Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Fuck You

Your stupid face
for burning itself onto my eyelids
and stamping itself in permanent ink on everything I ever saw you touch.

Your flashy-ass car
that electric shade of blue that pulls my heart out
through my shirt every time it flits past the corner of my eye.

Your fucking house
that I still drive to when I put myself on autopilot
because being there was the closest I’ve felt to being home in years.

Your calloused hands
I still feel on the sides of my face,
pulling me in to kiss the ghosts of your lips.

The odor of you after work,
all oil, and mud, and Irish Spring
whipping my butterflies into a desperate frenzy.

For reminding me how to love
just as the one foot you kept out the door froze over.

For giving her everything I never had the balls to ask for.

For being someone I couldn't hate if I tried.

For giving me memories I'll never regret.


and...

just…


fuck you...

Monday, January 27, 2014

Afterwards part V

When I woke up it was dark outside and my stomach was rumbling. It wasn’t until I was downstairs opening an empty and rank smelling fridge that I remembered where I was and that there probably wouldn’t be any food in the kitchen. Two days out of the shelter and I’d eaten the crackers I brought with me and the leg of mystery meat. I went back upstairs to my bag. I had a bottle of OJ, a can of black olives, and some jerky. None of those sounded very good, and I supposed I should save that for more dire straights. Which meant I had to try my hand at foraging.
My father was a great man. However, one thing he never taught me was how to feed myself without a grocery store. On the one hand I figure, how hard can it be? On the other hand, I’ve tripped over air on multiple occasions. I thought I had a pretty good idea what not to eat. Mushrooms can’t be trusted in the wild, and I guess you probably shouldn’t eat poison oak or ivy or whatever. I was just going to have to see what I could do and hope I didn’t eat anything that could kill me.
I wasn’t halfway down the stairs when Zander was behind me. “Where you goin’?”
“Why do you care?” I said not stopping to look at him.
“Well you’re not going outside.”
“Excuse me?” He almost knocked me down as I stopped and turned to face him on the bottom step- which I instantly regretted seeing as it made him so much taller than me I was intimidated despite myself.
“You’re not going outside. It’s daytime.” He said stepping down to my level, making him slightly less ominous.
“Yes, daytime, the time of day when I can see what I’m doing, sounds perfect.”
“No, not perfect actually, dangerous, do you want to get attacked?” He was doing this thing where he looked like he was about to start laughing at me on but also looked kind of concerned on the inside where he thought I couldn’t see him.
“I want to eat.” I might’ve been pouting a little. “If there’s no ‘we’ I’m going to have to take care of that myself aren’t I? If there’s no ‘we’ why should you care if I get attacked?”
“I don’t,” he was totally lying, “I just don’t want you giving away my position.”
“Well I’m hungry, so I’m going to find some food.”
He sighed in annoyance. “There’s some food in my room upstairs, I’ll get you some if you want it.” He stared at me waiting for my answer. I didn’t want to take him up on the offer, but it did seem like the best option, and the pains in my stomach and my, well, everything else, reminded me of the events of the last few days, making me tired.
“Yes please.” I said quietly to the bottom step.
“I’ll be right back.” He said with a roll of the eyes that made me feel like a total mooch.
When he returned he had a near-empty bag of stale biscuits and some spreadable cheese in a can that had never been opened. I was standing awkwardly and sheepishly in the same spot.
“Don’t look so pathetic, it’s not that hard to find stuff, I can feed both of us as long as you can watch my bag when I need you to.” He threw one of the biscuits at me and headed into the kitchen. I followed him in and sat at my spot.
We ate in silence for a few moments. Well, I ate in silence, but after those few moments I realized Zander wasn’t eating, he was just staring at me with his head to the side, again reminding me of a dog.
I tried to swallow the dry bit of biscuit in my mouth before asking uncomfortably, “what?”
“You really don’t know what’s up?” He asked, eyes narrowed.
“Um, I guess not.” I said, a bit surprised by the sudden recycling of conversation topics. “Well,” I had to clear my throat of the slightly old tasting cheese, “I know something happened and a ton of people are dead, including my mom and sister, and that people are desperate for resources. I knew enough about why I was hiding in my family’s old bomb shelter to stay inside, but no specifics or anything. I guess my dad was waiting to tell me until I was older and could handle it better or something.”
“Hmm, crappy planning on his part huh?” He said taking a bite.
“Hey shut up! He wasn’t planning on going missing!”
“Well shouldn’t that be the first thing you plan for?” He was being so freakin casual. “If I had kids in an apocalypse scenario the first thing I’d teach them is what to do if something happened to me.”
“Well my dad just had more respect for my innocence than that.” I didn’t like feeling naive.
“I think innocence went out the window when he turned you into a medical fugitive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He snuck you out when he knew there was going to be a quarantine. Plus you’re a girl who’s mother and sister died of the disease, they would’ve wanted you for research.”
“Okay Zander, if you’re going to keep bringing up things I don’t know about you’re going to have to fill me in on what happened. Being able to see only bits and pieces of what I’m sure is a pretty big picture is getting really annoying.”
He just kept eating! For, like, ever! He talks crap on my dad for not preparing me properly for the apocalypse and he won’t even tell me how serious an apocalypse we’re in! What a prick.
“Hello?” I am not a patient person.
       “Hold on dude, I’m trying to think.” He looked like he was trying to see how much biscuit he could get in his mouth at once.
       “Come on! I’m not a little kid, if I’m gonna live in this world I’m gonna need to know what I’m dealing with right?”
       “Shut up! I’m just trying to think where to start.” He said through his food.
       “How about start where everyone starts dying.” I said rolling my eyes.
       He swallowed. He was out of biscuit.
       “Okay, so,” He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “Okay so you know that disease that killed your mom and sister?”
       “Um, yeah.” Duh.
       “Well, it killed pretty much everyone’s mom and sister. It killed pretty much every female. I think the last report I saw there were, like, 200 men for every one woman who kept from getting sick.”
