...

It was a little brick building
With an overhanging tree that never had any leaves in my recollections.
Clouds overcast, windows projecting vacancy
By the stained glass fogginess.
I don't remember the evening they did an exorcism,
But I see myself in my dress and frilly white socks, coloring on the floor,
Sheltered between two pews.
"Mommy, why does Delores want to kill everybody?" I asked her.
I can see the spine  shivers she gets when I ask her about that story,
The otherworldly voice
And the six men it took to hold her down.

... 

My name in green marker,
The outside edges bleeding slightly,
Like the soft, fuzzing memories of childhood
My stretched hide tambourine clutched by tiny hands.
Tiny eyes looking up at the dim ceiling of the Sunday school room.
"The cabinets are so high." 
I thought as he asked me to do something my tiny understanding could not comprehend.
"No. "
This is wrong. 
I have to get away. 
"Where is mommy?"
Some memories are not that fuzzy
And the bathroom door hung open,
Pale window beckoning.
But it was so dark...

.......... 

"Sometimes I feel crazy."
"You keep saying that so I want you to write down what crazy means to you."
Her leg causually crossed under a tie dye skirt.
Mine hanging over the couch side.
Her office was softly lit, inviting
With stones you find at hippie stores
And lots of plants.
I felt like I was wasting  her time.

... 

"You haven't changed. It's been two years and you're not any more confident than you were when I met you."
"Yes I am! You just can't see it because my thinking is different! I don't worry about things as much as I used to."
"Are you still jealous?"
"Everyone gets jealous about things."
"You're deflecting. And you haven't changed."

.......... 

"Good morning! How are you three today?"
Looking up between them to see quickly pasted smiles on rigid frames.
"Fine! How are you?"
Handshakes and hugs.
"Mom and dad fought the whole way here."
I volunteered.
Looking away from laser glares.
Amused laughter following us as we walked back to the children's Sunday school room

The jello was a beautiful turquoise with gummy fish suspended in a Noah reenactment.
Mom bent over each of us to add the whip cream.
Sea foam,
Or something.
Mostly I think she knew what we liked.
"Do you have to be perfect for God to love you?" she questioned our little class.
"No!" we all shouted in unison,  giggling and diving into the tumultuous sea.
I think I turned to see her eyes brimming with tears,
But memories are fuzzy.

Dandelions

When you're a kid 

And the spring sun lays its gentle rays 

On your tensile strands

They always tell you to make a wish.

On stars

On a time

And dandelions.

I grabbed a whole handful tonight

Blowing hard

Anguish constricting my heart

Wishing desperately 

That you were mine again.

Turmoil

“I want to talk to you! I’m sorry I interrupted!”

Hand to the doorknob and twist without a budge.

Sigh and look at the soft light of the street lamps peer through the gaps in the living room blinds.

The knob twists under my fingers and the door opens suddenly, his figure emerging in a rush, arm sliding easily around my neck

Pushing me into the room, turn, let me down, then abruptly rough drop to the floor

Arms pushed above my head

His face is so close that I can see his facial hair, up to the glowing white skin, to his dark brows and brown hair falling over his eyes

“You stupid fucker!”

“Don’t call me names!” I try to firm my resolve, left leg shaking.

“Shut up you stupid fucking cunt!”

It was hard to hear what he said then because I was oddly aware of the way the carpet felt rough on my lower back where my shirt was pushed up

And the mist of saliva as more words ripped out.

My lips and eyes scrunched up as two fat tears ran down the sides of my face and I began to cry.

“Why are you crying!? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“No…It hurt my neck a little bit…I was just scared…”

More tears.

“You are so mentally weak!”

Continues on saying something that I vaguely know hurts.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks again.

His breath is warm; I don’t know why this surprises me.

Stern features looking down at my tear stained ones demand a technical answer.

Quiet inhale, face turning to stone.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I’m not hurt.”

The hot sticky feeling and the throbbing in my nose makes me think that somewhere in all this my nose ring bumped into the bottom of my nose.

There was a end to the argument, which was forgotten the next day. 
Fingers that kept smudging black mascara tears as I recalled the things he said, that I hovered and was a burden, making him miserable, a coward, that I tried to change him and thought I was better than I was...
"Something wrong?" he asks when I get home.
Quick smile, "No, I'm just tired. Long day of school." 
Things smooth again, 
Thoughts bouncing in my head, "I'm so ashamed of how I've behaved..."
"I shouldn't have been such a child..."
"He gets it more than I do..."

I'm not hurt, but it still makes me alternate between tears and chastising myself.
Self-doubt.
Questions.
But I love him...
How?
Shame.

And then

I can't believe this happened to me....

Happy?

You ever get the idea that you're not living your life?
I mean, really living your life?
Get up, go to work, go to school, cook dinner, kiss your significant other, turn on the radio in your car and sing along like it's the best thing and you tell yourself that you're happy.
Why?
Because you're not in Somalia or homeless or anything else to give you the indication that you're not happy.
But.
But you're not.
The alarm rings to single the onset of a very important day, the things you do that matter and contribute and make you fell fulfilled.
Does it though?

