After the End

Gasoline (2013)

2014-11-17T14:24:00.001-08:00

As a writer, I am a paradox.

I want nothing more than to find love,

but I write of the pain it brings.

But then again, isn’t that the human condition?

To seek out pleasure through

pain?

As a lover, I am a paradox.

I want nothing more than to share her bed,

but I cannot fall asleep next to her heat.

But then again, isn’t that the human condition?

To seek out warmth, even when it

destroys?

As a friend, I am a paradox.

I want nothing more than to meet more people,

but I am plagued by anxiety around strangers.

But then again, isn’t that the human condition?

To seek out the unknown, but only

observe?

.As a paradox, I am exceedingly human

,I want nothing more than to stand out and rebel

.but I only end up blending in

.Because that is the human condition

We all strive to be different

but our desires are matches, and the world still

.burns

,And we keep throwing paradoxes in buckets

thinking it’s water, while really it’s

.gasoline

Another Poem About Her (2013)

2014-11-17T14:19:00.003-08:00

Howls that fake

words without

words.

Lands that waste

space, waste

sight.

Winds that tear

homes; dry

tears.

.These things are where i find my home

,Not in reality, for i do not go there

but in my mind. Your absence

does not make my heart

grow fonder. it just

.makes it hurt

...Please

.come home

Creaks that chill

blood; stop

hearts.

Men that grow

tall yet

cower.

Life that slows

then stops

sharp.

Don’t

.make it hurt

I promise, i’ve grown

fonder for being alone; very

comfortable. It makes me distinctly

.uncomfortable, knowing that I’m still fine

I don’t know how I’ll feel when i see you. It really

.scares me

Take Me, Break Me

2014-01-06T20:53:00.003-08:00

Part Three

That night, Kory lay awake, physically and emotionally exhausted, but unable to put her mind to rest. She focused on the warmth radiating from the blonde angel lying next to her, which always lulled her to sleep, even in the most restless of nights. Tonight, however, Kory felt like Michelle’s warmth had turned into a burning heat, and succeeded in only making Kory more restless. Slowly and carefully, Kory pulled herself from the grasp of the heavy comforter and Michelle’s limp arm and left the room. She found a slip of paper and a pen in the kitchen and jotted down a quick note about not feeling well and not wanting to get Michelle sick, signed it with just a ‘K’ and snuck back into the bedroom to leave it on her pillow. It wasn’t quite a lie, really, Kory had begun to feel sick from the heat, but it wasn’t the full truth.

Kory found her journal and began writing:

‘I had another attack last night. Again from crowds and people, but this time it was worse. I think it was the fear that M thought of me as just a friend, but it caused something horrifying to happen. While I was trying to get ahold of myself, I heard Lucy talking to me. Like actually telling me to right myself and get back to the party. She was never supposed to be anything but a tool for work, but now she’s edging her way into my life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so scared for my own sanity. Am I going mad? If I am, do I tell someone? Or should I just sort this out on my own? I think if it ever happens again, I’ll talk to the Father. —March 4^th/5^th, 2012.’

After finishing, Kory turned the page and began writing again, this time just for pleasure. She finished a total of three poems which she titled ‘Shitty Poetry: One Two and Three’ and then she collapsed onto the sofa and finally drifted to sleep.

When she woke up, Kory smelled burnt toast and heard the sizzling of eggs on a frying pan, along with Michelle’s casual whistling as she cooked. Kory didn’t rouse herself right away; she sat on the couch, under the warm blanket, and listened to the calming sounds of her lover. When the toaster popped the burnt bread out, Michelle snatched them quickly and put them on a plate before looking at them.

“Oh shit.” Kory heard Michelle exclaim before she tossed the black squares into the bin and she laughed loudly from under her blanket. “Oh good! You’re awake! Come here baby, I made you breakfast!”

Kory looked over the back of the sofa at Michelle and smiled. Michelle had left her hair down, and it stuck out at a drastic angle from one side of her head. She wore plaid sleeping shorts and a sports bra under Kory’s apron. The apron had once said ‘Kiss the Cook’ but as a joke with herself she had crossed out ‘Kiss’ with a sharpie and scribbled in ‘Snog’ instead. Kory had never actually worn the apron, just let it hang next to the refrigerator as an inside joke, again only with herself.