       “What about the ones who didn’t get sick?” The look on his face made me feel like that was a really stupid question.
       “No one didn’t get sick.” He said simply, and meaningfully, as he watched my face with his eyes narrowed.
       “Well, my dad didn’t get sick.” I stopped there. So did he, for a moment.
       “What about you?”
       “Well, no.” For some reason I felt a little nervous.
       “You were exposed to it right? Your mom had it, and your sister had enough of it that your dad knew he had to leave her behind.”
       “Well, I didn’t touch them or anything, I don’t think I was really exposed.”
       He was shaking his head. “The thing was airborne.”
       “Well, what do you want me to say? I didn’t get sick. I’m sorry? What difference does it make?”
       “Were you listening? 200 men for every one woman! And you have whatever genetic oddity that made maybe 1000 people worldwide immune to the thing. You’re an extremely hot commodity. I could probably sell you for a Thanksgiving feast.”
       “Sell me? What the-?” I was starting to think panic might be appropriate when he started laughing at me again.
       “Calm down, I said I could, not that I would. What I’m trying to say is, it makes a difference because as valuable as any woman would be, a woman that has never been infected is almost priceless. There are people in this mess who would literally give their right arm to have you, and when I say literally I mean literally. The disease attacked people on a genetic level, many of the surviving women are deformed, a few are barren which makes them useless to the men I’m talking about who would kill to get their hands on someone like you. They’re kind of weird to look at, the survivors, and the weird looking women are churning out weird looking babies, a lot of them are about as smart as a cardboard box. The prettiest women with the highest healthy birth rates are prisoners. They’re kept locked up in closets and cellars and used as breeding machines. A woman who has never been infected, who is naturally as cute as you are, who can have many healthy children… I’m honestly not sure exactly what they’d do with you, I mean, they need you healthy, but they don’t need you happy, and they certainly don’t need you running away or putting up a fight.” He paused. “You’re literally one in a million.”
       It was hard to picture. It was harder to believe.
       “How do you know? You know? I mean, there could’ve been more people immune in other countries-”
       “They were reporting on other countries, it was the same everywhere. Besides, even if there were more like you in other countries, how does that make you any less vulnerable in this country? It’s kinda irrelevant isn’t it?”
       “Maybe you have a point, but how would they even know I was never infected? What does it do to you? Physically?”
“Well, there was some kind of a breakdown of bone mass and fat cells, so everyone is way too muscular looking, but weirdly not super skinny. They’re smaller, but they’re stronger than before, and there sure as hell isn’t any feminine shape left. It’s kind of hard to explain but you’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it. Plus it messed with pigmentation in a lot of people, most everyone is super blonde or grey now, and pale, and I think one of the freakiest things is that the irises in people’s eyes are gone, the pupils are still there but the rest is just white. So you kinda get why you’d be extra attractive? In addition to being able to bear healthy, normal children, it’s a bit gross screwing an uber-muscular skeleton with demon eyes.” He looked away from me.
“It didn’t affect the men in the same way?” I asked, trying to catch his eye.
“No, it did.” He was totally avoiding my gaze.
“So, you didn’t get sick either then.”
After a pause he replied simply, “Nope.”
“Well then why were you making such a big deal out of me being immune? Like you’d never seen it before or something, like I was this weird freak.”
“Because, you’re the only girl I’ve ever heard of not getting sick. I made a big deal about it because you need to understand how careful you have to be.” He looked back at me, a mixture of worry and relief on his face. “You are kind of a freak, but, I mean, so am I. It’s kind of cool I guess, finding someone else.”
“I know I have to be careful, my dad taught me that much, but I also have to survive. I can’t stay hidden alone in that bunker forever, I’ll starve to death right after I go insane.”
“Well now you’re here. So no worries right? Well, sort of.” He smiled, like that was funny.
“Well no actually. I have no idea how to fend for myself.”
“Well, you have me.”
“Well how long is that supposed to last?”
“Well how many times do you think we can say ‘well’ in this conversation?”
“Well that’s an abrupt change in subject.” It was kind of funny though.
“Well I thought it was funny.”
“Well I thought there was no ‘we.’”
He was suddenly serious. “I didn’t say there was no ‘we,’ I just asked you why you assumed that I’d want to hang around and take care of someone who doesn’t know how to take care of themselves in an apocalypse situation. That’s not a very good survival strategy.”
       “So is there a ‘we’ or isn’t there?” I asked somewhat quietly, cautiously.
       He shrugged. “Well yea I guess there is. What kind of guy would I be if I left you alone knowing you’d probably get yourself killed or caught. Plus the company might be nice for a change even if you are a burden.”
       “Well then why’d you make me feel like an idiot before for saying ‘we?’” Jerk.
       “I had to think about it. Even if I teach you to fend for yourself, you’re a pretty significant burden at least until you know everything you need, and considering you’ve been hiding in a stocked bomb shelter for ten years or so I’m thinking that’ll be a while.” He said it so casually.
       “Gee, thanks.” I was a little insulted. I liked to think I wasn’t completely useless.
       “Oh come on, don’t be such a girl, I’m not trying to insult you, I’m trying to be realistic.”
       “Well I’ve had enough realism for one morning, thanks.” I tried not to look too butt-hurt as I made my way towards the back door.
       “Whoa!” He grabbed my shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
       “For a walk, is that illegal?” Why was he looking at me like that?
       “Did you not just hear a single word I said? You were a part of that conversation, right? You can’t go outside in broad daylight by yourself and just walk around. If someone sees you you’re in deep shit. Whether they kidnap you, or rape you right then and there, or watch where you go to find your stash and hideout before taking you captive, which by the way would be here, where I also hide out, you’re screwed in more ways than one.”

