A stiff wind broke the morning clouds. It was another gloomy sunrise, in a string of second-rate days. Kiera woke much like the sun, downtrodden and wishing to fall back down. She snapped down on the alarm, knocking it to the floor, and with two blinks was out again—back into a world she was beginning to recognise.

First the flooding darkness. Despite two weeks of this her body still rejected it. Her body hated it. Pathetic. Limbless shakes as the throbbing chill tore its way through her lungs, gripped her skin like sweat. She could smell the sharp stink of iron. When her vision came she saw her arms were covered in blood. A red too bright.

A figure she hadn’t noticed flickered out of her view. She turned her head sharply but saw no one.

Kiera realised she was walking. She held a square, brown-wrapped package, which would not stop squirming. As she struggled to keep hold of the ******* thing, ****** prints coated its sides. A postbox lay on the other side of the road—the same colour as the blood on her arms.

Kiera was furious. The ******* package would not stop squirming. She needed to reach the postbox before she dropped it. She was desperate—scared shitless. Why?

Kiera began to cross the road. Each step sent the package twitching, twisting. Her legs were bone thin. Her skin was shredding apart. Another flicker—edge of the vision phantom—appeared, but she barely noticed. The package was growing so heavy that her toes were breaking on the asphalt. She looked up and saw the postbox had receded.  How dare you? How ******* dare you, you *******.

She was on the wrong side. She had never left the sidewalk. How could she? She had no legs. Blood began to pour out of the postbox. It crossed the road, coating her torso, lapping the bottom of the package. The package stilled and began to deform in her hands. It was rotting.

Kiera had an urge to *****.

She lay there sleeping like a stone
Might sleep, were she just left alone
Attempts at peaceful slumber were
Foiled. And a cat would purr
To see her shoes left unattended
The Dreamland she was in was mended
When a lick delivered lightly
To her forehead woke her slightly
And with frustrated gesture
For her friends had all but messed her
From repose that she had wanted
All their actions left her daunted
She only wasnted for a snooze
Not a hamburger and *****
Just a rest for weary eyes
In the end, the bell ended her tries
It signalled end to tiresome day
So she got up and went on her way

I need to be enriched on a Tuesday afternoon
I may begin to lose my grip if it doesn’t happen soon
The drama club was my first choice, little actresses and actors
But clearly I was overlooking certain other factors
They all think they’re DeNiro, Kiera Knightly, Judy Dench
But they’re so bad that all they do is make my buttocks clench
They constantly repeat themselves digging ever deeper
It’s a shame they have the acting talent of a railway sleeper
There is so much over acting, extra cheese with all the ham
But they like all the attention so no one gives a ****
The play’s a melodrama, a very moving tome
But I’m only moved to tears because I’m desperate to go home
I just have to tolerate it for a few more painful weeks
Despite the fact it grates on me each time one of them speaks
A soon as they perform I’ll be free of these woodentops
I’m actually counting down the minutes til this torture stops
I am so bored of hearing about Maria Marten dying
At least when she takes her last breath, I can finally stop the lying
Yes you heard me, all this time; I’ve lied just like a pro
I’ve told each and every child in here they’re vital to the show
I’ve told them their performances will make their parents proud
Despite knowing that their only talent is in being loud
There’s no way I could tell the truth, I won’t crush all their dreams
I know they’ll all learn soon enough that life isn’t what it seems
What sort of teacher would I be to tell them that they’re crap
To say their acting talent won’t ever put them on the map
To tell them that they have more chance of flying to the moon
Than of picking up a golden Oscar statue sometime soon
So I shall grit my teeth and paste the smile back on my face
And pretend that I’m in rapture at their lack of skill and grace
I shall say congratulations every night that they perform
And I’ll stand and clap for each of them until my hands are warm
I’ll do this all but don’t be fooled I really won’t enjoy it
I’ll be seething all resentfully as through each show I sit
I will forbear for two more weeks, just fourteen days of pain
And then I’m never coming near this drama club again
Next time I’ll pick more wisely, think more clearly before choosing
Or I suspect it’s more than sanity that I’ll be loosing
My grip on that is tenuous to say the very least
And working with these divas has woken up my inner beast
I think I’ll try a nice relaxing book or homework club
Or perhaps I’ll save us all the stress and just go down the pub
Yes… that’s what I’ll do

and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.

hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas,  dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
        
   all those "expectations" mingling with a *babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
      looks nice, doesn't it?
         see how honest other people can become...
      that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
      but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
  to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****,
   oh sure, i can switch off...
    i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
  ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
                        why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?

i am sun stroked notebook pages set out
to dry on the grill.
dry skin and chapped lips dipped in sugar,
skin so white until flesh red
and the sun hid itself until the morning.
i am todays and tomorrows mistakes, clothes soaked in mud and forgiveness.
apologies on the playground,
rough housing in the living room and hurricanes in july.
i am the cup of water i put at the side of the house in appreciation of evaperation
to show mom how hot it was
(i wanted the hose on outside. she said no).
i am orange trees by the ditch, the swing set my friends played on and baby sitting kiera and brianna in the week days.
suddenly, i am fifteen years old and the clouds are on my shoulders,
the rain is tangled in my hair and i still know,
the sun will always find me in the morning.

Only a few of you remember this
Me being Chicken Little
but those of you who need a reminder, here’s the tale

Scrolling through Netflix
we crammed onto that tiny couch
Into those tiny chairs
We put on a movie we thought was just memories

We did what we all do when we watch movies with friends
We decided who was who
Talib was that fish
Dre was Chicken Little’s dad
Kiera was the goose
That left me, Chicken Little

From then on
I was Chicken Little

Here I sit
One day from the new year
Remembering all the fun we had
The tears shed
The laughter shared
The hugs given and received
The pain healed
And I wish I could do it all again

I just told her
We were standing in the kitchen
Light shining through the big window in the living room
Boxes still piled on our table from the move
She just stood there, stirring the mac n cheese

“When did... when did you know?”
The question I expected
But I still didn’t have an answer
“I just knew”
My voice quivered as she turned to face me
My sister’s kind eyes growing softer
“How... has anything happened?”
I told her everything
About Kiera, Jaben, Anna
I told her about things I had never said aloud

When I finished talking she stood silently
“Who else knows?”
“Nobody”
She poured the pasta into bowls
Dug out utensils from the cluttered kitchen drawer and started eating
We moved on
The room silent, save for the light clinking of spoons on ceramic

“Did I tell you about who I’m dating?”
She asked, grasping for something to talk about
“No, you didn’t”
And we went on
Like I had never said anything at all