If wishes feel like rain, then you’d be my rose with morning dew. If my wishes were like roses, then you’d be their soil. If the soils feel empty, then I’d bring fire. If my fire fed your earth, your breath would breathe me. Your air will thin as resent for me thickens. Are tears an acception? My wishes would flow down my cheek and put myself out. Your bud could bloom, but all until we begin again.
We love like nature, to oddly be against it.
“What do you mean, you’re not a bad person?” My voice was unfamiliar. I was asking only for an old friend; i knew she meant it, but the hurt ten year old in me, was only repeating the defense more so than asking anything. “I did nothing wrong, all i did was talk. They’re the fools for having something for us to talk about,” Debbie’s volume went up in pitch as she dribbled out her testimony, almost the same way youd voice a question. “ No! What don’t you get, my friend came to me for advice! He gave no names! None! All i knew was the story about how he caught a guy potentially cheating. He just wanted advice on what to do with the information!” My voice scraped across her face, like claws. “All i did was repeat the story to you, it was all hearsay and there were NO NAMES! How many times did i have to tell you that? And you still went and made this story real!” Little drops eroded paths down my cheek and neck, carving streams, wondering if i cried long enough would they become valleys? I did feel like stone after all. My mind switched around like a dealer shuffling cards. -How could she, she was my mentor! The woman who was my second mother, the home I’d run to when my birth mom was under the influence of her illness. Debbie taught me how to get away and stay away. How to become uninvolved and not feel responsible for making others feel uncomfortable if i left, because they first made me uncomfortable. - I squeezed tears out of my eyes, “I’m not a bad person, it’s not my fault it got around,” her voice was so self convinced, i was jealous of her in that moment. “No, Debbie, you and i are to blame. First it’s me, i was the only one who knew, then comes you. I told you and some how you know this person who’s incriminated in this! What the duck are those odds? Shoot, the one defining fact i had was that this cheater in question was a red head who works at a jail… shit, you took that and practically got this guys social security with it!” I cry hopelessly, “and once you found out a possible subject, you wanted to go in for the kill. I told you to shut up, and mind your business. I only told you this story so i could run by the advice i gave my friend, who MAY have caught this ginge cheating. I told you it was all hearsay, and made you promise not to tell a soul. And you told everyone.” More canyons were being v carved into my cheeks. “What’s the worst is you told this about someone, not even knowing if it was them! It made its whole way back around! And i got my friend in trouble! All he wanted was advice, and now I’m the one whos to blame and I only told one person, but by proxy i must’ve blabbed to ten dif people because of you and who you told! You hurt people! You hurt everyone! You’re a 60 year old woman and recognized this suspect might be your nephew? What’s wrong with you?! Your nephew was the guilty one of this is true! Why?! You’ve always said I’m family that you chose but you went behind me and you went after your own blood? For what? A laugh? The serendipity of how you found out? Why did you have to be so proud that you knew something?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. It’s my son in laws fault.”
“Who told your son in-law? Bettie, it wasn’t me and i was the only one who knew, i told you and that’s it. Are you saying i was really talking to your son-in-law who’s so far removed, or are you confessing to your part in the dominoes after you?”
I could hear her cheeks click as she swallowed her dry mouth, “Uh, i didn’t tell any one but him. He told other people, but it’s fine. These people can’t blame us for their failing relationship,” her town interchanged between lower case to upper case. “It’s our fault. I know my part, and you need to know yours. I’m responsible for what you did so at the end of the day, none of this matters for you. You’re not bothered that you spread unproven rumors and that’s your piece. I just can’t imagine what your sister thinks about what you did to her son, if it wasn’t for me, and not to ignore him and look the other way, you couldn’t even try to not start shut for your own sisters sake? You embellished this and added nasty things, you didn’t just gossip, you lied!” And that’s where my phone died, mid call. I let it stay dead for two more days. We all wear zippers like scars, we can be different with our different friends and have different groups, sure. But the wolf also has a zipper on his clothing he wears to make the sheep think he’s with them. She taught me to not take responsibility for other people and their crap attitudes, and it was life saving. I now understand her philosophy was forced on her and not actually learned. Her best advice was to go to work and go home on repeat, to watch how simple life gets ; i think i see now that she didn’t choose that advice, that she must’ve burned all of her bridges and the last one was that. It hurts to grow out a mentor. A grievance to still be learning from them but because of them.