Michelle cleared her throat and pointed to the words on the apron. “Come here, my dear.”

“Yes my little poet.” Kory threw the blanket off of her body and walked into the kitchen area, where Michelle pulled a Polaroid camera from behind the blender and quickly snapped a photo of Kory.

“Gotcha!” Michelle whooped in excitement as Kory lunged towards her, catching her in her arms and planting her lips firmly on Michelle’s as she tried to retrieve the photo. “Oh no you don’t!”

“M, come on, I'm just in my ‘pants.”

“No darling, you’re in your panties.”

“Sweetie, you’re British now,” Kory said as if she was talking to a child, “we call them pants here. What you call ‘pants,’ we call ‘trousers.’”

“Either way, this is going on the fridge.”

Kory sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, but make sure we take it down if my parents ever visit.”

“Come on, your parents are okay with your gay-ness. If my parents ever visited and found out I slept in your bed…” Michelle dragged her forefinger across her throat. “Even worse if they found out we were dating, banged, and took near nude photos of each other in the morning.”

“Babe, no one says ‘banged’ anymore, and besides, I don't see any near nude polaroids of you around here.”

“Well the morning isn’t over yet. You still have two hours before class.”

“Ooh, I can think of a few things we can do in two hours.” Kory pulled Michelle in closer to her body and began kissing her neck.

“Me too! We could eat this wonderful breakfast i cooked for you and then we can play patty-cake!”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“No I mean actual patty-cake,” said Michelle with a totally innocent look on her face, “what were you thinking?”

“You’re silly, M.” Kory let go of her and looked around the kitchen. “What did you make for us?”

“Over-easy and toast! Except, the toast burned, and I'm pretty sure it’s inedible now, and i couldn’t keep the yokes from breaking in the eggs so now they’re scrambled.”

“Good, I like scrambled eggs better.”

“Wonderful! Bon appetit!” Michelle served up the eggs and they sat at the coffee table cross-legged and ate.

The eggs were also burnt, but they ate them anyways, and then Kory and Michelle played patty-cake, actual patty-cake, until Kory had to go to class.

On the bus to the pub, Kory had no trouble falling asleep. Her day had been longer than it should have been with only two lectures and a discussion class, and during all of them, she could barely take her mind off of hearing Lucy actually talk to her, and when she could, it was replaced with the fear of just being Michelle’s friend, despite the wonderful morning they had. After hours of worrying, she was exhausted, and the bus seat felt so comfortable. When the bus driver arrived at her stop, she had barely woken up enough to pull the line that requested the stop. The driver did not yell back to her, and Kory did not recognize his face. Kory rushed off the bus without even thanking the driver, and then realized that she still felt raw and exposed in her skimpy work outfit. Typically, her bus ride nap gave her the opportunity to switch to Lucy without a problem, but due to Kory’s newfound fear of her, she couldn’t bring herself to make the change. Kory walked up to the back door of the pub, where Shaun was standing smoking a cigarette.

“Hey Lucy,” He said, “you’re a bit early.”

Kory’s heart skipped a beat. Lucy… “I— yeah, the, uh, bus driver was new…”

“Wouldn’t that make you a bit late?”

“W-what? No, he sped a lot.” Kory hugged herself tightly as she wondered how she was supposed to tend the bar as her normal self.

“Ah, makes sense.” Shaun held his cigarettes out to her. “Fag?”

Something in the back of Kory’s mind laughed at that. “Sure, thanks.” She took the cigarette and lit it with her own lighter, which she always carried to work.

“You look a bit pale, you alright?”

“Fine. I’m—I mean, I’m fine. Just feeling a little under the weather.”

Shaun stubbed the smoke on the bottom of his shoe and dropped the butt into a nearby puddle. “Well, I’ve gotta get back. I’ll see you in there.” He smiled at her as he opened the door, and Kory mustered enough courage to return the smile, though it felt awkward on her face and she said nothing more to him.

Well that was bloody pathetic!