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Afterwards part IV

A charged silence brought me out of my head and back into my new reality. Zander had stopped eating and was staring towards the back of the house in a way that reminded me of a dog trying to decide whether or not he should bark. I turned my attention in the same direction, but everything seemed pretty normal to me. I thought about asking him what was up, but before I had even drawn breath he had yanked me down under the table and had his hand placed firmly over my mouth. 
Rude! I squirmed to get out of his grasp but he held me with no effort, and his attention never left the back of the house. I smacked his chest, likely hurting my hand more than him, but the noise at least got him to look at me. His eyes were wide in earnest and he had his finger placed over his lips telling me to be quiet. Yea, I got that before. Remembering our brief time together during childhood I thought of an old tactic that had always worked in these situations; I licked his hand. It tasted like dirt, but it worked. He was angrily rubbing his hand clean (ish) on his jeans and staring at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief, but at least I could breathe now. 
 A shadow passed on the wall opposite us. He looked at me, again with his finger pressed against his lips. I nodded. He slowly and soundlessly moved to look out from under the table. Suddenly I was scared. Really scared. I grabbed at his shirt to pull him back under the table shaking my head, trying to convince him silently that he shouldn’t do anything that could get him seen. He smiled at me. Gently, he moved my hand from his shirt to my own knee, patted it twice in a way that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but felt kinda belittling, and crawled out from under the table.
 Awesome. My one and only method of self defense was going to go investigate the origins of the creepy shadow on the wall. Anyone who has ever seen a scary movie knows investigating gets people killed. I listened carefully for sounds of strangling or stabbing. Not like I’d heard them before, but I figured I’d know it if I heard it. Nothing seemed to be happening. My short attention span led me quickly to boredom, and I started really looking around my old dining room.
 I couldn’t see much of the kitchen because the breakfast bar was in the way. I could see the calendar still on the fridge. The first week of the month has red slashes through it’s days. Dinner for each day was written in purple sparkly ink up until the 15th - payday. The grocery list was gone, but I still knew the place by the calendar it should’ve been. Most of the pictures had fallen, or faded past recognition, except a picture of my cousins playing in our backyard when they were toddlers. Next to my hiding place, under the bench by the back wall, was a dirty old sock (probably my dad’s) and a toy horse.
 I reached to examine the toy. My sister and I had been obsessed. Other girls played dress up with their dolls or house with their friends, but me and my baby sister were only interested in our little plastic horses. Well, we had other animals too, for dramatic purposes. My favorite had been a muscular grey unicorn, with fur on his hooves like a draft horse and a thick white mark down his nose. His horn was broken in half, he had lost it in a territory war a year or so after he was given to me. My sister’s was a dainty palomino with a long silky white mane and tail she would brush idly in her spare time. This horse that survived was a brown and white paint, with blue eyes and feathers braided into his plastic mane. He played the wise old horse in our little fantasies. Once he had advised my brave stallion that the herd should move north, to escape the pack of vicious and evil wolves that would be moving soon to their valley. My sister’s palomino (the stallion’s young wife) urged him to listen to the Old One, but he was too proud to move his grand herd for the sake of a few dogs. In the end the wolves proved too great a foe and my unicorn and a few of his bravest fighters were forced to sacrifice their lives so the women and children could escape to the bright valley in the north. There was a long tearful goodbye and an epic battle scene. It was all very dramatic and my sister and I were quite satisfied at the end of it. I’d have to hold on to him.
 Still the house was quiet. I couldn’t figure out if that was a good sign or a bad sign. I thought of horror movies I had seen. If I stayed put, alone and basically defenseless, I was likely to be discovered and brutally murdered. If I went looking for Zander, I could either run into a crazy person and end up dead, or I could find Zander. If I found Zander, he could either be already dead or still alive. If he was still alive we could die together or escape together. I was not really happy with the chances of survival after riding that train of thought.
 I had just about convinced myself to go looking for him when I heard footsteps in the hall. I froze, held my breath, I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. This was it. Crazy murder man had found me. I was going to die.
“All clear.” Said Zander calmly as he sat back to his meal. I reminded my body to work again and moved back up into my seat. I sat staring at him, munching on his roasted cat like everything was totally normal.
“So….?” I inquired eloquently.
“So what?” He said without looking up.
“What happened with the shadow? Where’s the crazy murderer?”
He laughed at me. I might’ve liked his laugh if it wasn’t always directed at me…
“There was no crazy murderer. Whoever was out there is gone. Still, we need to make sure we stay under the radar, that’s the first time anyone’s come around here for a long time, I think they heard all that noise you made.”
“You mean the noise we made?” I said defensively.
“No, I mean the noise you made. I was just trying to tell you not to freak out, and what’s the first thing you do?”
I pouted until I was done with my meal, (if you could call it that) but after sitting quietly for far too long I decided answers were more important than spite.
“So what exactly is going on?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” He was picking at his fingernails.
“I mean what’s going on? Why are you hiding in my house? Why were you so freaked about someone finding us? What are we going to do now?” I paused. “Where is everyone?”
He stared for a moment with a mixture of curiosity and condescension on his face. “What makes you think there’s a ‘we?’” He leaned forward across the table towards me.
“Well-” I started, feeling stupid again. “Well I don’t know. I mean you’re all by yourself, and I’m by myself, and we were friends once…”
“That was a long time ago, and did you think maybe I’m alone because I want to be?” He got up from the table and began towards the hallway. “I can’t afford to worry about you. Do whatever you want now, I couldn’t care less.” I was left alone.
Whatever, you know? I didn’t need him. I didn’t even want him. He was the reason I was hurting all over anyways, scaring me the way he did. I could take care of myself just fine.
So I went up to my old bedroom. I was friggin’ exhausted and everything hurt. I laid down on my old bed. Examining the old horse, in my old room, next to my sister’s old bed, I felt kind of nice, peaceful sort of, for a moment. After that moment though, I started to feel how abandoned the place felt. I noticed the paint I helped my mom pick out peeling off the walls. I noticed the shreds of thread fraying out of the curtains and the blankets. Mostly I noticed how quiet it was in this house I always remembered to be full of the sounds of life; of my family’s life. Laying there, with the old toy horse in my hands, in my old room, in my bed, I closed my eyes for the first time in years and really remembered.
There was a scene, like a movie in my mind playing, not as clear as I would’ve liked, but clear enough. My sister and I were at the beach. I could hear Dad’s metal detector somewhere in the background. We were freezing because we were absolutely soaked with ocean water we weren’t supposed to have gone into.
“It’s your own faults.” My mother had said when we complained about a lack of towels.
We had dug pits in the sand warmed by the sun and we were laying on our backs looking at shapes in the clouds when we heard a car in one of the parking lots playing a song we liked. She started singing, but she was off key a little. I began singing over her, partially to help her correct herself and partially so I wouldn’t have to hear her anymore. So she sang louder, sacrificing quality for volume. Soon we were screaming the lyrics that had already been shut off as loud and as terribly as we could manage. The song quickly melted into hysterical laughter that brought tears to our eyes.
I rolled onto my side to look at my sister’s bed and wondered if her singing might’ve improved if she’d been given the chance to grow up. Then I curled into the fetal position and cried myself to sleep.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