This is me.
I get up every day, sometimes sleeping longer than I should.
I promise more of myself from my studies than I can follow through with,
I live in an apartment with my boyfriend.
I go to the gym and text/call my friends to see how they are and when the moments come, as they always do, when I am sitting quietly alone, I tell myself I'm happy.
Why?
Because I'm not in Somalia or homeless and there's no other indication that I'm not happy.

But there is....

You ever just watch people, really watch them, and see how noisy and fleeting and on the surface it all can be?
I clean my apartment and do the laundry and as I fold his clothes I think how I care about him and it's nice to search for the stupid missing socks and clean the kitchen and do all this stuff because I'm happy.
I move forward because that's the direction you're supposed to go.
I change the things I don't think I need to because I'm happy.
I talk about things that aren't what is really bothering me because I can't keep bothering my friends with these worries that play on repeat.
Because I'm happy.

At 8:42 on Sunday night I sat on the floor in front of the coffee table with my clay project I was finishing up with paint, a Netflix movie on and every light in the place on because I decided to stop what I was doing to paint.
I thought about all the stuff that creeps up when the world is quieter and it's just you there.
While I don't know for sure what  else I would be doing, I do know that my friend is right:
Life is too short to be so miserable. Especially at so young of an age.
I've been wasting time worrying if I'm good enough, interesting or smart enough and painfully comparing myself to everyone else.
But I'm happy.

No. I'm not happy.
I just want that on record.
I am not happy.

I am in a mediocre to shitty relationship that is handy for him and leaves me questioning daily if I'm worthy enough or not and if he truly cares or not.
I don't want to work so much while I'm in graduate school.
I can't see myself as a professional in training as part of my identity yet.
I don't like keeping up on the cleaning and the laundry.
I always have these grand ideas for a writing or painting/ceramics/drawing ideas and my skill doesn't align with that idea.
I want to just pick up and travel and now that I have the opportunity to go to Guatemala for eight weeks this summer, I stupidly question whether or not I should because maybe if I go home with him this summer like he talked about, while he goes to Japan for three weeks telling me he doesn't want me to go with, maybe he'll decide he loves me for real.
I doubt my professional skills at times.
I get upset when my brownies don't turn out just so.
I hate some of the things people do but I don't say anything because I'm pretending to be happy.
Void of feeling too much and playing cool just in case.

I'm sick of fucking walking around like nothing anyone does bothers me and I'm okay with it, that I'll just try a little harder or care a little less or turn a blind eye to things.
That's wrong!
That's all wrong and not how things should be!
I'm 24 in 4 days.
It can't be another year of just continuing on the cycle until eventually the people I put more effort into than they do me eventually decide it's not worth it.

Maybe it's almost the breakthrough point.
Like maybe this is the climax when I finally decide to live for myself and not other people.
Or maybe it's just some post that comes from left field that doesn't matter.
It matters to me though, getting all of it out of my head, hoping other people think about this stuff too.
We're all putting ourselves aside or putting ourselves too far ahead and it's not right.
There's probably not any wisdom in this but I think it matters because we've all got to live with ourselves forever, that's what she said to me.
When I'm sitting alone on my living room floor painting and thinking, in that moment that's it.
There's no show, no impressing to be done or sucking up or being the most aloof.
I'm just afraid that it's too easy for all of us as people to get so distanced from who we are trying to chase a collective idea of happy, excusing what our own definitions are, being hurt or hurting to have this idea, and then when we're alone at night we don't even know who we are.
I don't.
I have a general idea but I don't always feel confident enough to go with it.

So, I don't know, just a thought.
Are you happy, truly, when you're sitting alone at home and can you be that person all the time?
If so, you got there somehow and I think it's important to know.

Today

"Guilt is like a ton of  bricks: it's only heavy if you hold on to it." He told me.

"I'm going to dump her, I just don't know when." He told her.

"I'm ready, I really need to get in for an appointment." I told the therapist.

"You have to do better." I told myself. 

"I'm sorry." I told my friends.

"I don't know if we're just holding onto it. I still have feelings for you." He said.

"Pray for me." I asked my mom.

"Please.... Help me." I asked God.

....

Things were oddly peculiar,

Key in the lock-

Half turned to open or to trap the scream. 

She left nothing of the former life-

Only shoes and tattered bedspread things

Where her dreams tore their fingers

Searching the mended mother holes

Keep quiet. 

You'll wake the neighbors with the

Sound of your beat less hearts 

But it may get lost in the sonic 

Noise of bustling aspirations

The car has been warmed up 

For some time but

It was never easy to go

Ego.

Sandman

She stole his bag to pour more sand in her eyes
Leveling the debt
Seeking sleep
And dreams

Turn the timer over
Lashes thick
And heavy
To tick
Tick
Tick
Away the happy lies of the day

"Sand man,  sand man, where are you?
My lips are puckered blood red
Just let me say
'How do you do?"

Silent creeks of evening willow winds
No surprise
She closed her eyes
And came up dead.