Oh son of a—, Kory thought at Lucy’s appearance, what do you want?

Did you know, said Lucy, avoiding the question, that in America, ‘fag’ means someone who is homosexual? Its like Shaun just called you a fag! Lucy laughed loudly, which Kory thought was strange, seeing as there was no actual noise. You’re a bloody fag with a fag!

Are you going to help me out or not?

Help you? Lucy sounded confused. How and why would I do that?

Because thats why I created you! To help me do my job well!

What’s in it for me?

You get to take over my body for the next six hours. Wouldn’t that be nice? Not having to put up with my ‘pathetic’ social skills?

Hmmm… that does sound nice. Your social skills do make me cringe. Kory wondered how Lucy was able to cringe without an actual face to cringe with. I’ll do it.

Suddenly, Kory felt confident and strong, she felt herself stand up straighter, and even felt some amount of excitement for beginning work. Kory tried to bring her hand up to her mouth to take a drag of the cigarette, but nothing happened. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small handheld mirror and observed her make-up. As she fixed the minor imperfections in her eyeliner and lipstick, Kory placed the cigarette in her mouth and took drags of it periodically. Kory then began to panic; she did not initiate any of these movements. Typically, when Kory became Lucy, she became more confident and had a more social mindset, but she could always control her own actions.

Something is terribly wrong, Kory tried to say, but only thoughts came out.

“Oh hush,” said Lucy, audibly, “I’m just doing what you said I could. I’ll give you the controls in six hours.” She flicked the remnants of the cigarette into the nearby puddle with nearly a third of the cigarette unsmoked.

I wasn’t done with that, Kory protested, and there’s still another few minutes before we have to start. You could have finished that.

“Well, dear, it’s an awful habit, and I don’t appreciate you treating my body like that.” Kory thought Lucy must like the sound of her own voice; she did not have to speak every time she wanted to say something, but she did anyways.

Inside the pub, Lucy lead Kory’s body through the back of the building to her locker, where she traded her bag for her name tag, which she pinned to her lapel before pulling her shirt to show as much cleavage as possible. Oh my god, Kory thought, I never go that low. Why have a shirt on at all if you’re going to show that much?

Calm down, Kory, Lucy replied, internally this time, at least I’m not going around showing my fanny.

Why would you ev—

Yet. Lucy winked at Kory in the mirror as she walked past. Kory felt like hitting Lucy, and if she had control over her own limbs, she most likely would have, even if she gave herself a black eye.

Lucy skipped out of the back of the building and into the bar area, where she greeted Conner with a friendly hug and a lighthearted ‘hello.’ “How’s it been so far?” She asked him.

“It’s a Monday night,” Conner replied, “How do think it is?”

“Slow then?”

“Very.”

“Oh well.” Lucy shrugged and found a stool to sit on. “You, sir, are free to go. I have it covered up here.” Conner bid her thanks and told her to have a good night, a sentiment which Lucy returned.

As the night progressed, Kory tried to relax, and whenever Lucy thought something directed to her, Kory ignored her. Lucy did the job well, but Kory felt as though Lucy was trying to irritate her with every action, going out of her way to make uncomfortable conversation with every person at the bar. Kory decided that she would come back before her next shift and tell her boss that she could not continue working there, which only irritated Lucy even more.

After a large group of men left, Lucy went to clean up their table, and Kory stopped paying attention. Kory, Lucy thought, do we know the girl that just walked in? She seems awfully familiar. Kory snapped back into reality and saw Michelle walking up to the bar, where she sat down and placed her purse to the side of her on the bar. Don't you dare, Kory thought, knowing exactly what could happen if Michelle met Lucy under these circumstances, that’s Michelle.

Oh well now! Isn’t Michelle the girl you fancy?

Don’t even talk to her. You’ll ruin everything.

Well I can’t just not do my job!

Give me my body back! Let me talk to her! Kory tried to scream, but nothing came out. She fought with Lucy for every step she took toward the bar, but Lucy walked on with no trouble.

“Hello miss,” Lucy said professionally, “what can I get you?”

Michelle looked at her with a half-smile, like she expected something more from her. “Um… You’re Lucy?”