On Pudding and Booze

Many things in life are disappointing.
My first real letdown was the realization;
dogs cannot talk.
I was saddened by this fact, but I moved on
and still, once in a while, I try to catch one off guard
hoping it'll slip up and reveal the great canine secret.
Then, years later, I was a hopeful eleven-year-old
eagerly awaiting my Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Of course it never came, because I am a muggle,
I've accepted it, and I get by without magic
and I keep a wary eye out for wizardry.
Then one day I attempted love, and it bit me,
I was not deterred - at first.
This happened repeatedly and I came to learn
my third great disappointment;
Love is not all you need.
But never once in this life has a bowl of chocolate pudding
left me disappointed, hurt, or feeling empty,
and not yet has a bottle of wine failed to appear
when I needed it most. So I say from now to the end of days
I shall live my life not relying on fleeting dreams or flighty people,
but on the ever reliable pudding and booze.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Phantom

I do everything in my power
to keep my mind occupied
and away from the subject of you.
Despite doing my best
to minimize the risk of feeling
sick with emptiness,
overcome with anger,
dissolved in loneliness,
somehow you sneak in,
every other moment or so
and every night as I lay down to sleep.
I miss the smell of you
and the way you walk
with gentle strength that drives me wild.
I miss the thought of you
coming in while I sleep
and lying down beside me,
scooping me into your arms.
I miss your warmth,
your quiet breathing in the dark,
and your morning eagerness.
Maybe sleep will get you off my mind,
but likely I'll dream of you,
as I've been known to do,
and there you'll be,
in my thoughts, when I wake.

Monday, January 20, 2014

The Edge of Feeling

The loneliness is a rope
tied around my chest
refusing to allow my lungs
expansion.
I feel the familiar numbing sensation,
the emotional abyss I could so easily
fall into, again, but emptiness,
darkness
is more painful than any sorrow.
The inability to feel pain or joy,
loneliness or the warmth of another
... it isn't worth it.
I won't jump.
Not again.
Though... falling would be
so easy... all I'd need to do
is let go...
I've learned this lesson once
I know I should step back,
that all that waits in that dark space
at the bottom of me
is the inescapable ache
of losing the ability to love...
but love is what tied the cord
that keeps me from breathing,
love is what threatens to throw me
back into my bottomless pit.
I could simply... let it...
Maybe I am too tired,
maybe I spread my love too thin,
maybe I don't have enough left
to give...
Standing on the edge of feeling
just trying to keep breathing.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Some Days

Some days
I wake up and just know
today I’m not human.
I go through the motions
with no pain and no sorrow,
no joy and no wonder,
seeing myself from outside.
Some days
I can’t move
because I feel so alone.
Nearly every one to whom
I’ve tried so hard to show my love
has left me in the dust, crying out.
Some days
nothing can touch me
so far above the rest of the world
the shit can’t hit me,
even with the fan’s help
I’m too far out of reach.
But most days
it’s debilitating;
the pain of knowing these people
don’t need me anymore.
I lay in bed, begging for a reason
to rise and be whole again
finding nothing to hold on to.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

One Day

One day I shall have a wedding.
A real wedding, with more than two guests,
one with a dress and flowers.
It should be a great day.
Preceding some of my best,
which should have children, ours.
One day I shall be sure of you.
Not today, but maybe soon,
and maybe not for a lifetime.
But someday I shall be whole
and happy, with people to whom
I can give my love, unconcerned.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Dream's End

Please, God, let me sleep!
Of course, I know
no dream can last forever.
That's all it was,
a dream,
but damn did they feel real.
The touches, the kisses,
the near misses.
I know, I felt it all.
Time to wake up now,
I hear my alarm calling me
back to numb reality.
I don't want to go.
I've tried to hold on
too long. It fades
as dreams are wont to do.
I hold fast, panicked,
but it's already over.


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Remember when?

Remember the first time
we were alone together?
You pretended to forget it was Valentine's Day
and I pretended I was okay with being alone.
That night I knew, I'd rather be with you.

Remember when we went for a walk
under the full moon, just us two?
Something moved in the bushes
and I turned in to you for comfort.
That was when I knew I trusted you.

Remember when we drove down the coast
because I had homework and you
just wanted to be with me?
That was the first time I saw
what we could have together.

Remember when I stayed over that first night?
You never touched me, not physically,
but that night you took part of me,
though feeling it missing burns like acid,
I'm glad to know you have it.

There are more memories,
some I've already forgotten,
and some I'll never let go.
Part of me just wants to make sure you know,
I remember.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Untitled

Some things I've seen before,
some things are brand new,
and some things I see
remind me of you.
There is a chance,
the next thing could be best,
but it's hard to see the future
when your head's in the past.
I can feel you now,
like I couldn't before,
drifting away from me,
taking with you the piece of me
that'll always be yours.
The farther you go,
the more clearly I can see
the scar you've left on me.

