I am a farm girl or love to pretend that I am one

I graduated with BS Psychology degree in 2009

Yet worked in a retail company for many many years.



I dreamed to be a clinical psychologist you know

As I counted the stocks and boxes in the warehouse

And voided transactions at the check-out-counters.



I desired to help people on how to deal with life's problems

Yet I could not cope up with my own majestic failures

The reality hit like a truck when I did not pass the exam.



I wallowed in the mud of self - pity and bitter tears

As I planted those leeks, basil, onions, peppers and dills

And waited patiently for the babies to sprout and grow.



I sowed dreams yet I nurtured other things like nightmares

And I reaped unrealistic, unhealthy desires and I cried hard

What happened to those teenage aspirations that I had?

****** of laughter from the tv makes me wonder but as i view my eyes slowly glaze over

limbs sprawled across the plastic chairs heavy as they thud to the ground

apathetic as the dusted slipper skates across the floor

back to the screen constant movements of speaking

and laughter and feeling the rumbling inside but simply masking it

a tune plays in my ears and once again

the world blurs

A half completed hotel comes down around

a hollow bastion of silence and peace.



How rare silence is; how preciously finite

like all the good things.

Like wine and cherries and orchids

and any combination of the three.



My father and I used to climb mountains

to experience a silent so absolute that

you had to hold your breath

because it was making too much noise.

A silence so complete that

you can hear the trees grow.



But the hotel is crashing down

around my ears so clamorous and horrid

leaving me alone freezing in the cold

rubble and ruins surrounding me listening

to the cars pass by on the interstate.



How quickly stained glass breaks.

there's a girl who sleeps in my bed
I don't mind her too much
though I wish her nightmares
didn't make such a mess
of the sheets.

she uses my shampoo
I'm okay with sharing
I just wish she would
save me a little
conditioner.

most of the makeup in my room is hers
some of it's mine though
I prefer blushes, eyeshadows
while she collects
concealors.

and sometimes, on the right day
I see her when I look in the mirror
not very often though
I don’t really look a lot
like her.

when I look in the mirror
I see flushed cheeks, wet hair
nails need a trim
hips, a little excess
but okay.

I don’t always see cuts
bruises, starvation, memories
of self-induced punishment
three failed attempts at
"making it stop".

I don’t always see
the ghost of years ago
when I look in the mirror
but sometimes
I do.

I found a pebble today
and tomorrow, I will drop it in your bag.

One day, when you are
lying alone on your floor
and your skin
feels like smooth, white plastic,
you will find this pebble
lying beside you.

One day, when you are
fighting someone to save your life,
this pebble will fly out
of your wild hair,
and land in that person's eye.

And every time you look at me
this pebble will itch,
stuck in the folds of the dresses
covering your body.

You might flick it away then,
but you will never notice
that at home, it will lie
quietly between your shoes
and give you company.