My tears are the waters that baptized me I repented before being saved The devil in me didn’t see For dear god, I prayed. a shameful person Mixed into shameless dealings She cried bloody tears I stabbed her feelings My words said around found a way to her pain my hands are stained The road to hell was paved all with good intention And it still lead to dissension
The truth was never real. Her life was structured like a film set, displayed as a happy character. Realities masked, and illusions amplified- their lies were white, maybe not even described as a lie, since they evaded answering on topic. She grew to believe in truth, raised to not lie- but to only learn she was raised by lies. The biggest contradiction, and her meaning of life and her purpose. It burned with hot embers in her mind, the standards she was held to, then learned just how much her punishers were the punishment worthies. To sit in a church with a private preaching, being gospelled of her potential sin, and punished as if. A sentences served, with no crime committed. Those hot embers began to spread through, her veins scalded like hot glowing webs under her skin. The feeling of betrayal and confusion caught in her throat. The only evil done, was the one pointed at her. A young woman, raised to be in a world she would never survive because it didn’t exist. Dammed if she wizened up to the reality, and the same fate if she surrendered to the fabricated.
I open my eyes to my life I hadn’t blinked in the staring contest My eyes had dried I was raised with fake information of who I was I believed everything and I was punished for all I didn’t The punishment I didn’t understand, my mother was 14 and pregnant She was granted ten lashes, She took four I took six I never knew what I was born into Her third child The only one that was planned And so, the only one without guilt Two children were kept And the first was surrendered As the only daughter of all known or secret children I paid the punishments of all fallen Never explained to Never sorry I was a childless teen mother, being punished the way my mother should have Never had I barred a child but it was my strongest identity. I am sad. I was a child mother, never even knowing what bees did to flowers Never even blooming I was raised to be a little girl, not a woman The day I cried red was the day my parents mourned their child I was a threat A threat of their own secrets A reminder of biology A chilis list a child, not meant for adult concepts
Eyes cracked, like windows on a cold morning. Her hair lay in a neat fold at her side, and her hands gently dust her forehead. A small click tempo’s the four walls, making the concept of time something to hear and not see. Tipping her head above the sheets she recognized her childhood bedroom. She sat in dejavu, this was the house that was demoed- the scene of this structure was voted to be torn down years ago. Her ponderous thoughts has enough charge to jolt her upright, “I hate these vents,” she shares outloud. She runs over to the far corner, patting a inconspicuous wall. Her petting subsided as she became aware it wasn’t there. Gently letting out a cough in hopes it wouldn’t return, she grabbed at her night stand with no inhaler in sight. A stifled sigh, she glanced up and saw the walls were no longer a disgusting pastel yellow. In the centerscenter of it all was a photo of people, all grabbing and holding each other, smiling. Mom, dad, my brother, and me. I knew it was them but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a photo of my brother at that age, in this photo Tyler was a clear adult- facial hair that was full and not patchy. To see his beautiful smile lines- she couldn’t understand. Tyler died as a young teen. Turning her back, facing the other side of the room was a closet. The doors were put back on, and behind the m were multiple clothes. Drawers of denim pants that weren’t cut off hand me downs, and more than just two pairs. Gripping her pjs she opened the door of her bedroom and her mother was right there, “Hi honey, good morning! What’s wrong, Hannah?” Hannah slumped her head, dripping with the gravity of her tears, “wheres my inhaler?” Her mothers eyes scrunched, trying to audit her daughters expression, “what inhaler? Are you sick and not telling me?” “Mom, you know I’ve had asthma since I was ten. Where’s the emergency inhaler you always keep?” “I think I’d know if you had asthma! Is this another one of your things to claim I didn’t pay attention to you as a kid?” Her mother cried. “No, mom, you know I got asthma from cigarette smoke in the house,” Hannah pleads, “in my house?!” Her mother says aghast. “Not in your house, from the neighbors we share a wall with it would come up through the vent in my room! We could even smell the gas when they started their cars in the garage!” Her mom stood back, not understanding. “We don’t share a wall…” concern taking over. Hannah glances back at the photo, “how old was Tyler when he died?” Pointing a finger as if it could escape. “What are you insane, he’s not dead he’s coming home to visit for the holidays, same as you! He’ll be here any minute,” her mothers face burning under fire. Hannah stumbled to the windows, “holidays?”