Monday, January 13, 2014

Four Walls

These four walls contain who I am.
Within them, you can find my life,
my entire history in frames,
my subconscious packed into a bookcase,
my heart on the pages of poetry I write.
I am alone in these walls.
I spend time here with myself
reflecting and thinking of all
the things I could have done differently,
perhaps, should have done differently,
but I didn't, so I dwell,
within these walls.
It feels so like a box
marked fragile on the outside.
I'd like to think there's a colorful bow on top,
but most likely the decor reads;
Return to Sender - Damaged Goods.
Am I a gift, or a pitiful broken trinket
no one can find use for anymore?
These four walls hold no answers,
only open ended questions
and boundaries built from pieces of me.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Almost

The smell of coffee drifts down the hall.
I forget where I am, feeling whole for a moment,
until the voices arrive in the wake of scent
and I remember how alone I am.
I open my eyes and stare at the wall
finding shapes making stories together
trying to block out the memories that call me
back to where I felt I belonged.
It fit like a glove, the home I found
but that home did not feel me.
So here I am, back in my bed
trying to get out of my own head.

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Not Tonight

I feel the plant we bought together
withering away to nothing
but a memory.
Like the remnants of who we are
together are drifting down
time's fast-moving stream.
Maybe it isn't too late
to gather what remains remain.
Maybe I should accept
they are lost to me.
I will not forget the ashes of us
until they are gone from my sight,
maybe someday,
but not tonight.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Long Day

A good day,
a long day,
all the same,
I'm happy in my pj's
under my fuzzy purple blanket
with my dad's chocolate chip cookies
and my creativity for company.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Happy! Or else.

I want to go
but I hate
wading through a sea of people
being bombarded by childless strollers
having happiness forced upon me
by hundreds of employees who smile, happy
or else.
I'm uncomfortable
but I'm happy to be here
among rude sweaty strangers
and all their spoiled screaming children
trading screams for smiles at the drop of a hat
they must be kept happy
or else.
At the end of a good day
I'm glad to be away
from the pushy merchandising campaigns
and the wallet snagging happiness
in the happiest place on earth
they dragged me to, to make me happy
or else.

Monday, January 6, 2014

35 Minutes To Midnight

There's a song stuck in my head.
A silly one, energetic.
The sleeping pills
are making me sleepy.
That's their job.
It's 35 minutes to midnight
my resolution is in danger
already. I have to be up
early in the morning.
35 minutes to midnight,
35 minutes after,
does it really matter?
Probably not,
but here I am anyways.
I'm calling it a night.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

