Did you know?
Probably not, right?
I never really gave you notice of it.

Never felt the need to.
Until now, anyways.

I'm rather familiar with guns,
Adept at clearing and cleaning them especially.

That's all I allow to appear
These days

How idiortic would it be to know the maintenance of a weapon
And not to know how to disarm one of it.
Honestly.

I do not prefer gunpowder and a hammer for a reason,
You *****

It is not that I am inexperienced, unfortunately.
though I wish I were

But one can only take so much ot a weapon pointed to their temple
Before they react,
And I am skilled at reacting.

Your hand comes too quickly and you find it's suddenly Twisted behind your back.
Courtesy of me.

A weapon appears, and my body jerks forwards like
A tale as old as time,
I knock it down from one's hand either nicely
Or by force.

I won't care either way,
Long as the deed is done.

I refuse to be so weak again,
I won't.

As the feminists once screeched,
I am, unfortunately, a woman of deeds,
Not words.

I forget I'm easy to act
Until a man rubs up too closely
And then my body reacts.

I simply must twist around and grab his wrists
Only to wrench them against his back.
I often knock his knees out too.
Doesn't matter the intention,
He got far too close,
I mean really-do you have to walk .5 inches from my backside to shop for groceries?
I was already speed walking, idiot.

You stepped too close.
Normal people don't, pervert.
I asked you to stop,
You refused.

That.

Well, that's on you for assuming I'm weak.
Idiotic Republican morales.  
Just because I do not wish to harm others,
Does not mean I won't fight.

After all my parents were cops,
They taught my muscles that
Deeds not words, mattered.
Woe be me, this poor stupid democrat.
Shame on me for not wishing harm to others.

Really...let my 12 year old self show you ****** shame,
*****.

I know it's just Tuesday
But let me #tbt

Because I just heard a song
From years ago
That reminded me

Of the time
That my mom heard eminem and Rihanna
Battling it out

And she told me
It remind her of
Me and him.



I know that you can
Only lead a horse to water
That you can't make it drink

I know that you can't
Want it more than them

But, mom.
Mother of mine.
Mother of me-your only daughter

I may be an old soul
I may have been wise enough
To understand what he took from me
At 13

But, mom.
Why didn't you call the police
When I came back with
Bruises.

Mom, I love you
I understand that the sins of the father
Fall on the son.

But, why did we only discuss this
In the car with Three Days Grace blaring
Seven years later.
Right before I got a diagnosis
Of possible breast cancer?

Is it because I was so angry?
Is it because I shut you out?
Is it because my brain-I didnt want too
It forced me to see how I could survive

When my screams weren't
Loud enough.
When you were too far to hear
But your mom-spidey-senses tingled

You were my mother.
You were all I had
As I bit off more than I could chew.

Dad was too angry
To understand how loving abuse
Can shift the sands.

I may be alive still.
I may be nearly 23 now.
But, mom
Why didn't you save me at 13?


Why did it take
Your only child dying
For you to come true?

We set up the Christmas tree,
With ornaments and all
I still fix it, just to make it look larger!

I made a wreath
By hand!
It lights up, multicolored
And you always give me a half-answer

"It looks nice"
"Very Christmassy"
"Cool."

But the moment I don't touch it,
You suddenly care.
"I was expecting it to be lit"
"It's really dark without it"
"How bright"

I get it.
You're terrible with words,
Maybe you're nervous about being 'unmanly'

But honestly?

It's a poor excuse.
I poured my heart and feelings into this.
And I really, and I mean really couldn't give
A **** less
About your manhood.

Just please!
Appreciate me!!!
Appreciate my efforts, for ***** sake.

You don't care if I try?
But if I stop trying,
You care?
Would you like me to eat
Yet another spoonful of ****?

Aren't we supposed to be equal?????

I met the other in laws today,
And I registered how strongly I can blend,
Into the wallpaper.

It was only his grandmother that noted my quiet
Reactions.
And she wasn't sympathetic, rather just a tip of the cap.

I spoke, even quietly, and her eyes were on mine.
I suppose the 40s weren't kind, and she wasn't brave.
I don't delude myself into bravery, But!

I have an odd temper.
See, I'm hopefully past the age of worrying about
abortions
Yes I said it, boohoo.
It's the topic.

I don't care if you need it.
That's inbetween you and your doctor.
I know that its not only me alive on this earth.

