She’s at the counter again. Counting to ten-can’t stay idle too long or the boss will threaten her job.
She’s tired. This is her tenth day on. She’s been working long days and staying into the night-she needs the money. God, she needs the money.
She’s got a rowdy kid in the booth to her right. Her hands are on the counter-she’s got five more seconds. The kid throws a glass. Had five more seconds. She can’t hear the crash she just moves to pick it up. Robotic. She hates the feeling of the unconscious movement. The fact that she’s been a waitress going on too long now, it truly is automatic.
The mother of the kid catches her attention-she can’t hear a thing. It’s not alarming more of a Peanuts kind of thing-wah wah and all. She’s apologizing, at least, that’s what it looks like. The kid throws a napkin dispenser as her mother gasps in horror of her little angels actions. She continues to apologize then grabs her daughter by the wrist and sits her down.
The waitress sighs with a smile and a nod going to pick it up. She’s thinking it might be good to turn back on the sound now if only she had a choice. Today’s one of those days-there’s no choice.
Sometimes she wonders how the brain works, how days like this happen and how she’s managed to function without hearing the orders. She wonders a lot of things all at once before walking directly into her boss. His mushy barrel chest hitting her entire face. She’s not a small woman, but he’s a rather large, large man.
She backs up. He looks down stern face turns jovial and he laughs “lost again Cathy?” she can hear again. This doesn’t make her happy. She smiles and sighs thinking of what to say, obviously, too slow “that’s alright girl!” he grabs her shoulder, she shrugs, but he doesn’t let go “I need you to go to the back grab some more pies and display’em the new girls they don’t know how to make’em pop like you” she smiles, nods and walks past him as she does he swats her butt. Her face hardens.
The loud noise of the diner surrounds her as she’s reminded she needs this job. All the thoughts constantly working through her mind have found focus. Even if she wanted to fork the man’s eyes out, she just can’t today.
Passing through the double doors to the kitchen she walks toward the refrigerator, enters then quickly exits. “Goddamn it! Can we not fuck where the food is!?” the cooking staff just laughs having watched her walk in, knowing. “Seriously” she huffs stamping back out onto the floor. Shoving passed the double doors mumbling about the state of the world.
She smiles at the customers and nods to the other girls who all have smirks on their naive faces. They all knew who was getting hers from the recently released. She can’t help, but wonder what young girls see in post prison sex. Shaking her head the kid from before is at the register she smiles down at her. The small girl no more than six smiles while slowly raising up her hand displaying a proud middle finger. She smiles bemused and shakes her head.
She’s happier now, thinking that she needs the money for rent and not the parasite she gave up.
She goes back behind the counter starting back at ten peaceful-motherhood is for the birds.


Don’t look up

I wake up terrified.  My heart is pounding in my chest. Everything feels dangerous. The sheets feel incredibly smooth-too smooth, too soft! I’m panicking-I know I’m breathing, but I can’t breathe-no air is getting through! That’s insane-but I can’t calm down. My heart, my heart is beating rapidly in my ears. I’m dizzy. So, dizzy…

Everything goes black. Everything goes black. I feel like I’m falling like my whole body is weightless. I’m falling, or maybe I’m floating, flying? Everything is black there’s nothing, but a feeling, a feeling best described as falling down. I want to scream, but there is no want, just feeling, and I feel I may have no lungs. As I fall a large hand grabs me true black in the darkness that surrounds. I feel fingers and a thumb, my chest pressed up against a palm-is this dying? No one ever described it quite like this, but now I’m falling up. Everything is still black-do I have eyes?


Blankets swallow her whole as she crashes gently into the mattress sinking deep into the bedframe before slowly rising up again.  She’s in her nightgown-is this my nightgown? It has to be. “It has to be…” she breathes still in the state of dreaming. She looks around her room-this is my room, right? Of course it is, but she shakes her head still bewildered by the state of affairs.  Some dreams are deep.  “Some dreams… are fucking intense” she sighs. That’s not what I said.  ”What?“ she gasp hand over her mouth. Looking around she sees nothing out of the ordinary, her room, it’s just her room.  The pictures on the wall all recently hung up-oh that’s right! “I moved… duh… silly me… ” shaking her head, she’s smiling everything again makes sense.