The Stars Are Blue and Red

     I peel the wrapper from the bottle attempting to separate myself from the aura of the room, which is full of people. Warm, horny people. Stupid, happy people who are all stronger than I am. I need out but am trapped between my best friend and a sweaty someone who talks too loudly. Something about his buddy's girl being a dirty whore. I want another beer but couldn't really afford the first one. I indicate to my friend, who is engrossed in conversation with a semi attractive Mexican gentleman, that I need a smoke. She shoots me a disapproving glance but lets me out. I don't give her disapproving glances when she wanders off to fuck strangers unprotected, but whatever.
     Making my way to the entrance is painful, but the cool air of Huntington Beach is worth it, or at least that's what I tell myself. As I wade through the putrid human surf I keep my eye on the door to maintain focus and combat the panic that threatens me every time I brush elbows with a stranger. Finally I make it to the door. I pull out a smoke and attempt to light it in the coastal wind beneath one of many street lights. This is not an easy task, but where there's a will and whatnot. It tastes awful. The pack was a gift though so I won't complain. I think maybe I'll quit after this, probably not though.
     The sound of drunken enthusiasm wafting through the doors of the bar make it difficult to escape my overpopulated present, so I decide to walk in the direction of the beach. I hate walking and smoking at the same time, but I hate people more. The breeze forces me to pull my simple black hoodie closer to myself and wish I had brought my gloves to keep my hands from aching. The sidewalk is dead, both literally and figuratively. All the glorified apes are shut into the warm clubs and restaurants lining the road, I hear the sounds of laughter and anger and other vocal emotions all the way down the road. Thankfully, when I reach the pier the sound of the waves washes away the voices of inebriation. Finally, it's just me, the ocean, and the stars. It is freezing balls down here though. My breath is shaky as I drag the last few good puffs from my cigarette. I don't flick it into the ocean as ninety eight percent of careless smokers would have, I am better than that. I make sure it's good and out before dropping it into a trashcan. 
     I reach the end of the pier, and looking up I remember how I miss the stars. Being from an innocent little town in the mountains I've seen more stars than most Californians. I can even pick out a couple constellations. Not here though. Here it's just dark... and yet not dark enough.
     The blackness of the ocean is ominous and calming and the faint blue line of the horizon inflates my sense of adventure. Whenever I stand on the edge this way I find myself fighting an urge to jump into the water and let the tide carry me wherever it wills. Tonight is the same. I climb up onto the railing, one bar from the top to give my shins something to lean on for balance. Leaning over the edge I enter my own world of fantasy. I am a flying pirate and that horizon is mine. If I have to kill a thousand of the king's men to reach the edge of the world then so be it! Yes, I realize I am a dork.
     A squeal that was almost certainly human wakes me from my daydream. I turn my head to see, nearly losing my balance on the railing. Panic saves me and I cautiously descend to the sturdy wooden pier. Turning I see a drunken couple meandering in my direction all touchy-feely like drunk people sometimes do. I casually position myself behind the snack stand so that I am hidden but not obviously hiding. Watching them I resent and envy the company they share. Tender touches and flirty giggles are things of the past and the future, I hope, but not my present. They could be if I wanted to catch something, but I believe in quality over quantity.
     She is wearing a dress that barely keeps her from an indecent exposure charge and a tiny jacket that appears to be utterly useless even for California weather. She is unsteady in her hooker heels, her expertly coiffed hair is disheveled and she has dropped her purse at least twice on her journey to the sidewalk's end. The man seems sober enough. He is wearing some more sensible clothes, as it is acceptable for men to be comfortable and attractive at the same time. He has dark hair and a full, well kept beard. His smile is nice and he appears to be helping her walk, which is nice. They're a cute couple I guess. I still don't want to talk to them.
    They are getting close enough now that I can begin to move around the stand, keeping myself on the opposite side of the couple, to avoid being seen. I doubt they would have noticed me even if I wasn't acting like a skittish freak, but just in case you know? They plant themselves on a bench on the end of the pier and commence sucking face while I make my way back to my friend who will likely be going home with the mystery Mexican.