I am incredibly unselfish when it comes to the fairer ***.
Because it could have easily been me.

It could have been me.
With no where to go,
Law on my back.

And I'm lucky, thrice!
Not only would the father agree, but also my own parents.
If I asked.

But...I'm lucky.
That's the point of law.
You shouldn't have to be lucky.

I've found that there are many choices in life.
From the second I open my eyes,
the games of charades begins.

Should I eat all of the croissant now?
Or over the next few hours?
Black boots or red?
Do I die today or will it be a few years?
Hair up or down?

Bus or bike?
Will anyone shed a tear for me?
Coffee or decaf?
Or would I only traumatise them?


Paper or plastic?
Would my soul rise from rotten flesh?
Cash or credit?
Or does the mind fall silent after your
Last beating drum?
    

     So many options these days!
They gasp.

     Yes, we like to keep you guessing.
I smile.

      Have a lovely day!
Perhaps I'll do it today.
      I hope you do too.

      I can help the next customer.
Perhaps tomorrow.

Lately, for some reason,
I've been considering the possibilities of my own death.
Not at my own hands-but that of another.

Perhaps it's due to my least favourite movie, The Lovely Bones
And that as watching it,
I can feel physical revulsion and pain at how he lures her in.
How she asks to leave.
How she misses dinner.

Despite my own experiences and knowledge of predators,
I quite literally can't count the number of them
The number I've run into on my own-not as a child.

As an adult.
An adult where my parents were a continent away
And where I was targeted at opportune times and the middle of the day,
accurately mind you.
There's been to many times.

I was utterly alone.

It irks me that I was targeted, firstly.
But mostly, it bothers me that I was
Likely only saved because a guy friend
Or a boyfriend stepped up.

I couldn't begin to imagine what I'd accidentally cause,
Being a willing target.
I can't even try to understand the horror that could have occurred had another second to happen in broad daylight.

It'd only take a second,
And I hate it.

Hello Child,
I've become your personal
Part time mother.

Out of the 24 hours of the day!
You and I spend atleast 9 together.
Well you and about 6 others,
All to which,
I'm their part time mother.

The other hours, I can only hope.
That people are talking to you
That your diaper was changed.
That you got as much food as your tummy wanted.

The rest of the time?
We hug and
We pat and
You show me your personal stash of treasures
All during play time
And goodness me,

Am I impressed!

Wow!
Whoa!
That's pretty!

Everything gets my Good Job! Sticker of approval.
As I smile and clap and pat you on the back
Because you're a little human
And you're mine for 9 hours, minimum.

I'm your own personal part time mother and I'm here.
I'm always here to greet you and to play with you and
Hug you.

We grow as we go,
So why not hug and pat and clap as our kids grow?

I don't believe in Heaven..
And I'd like to believe that if there were
Hell is so much more fun.

The priests said so
Since homosexuality is a sin
And your mommy sinned
By existing.

My apologies.
If I've doomed you somehow
But your dad is straight

And his grandmother is
Reigious.
To say the least.

I've come to the conclusion
That if there is a Heaven

You're probably there.
Maybe.
Hopefully..

Try not to judge me.
I was your mom, afterall.
Once upon a time.

Say a prayer, huh?
I'd love to meet you at least one time.

I was in the room when she passed,
We were so worried she'd awaken
Scared and in pain with 5 minutes left.

How do you reconcile 79 years in 5 minutes

I do not know,
So we called for more drugs.

Please ease her passing.
Please.

She quieted,
Heartbeat slower and slowed.
I swallowed.

My tongue wasn't dry,
But my throat felt like it was collapsing.

I did not touch her skin

A prenuptial funeral, held with a living body
In a room full of grieving persons.

I blinked.
59 bpm went to 34
62 then 29
31 beats per minute now.

A piece of me is waiting for her to suddenly stand
And take a bow for the magic trick.
I'm oddly optimistic.

I quietly recognise that I'm never optimistic.

I stared.
24 bpm for 3 seconds now
14 and the alarms have been ringing for ages?
But I've only heard them now.

A hand wraps around my legs.
I feel wetness on my left thigh.
It's my mother.

I haven't seen her cry since I was 5.

12 bpm it screams.
The ventilator kicks up a fuss.
I stare.
If I don't lose a moment, she isn't gone.

No one is coming to save her, the back of my brain said.

9 now.