Lucy tapped her name tag. “So it would seem. Were you looking for someone else?”

“Well, I mean… no. I guess not.” Michelle pulled out her wallet and handed Lucy a five pound note. “White Russian please.”

“Could I see an I.D. please?” Lucy asked.

Seriously?

“Seriously?” Michelle replied.

“Of course, miss,” said Lucy, “I can’t risk serving you if you’re under age.”

“Do I look like I’m under eighteen?” said Michelle as she pulled her driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to Lucy.

“Some people would take that as a compliment.” Lucy looked at the I.D. and actually read it, legitimately verifying Michelle’s age.

You really don’t know her do you? Kory asked.

Would I ask who she was if I did? Lucy replied internally, Now be quiet, I’m working. “California? You sound very British for being a valley girl.”

“This is so weird,” Michelle muttered under her breath, “Well I never lived in the valley, I lived on the beach. But I moved here almost four years ago, so I’ve had a little while to adapt.”

“That’s good,” Lucy said as she handed Michelle’s license back to her, “some Brits like Americans, but most just see them as tourists, or as I like to think of it, the rebellious child.” Lucy flipped the bottles around as she poured Michelle’s White Russian, except for the cream, which she pulled out of a small cooler under the bar.

“Oh that’s funny!” Michelle actually laughed, which irritated Kory more than it should have. “I never really got into U.S. history, but I know enough to understand that.”

“You didn’t get into history?” Lucy exclaimed as she loudly placed Michelle’s drink in front of her, “How could you not get into history? It’s only the most funny and fascinating subject to study.”

“Oh wow, I take it you really got into history?”

“Oh by far. I’m actually majoring in it at Royal Holloway.” Lucy picked up a towel and began wiping down the surface of the bar.

“I thought your major was international relations,” Michelle said quizzically.

“No…” Lucy stopped wiping the bar briefly to show Michelle the confused look on her face. “Where did you get that idea?”

Michelle smiled warmly and sipped at her drink. “Okay, I admit, you’ve got Lucy down.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Baby, come on.” Michelle leaned on the counter with her elbows tucked into her sides so that Kory and Lucy could see into her shirt. “Talk to me for real. I missed you today and I have a crazy story for you.”

“Miss,” began Lucy, “I think you have me mistaken with someone else.”

No, Lucy, Kory thought, seeing what was about to happen, please just let me talk to her.

“Kory, I can recognize you anywhere, it doesn’t matter how much make-up you wear, or how much cleavage you show. You’re still my girl.” Michelle reached out and touched Lucy’s face. It was barely a touch, but Kory felt it too, and it felt so wonderful. Quickly, Lucy grabbed Michelle’s hand and pushed her away.

“Ma’am,” she said firmly, “I’ll have to ask you to refrain from touching my face, or calling me baby. You seem very nice, and you’re quite pretty, but I am not your girl. My door just doesn’t swing that way.”

“Damn baby, you really have it all under wraps, don't you?”

“Look lady—”

Lucy, stop.

“I don’t know who you are and you’re starting to freak me out.”

“I wonder if I make you break character…” said Michelle with a mischievous smile.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Lucy loudly, “I’m not a character, I’m a person!”

“I was thinking about that thing you did when we were… celebrating last night.”

“Excuse me?!”

Michelle threw her head back and laughed. “God, it felt so good!” She brought her head back down and looked at Lucy. Not at her eyes, but at her mouth. “You certainly know how to use your tongue.”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Lucy, no. I swear to God if you call—

“Security!” Lucy yelled into the back of the building. “Shaun?!”

When Lucy looked back to Michelle, her smile was gone. In its place was a frightened and bewildered look, as if Lucy pulled a ready gun out from under the bar and fixed it to her. “Kory?” she said, “what are you doing?”

“My name isn’t Kory. My name is Lucy.” Lucy placed her finger on her name tag. “As the bartender in this establishment, I reserve the right to have anyone I see as disturbing the peace escorted from the premises.”

“I knew when I came looking for Lucy, she wouldn’t be the same as my Kory,” Michelle said as Shaun grabbed her by the elbows, “but Kory never told me Lucy was such a twat!”