     Roughly halfway down the pier I hear the squeal again, louder, more like a scream. I'm thinking how obnoxious she is when she does it again, and this time it sounds urgent. I look behind me without stopping, assuming someone's being a bit melodramatic, and I see the bombed bombshell pulled to the ground by the man who accompanied her. Her attempts to get back up and her repeated shrieks convince me that this could be more than role play or melodrama. I turn back quickly, but I don't run. I don't have a clue what the man is capable of, so I don't want him to notice me yet. I stay out of the middle of the walkway, hoping that the railing and the dark will camouflage me somewhat, and that he is too preoccupied with his hostage to really look my way.
     I am close enough now that I no longer doubt whether or not I am truly witnessing an assault. I crouch behind a trash can to assess the situation. The man has the barely-counts-as-a-skirt hiked up around the girl's waist, one hand wrestling with his belt, and the other holding the pretty thing in place by her bra. She is still screaming, but the wind and the water likely carry the sound away from the population. I am at a loss. Obviously I can't just stand here and watch it happen, but I am kind of a pathetic person. I was recently beat up by an eight-year-old. There's no way I am going to be able to stop this strong looking fully grown man from getting what he wants, from either her or from me.
     Except... I think she might have dropped her knife. I can see it, about halfway between me and them. There's no way I'm getting to it without him seeing me, but I have the element of surprise on my side. There is a girl in front of me, seconds away from being raped, and I'm debating whether or not to go for the knife? No, I'm not debating, I'm going for it. I mean I'm on my feet, running towards the knife. What the hell am I doing? Even if I get to it first I'm not strong enough to keep him from wrenching it out of my hands. Well I did get to it first but look! Here he comes, dick out and everything, looking like a moron ready to kill both of us. I guess since she's sober and smart enough to be running away and making no effort to help me after I saved her ass it's really just me in danger. Awesome.
    I somehow manage to hold onto the knife as he tackles me to the ground with a thud and an "Unf!" He's squashed all the air from my lungs but I still have the knife. Of course lying face down with him on top of me doesn't really give me much opportunity to use it. He starts at my clothes like he intends to pick up right where he left off with the skanky coward.
    "What's the matter? Were you jealous? Couldn't stand that she was gonna get some of this and you were gonna be alone? Not fair right? You're hotter than that slut right? Well yeah, but I can tell you're a frigid bitch. Let's see if we can't do something about that." It only took the length of that speech for him to get my pants down far enough to really throw me into a panic. I can feel his hard-on pressed up against my cold, bare ass as solid as the pink leather hilt that's starting to sweat in my grip. "Now sweetheart I'm just gonna flip you around so I can get at you good."
    As he turns me around to face him his grip on my arm loosens enough that I can to bring the knife down between our chests. As his body comes down onto mine, the hilt presses painfully into my chest. His rape tool has made it inside me, but the blade of the knife is buried deep in his chest. 
     His breath reeks of whiskey as he exhales for the last time directly into my face. It's almost exciting, his blank eyes staring into mine as his blood soaks into my clothes. I stay for a moment, my knife in the dead man raping me, maintaining eye contact as I catch my breath and attempt to process everything that happened. I don't know how much time passes, but by the time I push the man off me I am completely soaked in the dark red liquid. 
     No one ever came to save me, but I have successfully saved myself. It feels amazing. I am not as weak and pathetic as I thought, and I saved someone in the process. I turn back to the end of the pier and walk toward the horizon. Resuming my place on the second bar down, I lean over the railing, eyes closed, taking deep breaths of salty air. I feel more alive in this moment than I remember ever feeling in all my 25 years on this earth. I feel like I can do anything. I can fly. I can swim to the end of the horizon, like I've always wanted.
     The stars in the ocean are twinkling blue and red, and instead of jumping I think I am falling but I land on something soft. There are faraway voices all around me. One even said my name. Why are the stars so upset? This is the best day of my life.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Classic