I swallowed,
It tasted like sawdust and I still refused to cry,
I'd blink.
I can't, I've cried too much already.
My tongue is too large for my throat.

I don't blink as I watch her chest slow.
I can't swallow. My eyes burn. But I wouldn't blink.

Refused to show weakness while my mother sobbed.

0.
I blinked as it struck me,
Like her hand on my shoulders as a send off.
A life has passed, and I forgot to swallow.

My mouth still smelled like sawdust, no matter how many tears I tasted.

I know everyone says that nowadays.
But I swear I'm not sexist.

I have to be feminist, right?
How could I not be?
I'm a female afterall.

I just sometimes agree that
I should keep my head down.

I just sometimes feel that
I shouldn't talk too loud.

I don't always think
I should be
Only seen and
Not heard.

But hell, I don't want to
Take their rights away.

Afterall, it's a transaction
Right?
That's capitalism,
Right?

If I have more
Therefore
You have less.

So please.
Let me just help the human race.
Since you guys can't
Give birth.

The factory is open for business
I'm just a dairy cow.
I don't want to take away your freedom

I just want to exist
On my own.
I just can't
For now.

I was once a kindergarten teacher,
And I wasn't terrific.
Heck, I was probably a showcase of "least friendly"
Or maybe the most "lacking motherly care"

I made mistakes.
I overlooked digging in the dirt
And encouraged childish behaviours.

I appreciated
Kids that built towers
Only to knock them down

I watched children trip
Take a tumble, then a somersault,
and I patted them on their ***** head and said,
At least they didn't break an arm.

But I had fans, somehow.
Fans that had me bartering for alone time.
If they could run the whole circle, I'd give them a push,
Next time they ran the gym.

And my fans were, somehow,
Genuinely fans.

Their sticky, germy smiles,
And the security blanket that was
Both my scolding and my handholding,
Made the work worth it.

I saw words pass by,
So quickly
Fluidly,
Practiced.

All across the TV screen.
Talks of how enough was enough with the apartheid.
And at first I was confused-so I observed.

After a minute towards a month,
I noticed the ending of a sentence started by black
That was ended by white tongue

And I felt a twitch come on.
I gritted my teeth and thought
"It is not yours to say enough."

Yes, so I'm told.
a new job, you loved the idea
Yes.
you must be excited, right
Sure.

You see I meet every new change with a sense of
Just complete, utter
Dread.

It fills me.

It by it's own existence,
Allows me to see all I might not like in 3 weeks,
When the new has worn off.
And all within 3 days.

You'll know it's a good fit when the dread files off
But only after a few days.

It's my system.
It has literally never failed.

I came from a literal different continent
I grew up with the sentiments of a different time.
My parents were cops,
But please, don't blame them.

Would you like to know what they raised?

A late female suffragist. Yes, my father approves.
A female who knows how to wield a baton, she smiles
Then strikes,
Because you are a threat.

She was also educated that when pulled over
Keep your hands in plain sight, do not ****.
Theres something in the water in America,
Something that makes them act like that at a traffic stop, and my parents refused for me to be the victim.
They refused to see me on the news.

My parents haven't been on this continent in over 2 and half decades.
I do not know of the wrongs they possibly committed
But, I also know my mother screams kindness is free..
At me.

She will bend over backwards to make another life easier,
Is this guilt or is this humility?
I do not know.

My family is a century old *** of honey can dos
And jimmying without asking a professional.
We were poor, for the last 200 hundred years.
Is this hopefully where we found our recipes?
Destitution?
We didn't steal them right?

A black coworker discussed her family recipe for collard greens...
I chimed in. Couldn't help it, so far in the north here.
Black pepper is spicy here.
I'm so alone here.

I'm so incorrect.
I'm sorry.
I don't know how it is up north
But, my chiming in, down south?
I'd be fried and sliced up for Thanksgiving.
And that would have been fair.

I want to learn
You're all so confusing.
Teach me to mind my mouth, please.

I asked him what I did wrong
I want to learn how to be better
More effective
More efficient

I want to
Make me perfect

I was told that I'm
too cold
Too professional
And unfortunately my physical characteristics
Make me look incredibly mean.

I couldn't deny him
Since I literally made the conscious decision
That I'd be exactly all of those things.

Except mean.
Kinda had that done for me, I guess.
Thanks dad.

You said that if you
Were to write a song for me
to capture my personality

The first 15 minutes
Of a 25 minute song
Would be f-* over and over.