“Shaun, please get her out of here,” said Lucy, and Kory winced.

I wish we had separate bodies so I could tear you in two, Kory thought.

Ain’t that a shame, thought Lucy smugly.

Just as promised, at the end of Kory’s six hour shift, Lucy gave the control of her body back to Kory. Immediately, Kory ripped off the name tag, pulled her shirt up, grabbed her bag and sprinted out the door without clocking out. As she walked to the bus stop, she smoked a cigarette angrily and thought about how she was going to explain what had happened to Michelle. She finished her cigarette as she arrived at the bus stop, and in one fluid motion, she flicked the butt into the street and pulled out a fresh one, which she lit as she mumbled inaudibly, “Fuck you Lucy, they’re my goddamn lungs.”

When the bus arrived, Kory was three cigarettes down and dizzy from the nicotine. She boarded the bus and didn’t reply when Chris bid her a good morning, instead she walked all the way to the back of the bus and let her anger and embarrassment steep in silence. The half-hour bus ride seemed like it took ten minutes, and Kory had not decided what to tell Michelle, so she decided to just tell the truth, about everything.

When she opened the door to her flat, Kory heard Michelle’s voice. She paused for a second with her hand on the door knob, just listening to Michelle talk. She sounded calm, but distinctly sad, Kory couldn’t hear what exactly she was saying. Quietly, she stepped into her flat and sat right on the floor in front of her door, still listening. Kory felt a tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach, not like she was going to be sick, but the feeling people get when their arm breaks just before the pain sets in, like the sickening realization that something has gone horribly wrong. But what Kory felt wasn’t a momentary realization, it was much longer than that, as if she was experiencing it all in slow motion.

“Okay, I love you too,” Kory heard Michelle say into her phone, “yeah, I’ll see you soon. You too.” Kory stood up and walked slowly into the living room. “Kory?” said Michelle cautiously.

“It’s me,” she said quietly, “Look baby, I’m so sorry about what happened at the bar, I didn’t mean for it to go that far, and I understand if you’re angry but—“

“Kory, sit down.” Michelle motioned to the other half of the love-seat that she sat on, and obediently, Kory sat.

“If this is about Lucy, I want you to know—“

“I’m moving back to the States.” If she had stated the day of the week there would have been more emotion in her voice. “I leave tomorrow night.”

“Darling, you’re scaring me.”

“Now you know how I felt when I looked into your eyes and saw no affection.” Michelle looked into Kory’s eyes, but Kory looked down. “It hurts to know that you love me so little that you can just turn it off at will.”

“No!” Kory yelled, grabbing at Michelle’s hand as she stood to walk away. “It’s not—“

“Don’t.” Michelle violently pulled her hand out of Kory’s. “Don’t touch me.” She stepped around the coffee table and retrieved a suit case from behind the sofa. “And don’t try to call me.”

With that, Michelle walked towards the door. She opened it with her left hand, placing her back facing Kory, who said simply, “please don’t.” Michelle paused slightly like she might come back, but she just looked forward.

“Goodbye, Kory.”

Take Me, Break Me

2013-12-21T15:18:00.000-08:00

Part Two

Kory sat uncomfortably in the wooden pews, far too early in the morning, listening to a man speak on the unholiness that was gay marriage. Most of Europe had legalized gay marriage, and this man, Father Anthony, could not express how upset he was at that fact. His voice reminded Kory of a drill sergeant rallying his troops, brandishing his bible like an M-16. Kory sat silently, running her slender fingers through the end of her tangled black locks as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Enjoying the sermon?” Father Abrahms asked with a frail smile that wrinkled his face but didn’t touch his eyes.

“Not in any sense of the word,” said Kory, looking around the pews at the people intently listening to Father Anthony’s alleged words of wisdom. “These people actually get off on this, don’t they?” Several of the people around her turned their heads at her words, and she felt their judgmental eyes piercing her back as she stood up.

“Would you like to speak someplace else, dear?”

“Yes please, I’m underdressed for this shit anyways.”