You're driving a bus;
Knock knock!
Who's there?
A woodchuck who could chuck wood.
Orange ya glad he didn't say banana?
Yes but why is that chicken crossing the road?
Because seven ate nine.

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Resolutions

     I sit in the bathtub in a strangers house, hiding from the party like I was hiding from a tornado. Or is it a hurricane? I know there's some natural disaster that calls for seeking shelter in the bathtub. Anyways the party might as well have been a natural disaster. One girl who probably wasn't even old enough to drink had already puked in the front yard and fallen asleep on a bench on the porch. It was loud, and rowdy, and raunchy, with drunk naked people making out and fighting and participating in various forms of debauchery. Really not my scene.
    I had allowed my best friend to drag me to yet another event full of strangers where she would inevitably run off with some guy leaving me to sip my poison in the quietest corner I could find. Last time I had seen her at this particular event she was ruining someone's game of pool with her ass while her face sucked the life out of some hot idiot whose hopes were up far too high. I knew I couldn't stay in the bathtub forever. The bathroom is a very popular room for drunks. I was savoring every moment of it that I could.
    Tonight was the last night of 2013. The year had gone by quickly and without many memorable moments. This time last year I was celebrating being single for the first time in years. This year I was just trying to forget that I was alone. There was a boy outside the bathroom who knocked a while ago to ask if I was okay. He cares about me, but he wasn't the kind of company I was craving.
    Every new year brings a ray of hope that even those with the worst of luck will look to in anticipation. I think I've learned that even on New Year's Eve, tomorrow will just be another day in the string of days that make up life. If you've been having a shitty time, your luck probably isn't going to change just because the human race has recognizes that a large amount of time has passed. A new year doesn't mean a new life, or new luck, or a new you, all it means is that the Earth has safely completed one more rotation around the sun. It's only a big deal if you think about all the ways in which life on Earth could have been extinguished in that time. As far as each individual person's life is concerned, a new year means nothing. Yet, I cannot count the number of times someone has asked tonight about someone else's New Year's resolution. As though the new year marks this moment in life where we can suddenly make these changes that we could have made all throughout the year but didn't have the motivation. Lose weight, get better grades, drink less, quit smoking, etc. These are all things these people should be doing anyways. Still, I contemplate my own resolution.
    I think I'd like to get in better shape. I'd like to stop letting my friend drag me to the torturous parties. I'd like to focus on school and my job and not worry so much about how far behind in my personal life plan I've fallen. I'd like to exercise my creativity more, so it doesn't get stiff when I finally find inspiration. I'd like to stop focusing on how big my void is and start focusing on filling it, and stop thinking a man is the only thing that can do so. Maybe I could get a cat. Of course, that's where it starts, and I'm far too young to become the crazy cat lady. My New Year's resolutions are the same as the resolutions I make every night in bed while I stare at the ceiling hating myself and my insomnia, much as I stare at the ceiling now. It's really gross. Moldy enough that I can see shapes, like I was looking at the clouds.
     I start as some stranger pounds on the door. "Hurry up man, I'm gonna piss myself!"
     I reluctantly stand, flush the toilet to reduce suspicion, and emerge from my sanctuary to allow the eloquent ho access to the toilet. The sound alone is enough to make my not-drunk-enough self dizzy. Then there was the influx of various inhalants attacking my asthmatic lungs. The boy who cared about me found me quickly and sweetly offered if I'd like to step out into the freezing yet fresh air. I nodded reluctantly.
     Not two minutes of silence passed before he asked me in the way most people do when trying to break a silence they feel is awkward, "So, what's your New Year's resolution?" I smiled, more to myself than to him and said "I need to think a moment, you first."
    He lit his cigarette and hopped up on the porch railing and said "I'm going to quit smoking."
    I laughed "wasn't that your resolution last year?"
    He nodded and smiled crookedly to reveal small-town-smoker teeth "and the year before." We laughed.
    Another moment passed and he prodded me to answer. I still couldn't think of anything good to say. "My resolution," I paused thoughtfully, "is to be a little different next year."
   He nodded slowly in a way that made me think he didn't quite understand, "that's a good one, just vague enough to work."
   I heard the countdown begin inside, as though every drunk ass at the party thought 2014 would be better.
    10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2!.....