The next couple would
Play into my ego
Praising my sass
And indignant stubbornness

Then you'd allow me a couple
Verses
To dictate your love
Of all of my flaws, quirks,
And specialities

Seeing as I've been attributed to
The creation of songs like
Cherry Bomb and Alice Cooper's Poison

I can't say you're wrong.
It'd probably be the most flattering
Song of me.

I know that you're just a dog
But every time you whine,

My ears perk up.
In the most peculiar way.

I like to call it,
My offical
Mom-spidey-sense.

It's how I know which whine
Means what.

It's how I know when,
Your teeth hurt
You want to play
You need water
You just want to snuggle.

I know you're just a dog.
But, God.
I wish you were human.

If you weren't just a dog.

Well then,

I wouldn't have
To watch you waste away.

There is a hole
Where there ought to be more.
One huge fishbowl

I often relate to the glorified
punch-bowl

You can find me anywhere.
At your average party.
I'm just jungle-juice.

Everyone, hear hear.
Take a scoop of my soul
It's just liquid love

In fact, it's free for the taking
So please,
Give it a squeeze.

Try it.
You might even like it.

One huge alcofall
It's a bit of a saccharine
Taste.

It fades and the seconds we take
Are revolting.
But so rewarding.

I look down at my chest,
And breathe.
And breathe.

I swallow,
Relief tingling my nerves for a second at "negative"
Second tumour in less than 4 years.

It grew so much more quickly than the first,
And I breathe.
One day, just one lucky day, I know you'll **** me.

You're uncontrollable now.
Growing whatever you'd like,
So deeply and thickly, they can't see
But I feel the aches and pain
And I just know in my heart,
One day you'll **** me.

If I were smart,
I'd chop you both off in an instant
A double mastectomy from sheer forethought.

But insurance doesn't cover foresight nor seer abilities.
So I blink and cry and sigh
Each time I am prodded and poked and dissected

Every few years, a larger and faster growing tumour
It's gotten smarter.
It's learning, I think.
It grows larger faster, noncancerous so far.
How long do I have,?-is what I'd like to ask my chest.

One day you'll **** me.
I'll miss one important new lump
And it'll grow even more quickly than it's brothers
And I'll suffer.
It'll be too late for medical attention.
I just know it.

One day...you will **** me.
I'm just wondering when.

You said you
Wanted to talk to me tonight
So I'm sorry I rolled over
Without giving a ****.

You said you
Wanted to tell me something
So I guess I should be sorry
I didnt pay you any attention.

Sometimes I just want to
Do
What I want to do.

Even if that means
Cutting you off
From some stupid
Heartfelt speech
Of love or other
Childish fancies.

I remember once
My friends tried
To play a joke on me

He screeched in panic
And she pretended to
Have a large ****
On a rather important vein

I'm still not sure how she
Got it to spurt
It tasted like ketchup.

But panicked me didn't consider
That her blood tasted
So tomatoey

Instead I immediately reached for
A handful of napkins
Applying pressure above her elbow
To stem the blood flow

I'd already begun to stuff
Another dozen napkins against
Her wound with a phone up to my ear

Before my ears caught his
Panicked words of
It's a joke! It's not real

And hers of awkward laughter
And gratitude for my hurried decisions
Concerning her life.

I hung up on 911 with an apology
For wasting their time.
And chuckled, releasing her arm.

Funny! Great barbecue, by the way

I laughed again stepping back.
I guess I missed the punchline.
Again.

The good news
Is that she
Became a nurse.

Sometimes I remember when
An Ill given price of advice
Given to a child
Popped up in the wrong place, yet right heart.

I often wonder how my kids are doing now.
If their teacher ever acknowledged my way
Less if they even took it in stride.

I was logical, efficient.
I explained the madness to my method.
They got it.
They listened.

I listened to bullies,
To the misunderstood angry kids,
The undesirables, I guess.

I accepted bullies as newbies
Listeners as helpful advisors
Class clowns as young leaders.

Every child had its equal and right place
In my room.

They may have stumbled on their journey to righteousness.
But their stumbles were my praised steps.
Each hesitant one to glory.

They were still all my kids,
I took care to notice and observe the dynamics.
I hope they're okay.

I just really hope they're all okay.
I really really hope my kids are okay.

What if I told you,
There's  a third option?
That there's more than fight or flight?

