrictions that have surrounded my whole life, my whole curvy figure. If I could be like the girls with the flesh wrapped tight and the bones loose and caving in on one another, I would grab the chance before it had a chance to flutter away from my desperately aching hands. When I look in the mirror, I try to remind myself that flaws are flaws and yet they were made to be beautiful, but I see what I see and what I see makes me want to *****, makes me want to close my eyes, makes me want to pull and tug and rip until there is nothing left but a pile of rotting decay. I am stuck, I am back on the playground in sixth grade where the boys would taunt and laugh, point and gasp, as I tried to pretend I looked like everyone else, every other small, petite little girl who didn’t have to worry about these types of things. My clothes don’t fit, I’ve gone through seven pairs of jeans in the last month alone, I look back at the pictures when I thought I was fat, but I wasn’t, I was fine then, why did I think that? I lay in bed beside the man I’m supposed to be with, fully clothed and pushing his hands away from my hips, away from my lips, don’t touch me then if you can’t handle all that I have to give. I’m not her, and she never wished to be me.

dad, i stumble over the words
just as i did as a child,
and you took me in your arms
and rocked me to sleep
numerous nights,
i've cried,
and you've left,
and you keep leaving
me

a child needs her daddy,
a young girl needs her daddy,
a grown woman needs her daddy,
you were never...
present

why,
i could have begged ten times over
for you to put down that can of beer
that whole case completely demolished
i tried to empty the cans into the sink
one by one,
i never got far,
and there was still some left over...

why,
couldn't you have loved me
more, better,
just love me

here i am, 23,
and still longing for your
presence in my life,
instead i try to fill with addiction
and voids,
boys who try too hard for
all the wrong reasons,
and dad,
tell me
why i am so dependent
on the ways of this world
that haven't ever mattered?

were you ever present in my life,
or were you always drunk,
slurring your words and stumbling over
the memories,
like you always have,
as i count the beer cans,
find the beer cans
crush the beer cans,
the **** same beer
that you have been drinking since
i can remember

you used to tell me so many stories,
you used to make them up,
entertain me with your sense of humor
hold me a little closer
dad,
where are you?
where have you been?
your little girl
still
misses
you

"you're confused,
isn't that why you're here?"
he speaks in quiet tongues,
always so gentle,
but sincerity lacking
i don't want to talk about the
things that brought us here
the things that have broken us
down... in the quiet,
and in the dark,
it was always the same


i'm here because
i want to be held*

it's as simple as that
i have no other explanation
for the way things are,
or should be,
or could have been

I know that isn't how my grandmother would want me to remember her. Hell, the last time you saw me, I was fifteen pounds heavier, unkempt, and I was wearing that awful, low cut v-neck that made my chest appear a bit too supple. Wish you didn't remember me that way. But you do. But I do. You can't redact the past. Believe me. I used up every black marker in Oklahoma County trying.

You're dating a chef. By your lovely description, I could see the tendrils of spiraling capellini. Smell the buttered ciabatta. Were there candles? Did you whisper over the wine glasses? I hope there were candles. Cinnamon candles.

I actually cooked last night. Cajun tilapia and wild rice. Easing back into it. I've been living off canned vegetables for two months. Peas and carrots mostly. I'm going to assume if you and I shared this conversation in person, at this juncture you would whisper over wine glass, what was the occasion?

Heather called last night. The dancer. She needed a place to sleep. I guess her Craigslist roommates, those two shifty-eyed boys from Nevada, bailed on the 30th of September and the rent came due on the first of October. She hadn't paid it. Evicted. For a night, my room was adorned in all manner of frilly things and five pairs of heels. She left everything else in her car. She explained the decorations as proof of employment.

Don't worry. I didn't go there. Though, she thought I would too. After staring over her head at the beige wall behind her for two hours with my *** hanging off my twin-sized bed -- her lying in the middle -- I tried to move her to the east. She took it as an advance. "I'm not on birth control and I don't want a relationship," she said. Are any soft women left?