She sits up her feet falling into plush slippers, wiggling her toes she feels amazing! Stretching her arms, reaching for the ceiling, she groans “what a strange dream…” Getting up she moves towards her new closet it has sliding white wood panels as doors, two, that go one way. She opens it slowly, for some reason, hesitate. She shakes her head once more. Her hair moving, the tips waving side to side, she inhales deeply and opens the door the sound of the panels moving on the runners startling.

Once open she stands still, her eyes wide “these aren’t my clothes” she’s seeing every color she dislikes.  She doesn’t usually wear pastels, but she loves them now. “But I love…” she stops, zoning out lost in the pastel rainbow of properly hung clothing. Her hands are shaking. She backs away from the closet walking abruptly to her desk, it is her desk. This isn’t my stuff! Her heart is racing, hands still trembling, but she is examining her things. There’s a notebook with a list of Things To Do Today she begins to read, breathing slowly, though her heart is still racing.

“Neighbors?” she exhales. “That’s right I’m going to meet the neighbors with-”

“Good morning my beautiful wife!” her husband Thomas interrupts with his usual cheerful morning grin.

She turns quickly, backing into the desk with a jolt, her heart is still racing after all she’s scared, but she doesn’t know why. This man is her husband.

“This who are you!?“ she shouts irrationally.

He frowns, saddened by the behavior “are you not feeling well?” he takes a step forward, cautiously, hands out hoping to reassure her. She backs further into the desk, eyes wide, heart still racing. “Baby, it’s me” he insist softly “it was all a dream.” He’s right it was all a dream.

How’s he know about the dream!?

Taking another step forward he reminds her softly “I’m your husband. We’ve been married five years”. She jumps toward the closet “honey! Come on!” he’s starting to get frustrated. This guy is not equipped for this.

“I don’t have a husband!” She’s always despised the idea of marriage.  He lunges toward her. She jumps on the bed. She’s acting feral.

“You’re acting feral!” he shouts as two small children run in.

“Mommy!” they say in unison. Both smiling, arms extended toward their loving mother.

She kicks towards them! “Ah! Ew! Get away from me! I fucking hate kids!” her face is twisted in a sour grimace. The children begin to cry their father rushing to their side questing why she would hurt them so, but all she can hear is the blood rushing through her heart.  

Leaping off the bed she flees from the room, still clutching her To Do list in her right fist. She runs down the carpeted stairs, her choice. She screams while flying “I hate carpet!” through the front door she runs to the edge of the asphalt.

Seeing her neighbor Janet watering her lawn to her right. She is frozen. Hey legs unable to move she looks at the list it’s number three-visit the neighbors.

Janet interrupts her thoughts “are you okay?” she grabs her gently by the shoulders, leaning down to make eye contact, “did you just look up for the first time?” she smiles brightly laughing until she realizes this girls not laughing with her. Janet’s smile fades “oh. Come with me”

“What..”she slowly moves her head to look up.

Janet pulls her by the left arm jolting her attention from the sky “don’t do that” she changes panic to her usual cheerful smile “just give me a moment, just wait.” Janet smiles and inhales deeply as a breeze rushes past them. Blowing all manner of fallen autumn leaf around them, picking up her nightgown, nearly dragging it with it. Opening her eyes slowly Janet exhales “better. Your names Michelle, you just moved in. Why don’t you come inside for a cup of coffee” Janet’s smiling, pulling gently on Michelle left hand, nodding her head reassuringly.

Michelle? Yeah… that’s-no that’s not right.. My… what’s my name? She follows, but she still appears distraught. Her heart is still racing after all. Once they reach the doorway she’s startled by what she sees, Janet’s front door is a deep orange red and is framed by a lush purple trim, flourished elegantly. Janet turns back towards her still holding her left hand, her smile open showing teeth and tongue, her head is nodding.