Heck, I didn't know either!
Still haven't consciously experienced it!

Instead he did.
He discovered that I picked a whole third option
One night.

I have nightmares, but ironically,
Even my sleeping self is good at pretending it's fine.
She rests in odd angles, dangling off the bed, or rather
She takes up as much as she can and
Denys it to any other.

You see this third option appears
When and only when
One attempts to disturb that absurd nightmarish
But sleeping dragon from her rest.

She tends to then act out, purely instinctively,

Clawing
Choking
Crying

She has picked the third option
It means she cannot run because she is sleeping
Which, I guess she knows and understands.

But apparently she can fight regardless of
Her comatose self.

And she will.
To the either the death or you desist in poking the
Sleeping dragon.

She will apparently continue to rest soundly,
Sometimes in incredibly odd positions and
Awkward angles.
But she is quiet, she keeps to herself and guards her territory,
Unconsciously.

Hey. Quick thing for you.
If you're that sure, enough to protest and riot.
Why don't you just drop the masks?

The threats gone. Right?
No?
Maybe you should drop the protest then.
Since, you know-we're all stuck because the
THREAT isn't GONE.
Figure it out.
I'd rather rack debt than **** an innocent person.

I used wonder why
Why he believed me
In every word I said

I wondered how he could
Believe my own stories
When even I knew that
They sounded faulty

But then I realised
When I spoke casually
I lacked all manners of social protocol

If someone asked me
What I thought of their hair
I didn't dare hide that
They reminded me of a troll doll

If he asked me
How I felt about a person
I didn't think twice about
Informing him that I took any form of betrayal
As exactly betrayal, intentionally cruel or not.

I didn't think twice
To tell him that his friend
His friend gave me the most unsettling
Feeling in my gut.

I didn't blink
When I explained this was why
I avoided him.
Despite the fact that his friend was
Nothing short of pleasant.

Ironically,
One of my favourite phrases
Outside of kindness is free
And every action has consequences

Ironically, my favourite phrase is,
I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.

I suppose I should have noticed sooner
Despite me coming out with what were
Admittedly outlandish claims,
And I informed him I had absolutely zero evidence
Out of my word.

I didn't think he would trust my word
I expected a dismissal at best
A physically and emotionally scarring scold at worst.

He believed me.

I didn't have to justify it.
I didnt have to lead him
Down a trail of my own thoughts.

He believed me.

I wondered if I could tell him
That spiders could only move using
Solely tap shoes,
If he would still so naively believe my words.
Without any sort of evidence.

I wouldn't.

But honestly,
I can't make myself cry when I don't feel the need too
Of course, I can lie
If I think my life hangs in the balance.

But he believed me.
Nothing more, nothing less.
When I asked why,
He proclaimed that I was simply and utterly just
Honestly, me.

I'm so confused
As if belonging in another hemisphere has fried my sense.
My common sense.

I see salt on my car, I ask  "best to get a wash no?"
No, I'm told.
It'll just make it easier for the salt to cling and rust.
Odd, I think.
Very odd, this northern chemistry.

But, okay.
I lose my sense.
I lose my logic.
It's fine, I tell myself. It's fine. It's just for now.

I look at my tires, I say they're a bit low, no?
No, I'm told.
They're perfectly low. Also heres a heaping help of sand.
Could always use more sand, I suppose.
Attacked by house cats, and need some litter.
Got some.

Still I insist, ******* my logic and education.
Just a little air, no? That'd be fine, yeah?

No.

Bit of air now, they'll explode in the warm.
A wash? You'll rust to bits next snowstorm.
I blink, I swallow. I drive, I ponder.
I find I am much too mellow. Much too giving, I was confused. I am not any longer. I'll do it my way, exploding tires or naught.

You know?
I've mapped out every situation
In which my life
Could end.

From work,
To class,
To daily tasks,
I've thought upon it.

The easiest time to
Off me
So to speak,
Would be those last few days
Between Christmas and New Years.

But even in those,
Your odds are worse
Than you might have thought.

For you see,
I might not look it.
But, I have persons
Depending on me.

In fact, nearly every
Second
Of every day.

I am either
Responding to emails
Or
Responding to calls.

Yes. Its funny, when you think about it.
But if I went missing
Approximately, 211 people would fall.
[Not including the dog)

Yes.
She might be annoying.
But shes incredibly In tune
To me.

