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 Dec 2012 Darbi Alise Howe
Emma
Does anyone else
want to sit outside until
the wind steals their soul?
originally was 'and let the wind steal their soul' - which do you prefer? Spur of the moment poem
I wish I had a terrace
So I would put a mattress there
And I would sleep everyday
Stargazing by the wind lullabies

I wish I had a spaceship
So I would fly through the galaxies
Just to watch the dancing stars
And I wouldn't need to sleep
Cause I'd be happy just to dance
By the sound of space guitars

I wish I was a galaxy
So I would be the home of countless stars
And I would play them joyful songs
So they wouldn't cry
As they slowly die

I wish I was a star
So I would sleep everyday
Watching you smile
And I would play you windly lullabies
So you could gently fall asleep at night

And I wouldn't be afraid to die
Cause I'd knew you'd be happy
Just to watch me shine
Even for the last time.
We used to be so close, so inmost, so opposite and disposed and yet so equal and lazy that we were one.
Opposites attract and then get distracted. Equals distract and then get attracted.
We are opposites, we are equals, we are strangers.
We were opposites, we were equals, but today we are just two strangers with a routine of talking everyday about stuff that never existed.
We are two points intertwined by a circular line that keeps moving without our consent, lost in a infinite time space.
A friendship disguised, a feigned tolerance, a mutual and misunderstood need of acquaintanceship between each other.
A prophylactic and procrastinated love that wants to keep distance, deviating itself from the deep suffering.
But what suffering?
The suffering was only the avid fear by pain that turned us into two unaware and afraid of everything.
We are singular.
We are plural.
We're diminutive and we're augmentative.
We are two laconic passengers of the wacky train without driver that is the prolix relationship of humans, love and hate.
We are two regular strangers in relentless pursuit of deterioration of our love as a solution for all in our lives.
We are two remote lovers in relentless pursuit of deterioration of our lives as a solution for all our love.
I opened the car door, tossed my bag in
I was just about to slip inside when
An older man, 60 I might guess
limping down the sidewalk paused to ask:

"St. Mary's Hospital?"

My head snapped up
"What?" I asked.

"St. Mary's Hospital.  Is it this way?"

I frowned
"Yes," I replied.

"Do you know how much farther?"

"About half a mile.  Why?"

He raised his hand up, wrapped in white
red stain seeping through

My breath caught

"I've cut my finger, and I think I may need stitches."
Then he turned and limped away

"Wait," I called.  "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

He nodded, hardly turning around.

I asked again, "Are you sure?"
Should I offer him a ride?
It's only a minute out of my way.


He didn't turn or nod then, just continued on
His steps were slow, erratic, but determined
Should I offer him a ride?
I watched his back recede

Should I offer him a ride?

I could no longer hear his shuffling feet

Should I offer him a ride?

Should I offer him a ride?

I didn't.  I got in my car and left.  And cried.  
Because I wouldn't offer an old hurt man a ride.
This happened this morning.  I was too afraid to offer a hurt stranger a half-mile ride to the hospital in my car because I am female and I was alone.  If he had been an old woman it would have been different.  I felt (and still feel) horrible, because my decision was informed by fear, and the fact that I have been sexually harassed by various men recently.  Those are things that I have always said would not inform my decisions.  Today I was tested, and today I failed.
Last thing that he said was
“Thanks for loving me”
That’s all I wanted
Nothing deep
Just a condescending mirror
Of what my life could be
Things you said
Running through my head
It was a lie
At the end

Just another lie
I wanted to be true
I still loved you
At the end
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