Kory followed Father Abrahms out of the chapel and through the massive wooden doors of the church. The two sat on a bench just outside the church’s gardens and the Father pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Kory, which she took and lit off of the Father’s ancient-looking steel lighter. Neither of them said anything as they smoked for a few minutes.

“I told her,” Kory finally said as she exhaled a plume of smoke, “I told her that I loved her and then I kissed her.”

“How did she take it? The confession, I mean.”

“I didn’t really give her time to respond before I kissed her.” Kory ashed the cigarette onto the pavement and watched the wind sweep it away, leaving no trace of its existence, briefly bringing Kory’s mind back to her grandmother.

Father Abrahms followed her eyes to the ashes as they danced away in the wind. “Well what she says isn’t the only way she can respond to such a heavy statement. How did she look? Where was she looking? Tell me about that.”

“She looked uncomfortable at first, and I could feel her tensing up. She was lying on my lap when I said it, so I wasn’t really looking at her eyes, but when she sat up she didn’t look too upset or anything. She looked into my eyes and her eyes looked happy, not uncomfortable like she started out.”

“Thats good, Kory. I’m really happy for you.” He stopped to take a drag from his cigarette and make one of his famous pauses, and turned to look Kory in the eyes. “Tell me about the kiss.”

“You sound like a perv.” Kory smiled at him, and he returned the smile, this time it reached his eyes. “It was better than I ever dreamed it could be. I mean, it started out kinda awkward and one-sided. I think I surprised her. But after that she started kissing me back.”

“You talked about it all afterwards, yeah?”

“Yes,” Kory said in a breath of smoke. The frigid air made it hard to tell when the smoke ended and her breath began. “Mostly about stuff we already knew, but she decided she wanted to let her feelings for me grow in the presence of a relationship.” She stopped and smiled. “She slept in my bed last night.”

“Is she still there?” said Father Abrahms in an alarmed tone. “It’s hardly eight in the morning, don’t tell me you just left her alone in your flat.”

“No no. She went to church and then went home to get clothes and sort some things out for a party that we’re going to tonight.”

“Good.” He snuffed out his cigarette on the ground and flicked it into the street. “I’m very happy for you Kory, I really am. Sadly, though, I have to get back to work.” The two stood in unison and shook hands, which Kory felt was too formal of a departure considering the embrace they shared the last time. “It is always good talking to you dear. Enjoy your party tonight.”

“You too, Father.” Kory paused, embarrassed. “I mean, not the party. Enjoy your night.”

“That’s too bad, I thought that was an invitation!” With that, the Father went inside leaving Kory in the cold with the last few drags of her cigarette. The wind had stopped blowing, but for some reason Kory was chilled far more than before.

“Baby, come on!” Michelle yelled through the bathroom door, “We’re going to be late! How long does it take to put on make-up?”

“Calm down M! I’m done now. I don’t put on make-up very often, so I’m not as fast as you are!” Kory opened the door and looked at Michelle, who was wearing a blue dress with one strap that flowed down to her mid-calf. The dress hugged her form, but was not overly tight. Kory smiled. “How do I look?” she asked.

“You look beautiful,” Michelle said, kissing Kory deeply on the lips, “but we are actually going to be late and my potential boss will be there and I can’t give off the wrong impression so let’s go!” Kory laughed at her rambling as Michelle took her hand and pulled her out of the apartment and into her car. Michelle drove uncomfortably fast, but her hand was still knotted with Kory’s, so Kory didn’t mind.

As they pulled into a parking spot outside the party, Michelle let go of Kory’s hand and picked up her purse instead. Kory followed suit and exited the car, but only wanted to feel the warmth of their hands together again. As they entered the house, though it was more of a mansion, Kory stared in awe at the grandeur that was the entry room, which may have been larger than Kory’s entire flat. Once the two women found their way through to the center of the party, Michelle was bombarded by her friends and potential colleagues, and Kory stood awkwardly out of the way, pressing her fingernails into the seams of her handbag. A familiar young man in a tuxedo without the jacket walked by carrying a tray of drinks, and Kory grabbed one hastily, looking for some liquid courage for the social night ahead of her.

“Kory? Kory, I didn’t expect to see you here!” the familiar man with the tray said.