“Come Michelle, come inside, we’re going to have a nice visit.” Michelle begins to follow once again as she is led inside to the parlor. The walls inside are the same orange red, deep as the door, but the elegantly flourished trim, which runs throughout the house both bottom and top, is white. What the fuck is going on?! Janet sits her down, back to the window, on the pleasantly patterned loveseat and sits across just slightly off center to the left. Michelle looks down at the To Do list why the fuck would one be ‘get up’ and two be ‘eat breakfast’-

Janet interrupts the silence. Michelle looks up with a jolt, eyes wide, heart still racing it appears. “Michelle-your name is Michelle now. Don’t you remember?” Janet’s smile is gone, her brow is furrowed in worry. Michelle shakes her head. “You don’t recall your children, or husband?” again she shakes her head. Janet sighs “so strange… so very strange” she sighs “well” leaning over she pulls out a photo album “first we look here, and then you’ll run outside whether I try to stop you or not, okay?” Michelle shakes her head in confusion her brows now furrowed as well “or warn you-just look” she opens the photo album the sound of plastic slowly coming apart startles the air, their ears tingling with the static it causes. Placing the heavy book before her on the wooden coffee table she sits back, nervous.

Michelle stares wide eyed at Janet for a moment before slowly leaning over the photo album. She can smell the plastic, she can feel it in her nostrils as she inhales sharply.

Looking up at Janet her eyes filled with disbelief she rapidly returns to the photos what… she begins furiously flipping the pages of the album what!? She flips page after page her eyes growing wider,  all she can hear is her heart pounding. Leaping from the loveseat she rushes to the edge of the asphalt looking up into the sky that is cloudy and grey.

Shielding her eyes with her right arm, her head thrown back, she gazes into the sky as the wind picks up. Autumn leaves begin to rush around her legs, a hurricane picking up underneath her nightgown. The wind clears the sky, but instead of blue she sees black. No, no, not black. She looks closer squinting as the objects move, eyes blink, one head shakes, she’s watching us.  Eyes wide, heart racing, she collapses on the floor. 


I wake up in the same place each morning. The same bed. The same walls. The same lousy alarm clock that screeches you into the hell of existence like a symphony of tiny demon babies. It’s all the same.
That should be good. Should be. It’s not, clearly. I wake up wrapped in salmon sheets-not pink. Definitely, not pink. The ceiling obscured by the canopy bed and I just stare. Every morning I wake up in the same place, same bed, and stare at the same obscuring canopy-wondering. A lot of things really, though, mostly the same-why is everything so fucking boring.
I used to have the bad habit of waking up in a different place, with a different person or persons, with everything-different. It’s not a healthy way to live. I tell myself this to interrupt the wonder before it turns wanderlust. Then I itch. I itch and itch and finally I scratch. It’s dangerous to wonder while looking up at the same obscuring canopy every morning.
I get up, my feet instantly hitting slippers. Warm, soft-angelically soft white slippers purchased somewhere and when in a place and time that felt cinematic. Every morning it’s the same. A memory of the perfect ending to a mediocre film. Every morning it’s wondering what got me here.
I grab my robe. It too is soft though cool to bare arms. It’s pink like my comforter everything matches now including my nightgown which is pearl-not white. Like my pillow cases.
I leave the bedroom through double doors. The same double doors that greet me everyday with embellishments meant to match the canopies banisters. Passing through them reminds me, everyday, of motel doors. Always different. Always, even when the same.
I walk down the elaborate staircase which curves toward the bottom though it’s carpeted. The carpet is soft though my feet can’t feel it. I know because once, once my bare back laid on it, everyday I remember as I descend the stairs. The scent of coffee hitting my nostrils always at its bend. I laid bare back on the soft staircase carpet under the same man who set that coffee to brew. At the same time at the same place each morning.
I enter the kitchen wondering where that time went. We were in the same place, the same house with the same stairs and yet something has changed.
I take my mug from the cupboard it’s pearl like my nightgown and I take it to the same place I stand every morning.
I pour my coffee and wonder why everything is so fucking boring. As it pours I hear the boom of music in a faded memory. In a motel, one of too many to remember, and my heart aches. Every morning it’s the same ache the music booms and I hear them shout. They are happy, though many are different-new friends everyday he is familiar and she is the same. We’re getting high then in a different motel the faded memories mix, but I’m never alone in them. It’s never the same place though, some are familiar. It’s never the same guy, but sometimes it’s the one I remember. My cup is full the scent fills my nostrils-the same scent every morning.
I walk back up the staircase on the soft carpet. To the same room I just left wondering why my life isn’t different. I wake up each morning in the same place, in the same bed, to the same coffee alone until evening with the same guy. I wonder as I pass through double doors with the scent of coffee turning to cheap beer and cigarettes a faded memory filling my nostrils. The same faded memory each and every morning.
I sit upon the chaise lounge, salmon-not pink. My heart breaks. The same break each and every morning and I wonder why everything is so fucking boring.
I sip my coffee. My hands shake. This morning is different, but exactly the same. I pull out the baggy from my silk robes pocket. It’s white like my slippers and angelically soft.
I itch and every morning as faded memories scratch my heart breaks. I open the baggy wondering why everything is the same when everything was so different. The music booms as I scoop a small mound from the baggy with a well manicured pinky nail. It’s white like my slippers and angelically soft.
I take a deep breathe as faded memories play. I lift the little white mound on manicured pinky nail pearl-not white. The scent of coffee and white powder fill my nostrils.
I wake up in the same place each and every morning.