When I whimper,
She cries.
When I scream,
She whines.

Yes, it's rather funny.
You see?
But if I went missing,

In fact the moment
I stopped breathing,

I'm pretty sure,
That my mum
Would somehow know.

So then,
Yes.
Its rather funny, isn't it?
If I disappeared for
Only a moment

Not only two
But three individuals
Would search for me.
(Not including the dog.)

I have
Many voices
Telling me
About the people I see.

Their words are
like pollen
Spreading within the winds
Clogging your lungs.

He's cheating on his wife
I wonder if I should tell her?
No. That's impertinent.

Of course,
She's lying about her mother
I can't mention that.
No, you can't.

So I sit.
Watching.
Tracking.
Logging.

I'm not autistic,
Nor psychotatic.
Or sociopathic.

I merely have a knack
For noticing and noting
Patterns.

We humans are habitual,
Those that aren't should be avoided!
You're right.
They're dangerous.

For you see,
I may feel love
But they don't

And if your only weakness is
You lack of emotion
Then you're a predator too.

But, I don't want to hurt anyone
Or rather
I don't want to hurt anyone
That doesn't hurt me and mine first.

Me and mine being
Me, myself and I
As well as those that
Control my feelings.

So while a predator
may recognise another
that doesn't mean you are one too.
No.

It may just mean you're diligent.
Vigilant, even.
You care for your loved ones.
Becsuse they are your weakness.

But if I didn't have
Loved ones
Family.

I'd be a threat too, right?
You're far too easy to track
Tsking the same road home Everyday.

I don't want to hurt.
I want to be meaningful.

I know that I do not walk alone.
There are so many people
That have walked alongside me
these past years.

But I also know that
each step I take
is on hallowed dirt.

My heavy feet strut
upon the heads of freshly
laid corpses.

They are the bodies  
of those that felt the
need to sacrifice for me.

Weary backs carry me
thru the fog.
Gnarled oaken fingers point
towards my goal.  

And away I go
Plodding atop legs
which once leapt
bounds around me.

I understand that you have friends
Friends you didn't want to see
When you thought you had to take me.

I get it.
I really do.
Sometimes I'm a

Downer.
A loser.
You might say,
I'm the
Weight round your neck.

Trust me.
I understand it
Quite clearly.

But that doesn't mean
I'll appreciate you
Leaving me at your
******* mother's

Whilst you visit.
She gives me these looks.

Looks that my animalistic love
Understands as
Bad.

Looks that carry "I'm so sorry."

And I don't want to see
And I don't want to hear
And please, please, please.

I just want to go home.



But you took the car.

I say what I mean
And
I mean what I say.

Yeah, no.
Really, that's it.

Maybe that's why
I feel so
Insane in the membrane

When everyone seems to
Think that
I've got a hidden motive

Seriously
Is this an American thing?

Where you say one thing
Feel another
And say something completely different?

I don't get it.
Maybe that's what makes me
Insane in this country.

It makes me so angry
When I'm so
Clear
Consice
Considerate.

And you doubt me
Anyways

Because I'm a female??

Do you even know
How hard it is
To genuinely do that?

No wonder
This country.

Is an open season
For school shooters.

Sometimes I'll lose myself
Writing up stories.
Of females.

Always females.

I can write from a Male perspective,
But I'm not comfortable.
I'm not in my element and
The words don't flow.

These females will have deep
Backgrounds, memories of their relatives.
Sometimes a privileged one
Sometimes one which leads them on their
Own personal journey.

Still they will suffer all the same.
Something is always stolen
It's always concerned with what
Great atrocities
They will suffer
In the great and copious details,
Which I provide.

But they will always
Find a way
They persevere.

Right when they're
Just about on the mend
I stop writing.

I cannot continue
To the point which
My readers panic,
Perhaps I've died?

No.
I have simply ran
Out off a track.

It recently dawned on me
That my characters
Were so real
Felt so genuine
And oh so guttural

Because each character displayed
A small piece of me.

Anger.
Arrogance.
Intelligence.
Love.
Forgiveness.
Naivety.

My heroines always find a
Place they can control
With kind people
And flourish within it.

But most of all,
they never get a happy ending.

Simply because I don't
Understand how to
Write a genuine happily ever after.

I always thought it stupid
Or perhaps idiotic
To write yourself
Into your own story.

Who needs a dozen mini me's?

But look at me go.