“Oh, Chris!” Kory feigned enthusiasm, though she was happy to see a familiar face, “No bus driving tonight?”

“No ma’am! My uncle needed some help with his little party so I told him I would work for him.”

“Little party? This is massive, Chris.” Kory took a sip of her drink and was startled to taste only apple juice.

“All of the drinks are non-alcoholic,” Chris explained, in response to the obvious confusion on her face. “My uncle’s boss is a recovering alcoholic. But you didn’t hear that from me.” Chris leaned in and kissed her politely on the cheek, “I’ve got to get back to serving these wankers some apple juice.” He winked at her jokingly. “Have a great time. It was lovely seeing you.”

“Bye Chris,” Kory said, and returned to standing aimlessly holding her drink in one hand and her bag in the other. All she could think of was how she could convince Michelle to let them leave before the crowd made Kory suffocate.

“...and this is Kory!” Michelle turned the attention of several of her flock to Kory, whose face immediately matched the bright red dress she was wearing. At least Michelle is here, she thought, trying to calm herself down, You can handle whatever crowd comes your way as long as she is there to take your hand. “I met Kory my first year in college! Sorry, ‘university.’” Michelle made air quotes with her slender, manicured fingers. “I always forget that college is a different thing here. Anyways, Kory and I were roommates in our first year and since we had the same major we ended up staying friends for the rest of our school years! I really couldn’t ask for a better friend. You know, I should really introduce her to….”

Kory tuned her voice out as she felt something clench in the pit of her stomach.

Friend? The word echoed in her mind. Friend? Michelle… is that all you see me as? Kory felt dizzy. Michelle wouldn’t be taking her hand at all tonight, not in front of these people. Suddenly the crowd around her felt overwhelming, like walls that were closing in on her. Kory stumbled towards the door, but bumped her shoulder into a girl wearing an identical uniform as Chris was. The impact caused the girl to drop her tray, which was luckily empty, but the girl swore at Kory under her breath. Kory apologized, but felt like a ship bashing against the rocks at shore, its anchor lost into the sea.

Finally, Kory made it outside into the crisp evening air. The cold bit into her exposed skin and made her feel naked. Why are you wearing such revealing clothing? She asked herself, half expecting an answer from somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

Come on Kory! A voice replied, Go back in there and show them that a little crowd can’t stop us! Kory knew that voice. It was her own voice, but just a touch more confident.

Lucy?

Yeah! Lucy confirmed. Now get back in there!

I can’t. I came because Michelle wanted me to, but she doesn’t even want me anymore. I can’t breathe in there. I can’t go back in. I can’t… I… Kory closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Good, she thought, I can breath out here. Ooh, that feels so good. In and out. In and out. I can handle this. This is a-okay. The world is going to stop spinning soon and I can stand up and find a bus home. Any second...

Kory! Lucy pulled her back into the vertigo, and a wave of nausea hit her, Don’t you think about going home!

Stop! Kory yelled in her mind. She pressed her hands against the sides of her head, Stop talking to me!

Kory!

Stop!

“Kory!”

No!

“Kory, are you okay?” She opened her eyes and saw Chris crouched down beside her, using his tray to balance his weight. The metallic tray reflected the headlights from a car passing by and shined it directly into Kory’s eyes. The sudden flash of light tipped Kory’s nausea over the edge and she collapsed to her side, spitting sick on the ground. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Chris said as he rubbed her back and held her hair away from her face. “Why don’t I call you a taxi? You can go home and get some rest.”

“Where’s Michelle?” said Kory in between heaves.

“The American? She went into a meeting with my uncle’s boss. A sort of impromptu job interview. Why, was she your ride?”

Friend?

“No, well… yes she drove me here, but she’s my…” She stopped, the word friend still echoing in her mind, “she’s my friend.”

“I’ll let her know you weren’t feeling well and you went back to your flat, yeah?” Chris was still rubbing her back, making her feel comforted. He was a good friend.

Once Kory had stopped throwing up, Chris stood and called her a taxi. “Did you eat something bad?” Chris asked as they waited.

“No…” Kory almost inaudibly whispered, “it wasn’t that. I don’t do crowds very well, and it just got to be too much.” She didn’t feel like telling him about Michelle; she didn’t want to open up to him like that.