“Yeah, he’s on his way from a work trip and I don’t appreciate you talking about him in such a way while he’s in the air, on a plane right now! You do not jinx health in this house!”
Hannah’s emotions were pooling, swirling into one another becoming a blend. Tyler died of an overdose, he’s not on some business trip. Her mind flurried as she looked around, holes from doors being thrown open were missing, the bed has a frame that wasn’t from a old hospital. Carpet wasn’t peeling up, it was actually wood; her breath wasn’t clouding from cold or smoke as it was clearly a winter day. Double pane windows that had actual insulation. This wasn’t a condo that bread drug users, in fact, it was a house. “Mom I’m sorry, I had a bad dream,” Hannah sniffled, embracing that shes now in a good one. She recognized the room enough, just enough to recognize all the missing things she had grown up with in a past life, it was everything she needed to lose, to gain.
My frontal brain that holds my personality and internal commentary, was believing it called the shots. I have likes and dislikes, opinions and no opinions, it feels like i make all the choices all day. That’s only 10% of me. The rest is calculating my beats per minute, digestion, blinking, breathing. All of my non thinking parts are still thinking, and when my frontal 10% can’t handle my emotions, The other 90% can’t comprehend The feelings that spill over to their side. It aches and it pains trying find The source Of agony, but there’s no broken leg. Theres nothing it can send white blood cells too, since the literal agony is external of my body. My emotions became my own autoimmune disease. My body fought off a flu that IT never had, not so sophisticated to recognize the ailments were my feelings. Only 10% of space and I filled that storage unit long ago, The worst part? None of It’s contents are mine. They were other peoples belongings they left on my front lawn, i simply brought them inside to harbor for their return. All i can do is try to put a splint on my mental broken leg and to accept that i must let go of other people’s dust.
Growing to leave wasn’t my intent. I’m sorry my shadow grew tall. You hate me for it, and i understand. You liked to face your petals down at me while i look up. Our relationship was believed symbiotic, of you for me and i for you, but it was the rays who fed me, never you. I believed that you were the same height with the sun, and you never denied. The day i grew beyond your sky- your petals shut. now I’ve stolen all your light and im what you say, is why you’re stunted. I’m sorry i grew. I learned to look down, and you never learned to look up. You found me as a bud, of course i was meant to grow; how much, you just never know.
Hearts without penmanship Mirrors painted over with family portraits Goodbye’s with no returning Hello’s left hanging A home on fire but no warmth No water to diffuse Tears are the only source While only one of them cries the others tell a lie A promise to share and pass on The tears they won’t respond A empty cup given back The one left dry, wells a tear in their eye To shed behind a masque
It’s hard to blow out all the candles. My way from birth till now has been lit by these peoples flames that bite; messy and unkept wax. The light excretes a tear, then freezes when it runs cold and solidifies as a heart on its sleeve. A tear kept in place, to let everyone know, who hadn’t known. Memorabilia, if you will. My elders tears hold me for ransom long beyond what’s been paid due. Debt that has a price but no end in time. I watch my family of candles melt around me, pooling into each other only to harden and fossilize their tears.
