I thought of what we used to do When I told my husband lies I couldn’t get enough of you
And your warm inviting thighs

You would meet me at the corner store As the sun was sinking down Then you’d drive a little more Until we drove into town

I couldn’t wait that long To reach up that little skirt You wore your lacy thong Does it match what’s under your shirt?

I start my fingers at your knee Slowly going up, up, up I see your eyes close while driving I’ve waited so long for this fuck

We park the car where we always do My fingers searching for your lips Guided only by the bright moon I feel you starting to drip

I lean in for your secret kiss You have always been the one I crave your touch over his I think of you when I cum

I kiss your neck, and now you moan And raise your skirt to your ribs You notice my husband calling my phone I decline it, I want this, this, this

The backseat becomes home Because that’s where you lay He keeps calling my phone I ignore it and say

“Are you ready for this?” You beg for my touch I crawl on top and begin to strip And that’s when you use your tongue

Feeling weak at the knees, my body falls on yours And just as I plea To go on furthermore

Your door jolts open And we are exposed My husband is broken And I am unclothed

The teacher asks me to write down what I love most about my mom. She says we are making cards for Mother’s Day. Other kids are already writing their favorite things about their moms, but there’s so much i love about my mom, I don’t know where to start. After all, she’s all I have.

 I write down that I love that my mom is brave. It’s true, she is the most brave person in the world. She wasn’t even scared when the doctors told her that her heart is going to stop working soon. 

 The teacher says I need to keep writing. I say I love that my mom is patient. And it’s true, she is so patient and always listens to everything I say. In fact, that’s all she does is listen. She doesn’t talk back anymore. I think it’s something to do with her heart going bad like that doctor said. 

 My teacher says I need a few more sentences. So I keep writing. I love that my mom will always cuddle. Since she stopped talking, she has been in bed curled to the side, always ready for me to cuddle when I come home from school. She doesn’t move around a lot, actually she’s very good at being still. We cuddle until I have to shower in the mornings, because she is starting to smell. I think it’s something to do with her heart. 

 Almost done with her card. She’s going to love it! I just need one more line. I love that my mom is fun. She never makes me eat my vegetables. In fact, I can eat whatever I want. I asked her if I can have candy and soda for dinner, and she didn’t even say no! She didn’t say yes, but I think when she doesn’t say anything that means it’s okay. 

 I look at my card. I love my mom because she is brave, patient, cuddly, and fun. It’s perfect.

As I sit here Alone My friends around me Are all gathered together Blending into the surroundings

As I sit here Alone Their words get louder But I don’t recognize the language Seconds passing like hours

As I sit here Alone They seem to not notice I blankly force a smile When they ask for group photos

As I sit here Alone In the pictures they post Im stuck in the middle Yet I feel like a ghost

As I sit here Alone I stare at my plate An untouched salad I plan to throw away

As I sit here Alone I forget to breathe in Feeling empty inside I just want this to end

The bell on the door chirped as I carefully swung the door open, not wanting to bump the window display next to it. “Hi welcome!” A small voice squeaks from behind the vintage recliner. I glance towards the chair and notice a small boy, maybe 5 or 6, practicing writing the alphabet on a legal pad in the chair. The smell of decades of shedded skin cells living on forgotten furniture invaded my airways, causing a deep breath to slip out of me as I try to avoid experiencing it again. Maybe just one more sniff, to appease my curiosity. The wall is lined with leather trunks waiting to be used for storing grandma’s inherited quilts when she inevitably passes. Cracked dried leather hugs the old trunks like it’s hanging for dear life. As I unhinge one of the trunks, leather specs flake off around the trim. Inside it is lined with a floral linen pattern, surprisingly still intact. Not wanting to seem like I’m interested in purchasing, I close the lid and relatch the hinge. Nearby, hundred year old sewing tables are surviving on their sturdy wooden legs. The iron foot pedals all rusted and stuck in place. I rub my fingers along the wooden grooves, exposed to the grit from years of wear and tear. “Nothing that a little sanding and restraining couldn’t fix”, I think to myself. Again, not wanting to be approached by the owners about purchasing, I seemingly walk away uninterested. I make my way to the back of the store, where the “not so special” items are hidden from view. Dusty sconces fill a shelf, half without matches. Such is life I suppose. A vintage stained glass lamp is perched on an old writer’s desk, with a piece of paper taped to the shade saying “does not work”. I wonder what the price of it would be if it did work, since it’s still marked as $75. “Must be a collectible” I mumble.
“Can I help you find anything?” A warm smile greets me as I turn my back on the sconce shelf. “No thanks just looking!” I squeal. I half smile and pretend to notice something in the distance. My heart is pounding, another attempt to go unnoticed has failed. Thrifting is active therapy for my anxiety until confrontation occurs. I exit the store, looking back at the vanity by the door that invited me in. See you again soon, antique beauty. Someday you can come home with me.