Screaming into the dark

Point the finger
scream into the dark
everyone stands together
but what war is being fought?
Destroy that which is
with no semblance of justice
what good is taking things
what good is taking money
has the monster died
or are more victims up and coming?
have you changed the world
or just hidden more clever demons
we applaud the mob
while not killing off the evils.

Shame complicity

we say it’s bad
we have to take a stand
some things are wrong
some things are wrong
everybody makes choices
but not every choice
makes you strong
some people are not heroes
some victims don’t survive
not every story ends
with justice on your side-
even when your right
you might lose the fight
but heroes do not stop
heroes do not give in
they don’t take the cash
they don’t choose silence
they do not speak up
for fame or financial gain
heroes kill the monsters
so they can no longer prey.

Survivors choice

Survivors are survivors
victims of abuse
it’s nothing to be ashamed of
but still you have to choose
do you stand and speak
or give in to the fear?
Do you really want justice
or just to forget and heal?
Either choice is fine
but only one makes you brave
in another twenty years
will you still feel the same?
Or will you speak for fame
revealing all the monsters
only so you can get paid-
got a book to publish,
got a career to save,
nothing wrong with choices
unless you do not own them
saying you are brave
while others become the victims
you are not a hero
just because you say-
I know who the monster is
but I won’t say the name.
Silence is complicity
even though you’re right
silence is a product of
all you have survived
but choices are what make us
and you did chose to hide
heroes kill the monsters
not take the money over pride
heroes know their dignity
does not have a price.

Between a hero and a coward

Are you brave or just a coward?
I see you run with all that power
flee and leave the rest behind
don’t fight the evil
just take their bribes
everything will be safe in time
as long as you get paid tonight-
you say you feared for your career
feared for everything you hold dear
but you ran away-that much is clear
you took the cash-all silence here.
Are you brave-truly a hero
because all I see
is just a person
you aren’t too blame
for the abuse received but
your silence still is not bravery.

Rose flavored heroine

We don’t kill the monsters
we merely kill ourselves
make the cowards choices
make our beds in hell.
No, we don’t stake the vampires,
we do not shoot the wolves,
we take all of the money
and feed the youth to ghouls.
We don’t kill the demons
we pray to them instead
pretend our power comes
from silence bought by them-
those that have abused us
those that which have fed
on all the other victims
we’ve given them instead
no, we do not kill the beasts
we bend to them and then
pretend that we are heroes
for living off the dead.