I was looking for my baby picture when I found it. I had just gotten back from the baby’s photo shoot for her 6 month milestone session. I remembered I had a photo of myself in a similar pose that she had put my daughter in. As soon as I opened the box, I saw it. Not the photo, but the phone. I forgot it was even in there, honestly. I tried turning it on, just out of curiosity. Of course, it was cold and dead. Checking the charger port, I noticed that it was the same charger my diffuser uses. I plugged it up and went on with my day. I found the photo I was looking for, and posted a side by side comparison on my socials. Later that evening, I was reading the comments on the post from an old high school friend when I suddenly remembered I had plugged my old phone up. I just laid the baby down to sleep so i was able to grab my old phone. I curled up in bed to see what all was on it. Even though the screen was thoroughly shattered, I could just see the screen well enough to log in to everything. I instantly went to the text messages and found my best friend’s texts. I screenshotted a conversation that made me laugh out loud from 2011 and went to the photo gallery to send them to my current phone. Opening my photo gallery was overwhelming at first, seeing photos of myself and an abusive ex-boyfriend of mine. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself how lucky I am to have made it out of that relationship. I sent the photos to her, and she laughed, immediately remembering that conversation. I scrolled through more photos to find something else to reminisce with her about. Looking through the gallery, I found several pictures I took of myself. I couldn’t believe how different i looked. I almost didn’t recognize myself. Then I saw it. There was no way I could have taken it myself. Yes, in a few of my pictures I guess I used a self-timer feature on my phone. But this one I know I didn’t take. How could I have taken it if I was asleep?

 I keep running scenarios through my head, trying to think of a rational reason those pictures are in my camera roll. Could it have been a sleepover I’ve forgotten about? No, I’ve gone back to that date in my phones calendar and it was very much a school night. My parents were extremely strict. 
 Could it have been my parents? Or my sister? Could I have actually taken it and posed to be asleep? No, there’s no way i took them. There are several pictures, different nights even, of me sleeping alone in my bed. 
 I immediately send them to my best friend and tell her I am shaking. I ask her if she remembers taking them. She swears she didn’t. I had a full body mirror leaning in the corner of my room at the time the photos were taken, and my best friend points out that there’s a slight reflection in some of the pictures. 
 We try enhancing them the best we can, and holy shit, I KNOW WHO IT IS. In the mirror reflection I can see my fat old landlord with his hand in his pants. Aside from the total shock and horror of it all, I want to know why he took the pictures on my phone instead of his own. Was it a kink? Did he think he deleted them? Did he want me to know he was there? I don’t fucking know but he passed away a few years ago according to social media so it’s not like the police would do anything. Needless to say I will never sleep again. My baby is waking up, I hope she didn’t see or hear something from her window..

It’s better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all I keep telling myself those words But I feel I’m beginning to fall

Everything happens for a reason they say it’s all in gods timing I think it’s supposed to be comforting But do they understand what that’s implying

God wanted her to die? God meant for her family to suffer? God gave her cancer? God never intended for her to recover?

But they do not say those phrases Those words are meant to be unspoken Only thoughts and prayers are given But my faith is already broken

Nothing happens for a reason God has only one message to send He does not care about your problems, Because none of us will make it out alive in the end