Friend?

Chris was a good friend, but Kory still didn’t know how genuine he was. A short while later, the taxi arrived and Kory climbed in as Chris handed the driver a few pounds to take her home. He kissed her again on the cheek, made sure she was buckled in, and shut the door.

The taxi ride passed by without a word said other than the location of her complex. When she arrived, Kory had began to feel much better, physically. Her mind was still reeling from Michelle’s words. They had been together for just over a week, ever since that first kiss, and she had seemed so happy with Kory. The night before, Michelle had passionately decided to not go back to her own flat, and instead she stayed with Kory in her bed. They made love for the first time that night.

Friend?

Kory took a long shower to wash off the night. She hoped that maybe the memories would wash away too, but they remained present in her mind. Kory put on some pajamas, put her hair up, and took out her notebook and pen. She looked at the most recent entry, one that she had written that very morning.

‘We made love last night for the first time. I showed my soul and she showed hers and they met with the such pleasure I wanted it to last forever. Sleep came easy to me, knowing she was beside me. Her presence makes me feel like nothing will ever happen to me. She rushed off to church this morning and told me she needed to sort some things out for some business party later today, but she would come back with some clothes. She means to stay here again tonight. I’m going to see Father Abrahms at his church. I feel like he deserves to know about us. --March 4^th 2012.’

Kory read it over and over until she finally decided to shut the notebook without writing anything new, and she wandered into her bedroom to put the notebook away. She slid the notebook in between two others, one filled and the other empty, and she turned and faced the bed where she had the best night of her life. The sheets were a dark red and the pillows were black (the combination made her think of luxury) and a blonde hair rested peacefully on one of the pillows, wildly contrasting with the dark colors. Kory crawled on top of the unmade bed and rested her head where Michelle had the previous night. The smell was still strong enough to lure Kory into sleep.

Friend?

Kory awoke to the sound of keys jingling through the front door.

“Baby?” Michelle called into the flat, “Are you in bed already? I wanted to ask how you were feeling.” She walked into the bedroom and found Kory sitting on the edge of her bed looking at the wall. “Oh you’re awake. Are you feeling better?”

Friend?

“Friend?” Kory spat as she turned to face her lover, “Is that all I am to you? Has the past week meant nothing?”

“What are you talking about, Kor?”

“‘Oh, and this is Kory,’” Kory imitated, “‘We’re just friends. She doesn’t matter that much.” She stood and walked out of the room, her shoulder barely brushing past Michelle’s.

“Kory!” Michelle yelled as she followed Kory into the kitchen. “Is that why you left? Because I said you were the best friend I could have ever hoped for?” Kory ignored her. “I said that because you are! They say that the person you love should also be your best friend.”

“But that’s not all I am to you! You could have introduced me with your hand in mine and said ‘this is my girlfriend, Kory,’ but you didn’t. Because of that, I had an anxiety attack and got sick in front of a fucking mansion! They must think the worst of me now!”

“You had an attack?” There was genuine concern in her voice. “Why didn’t you call me or send me a text? I would have been there for you.”

“Chris was there for me. One of the servers sat down with me and held my hair and rubbed my back while I threw up.” She looked at Michelle, who was no longer in her high heel shoes and whose hair was tied up, no longer in blonde waves that previously cascaded down her shoulders. She was the most beautiful when she thought she was the least. Kory was still so angry, but her anger couldn’t do much, not while she looked upon the face of heaven. Kory was crying, but not visibly. She had silent tears falling down her face. “All because you couldn't call me what I am.” Michelle took Kory in her arms and held her as she started to sob. “I love you Michelle, and that made me feel like I’m still just your friend.”

“Kory, no.” Michelle looked into Kory’s eyes and brushed away her tears. “I introduced you as my friend as a precaution. I need to get a job with these people and my window was closing, but I didn’t want to lose that opportunity just because one of the people in charge is against gays. Otherwise, I don’t give a shit about what other people think about us, or whether or not they know we’re together. All I need to know is that I love you and you love me. Then I’m happy.”

Kory looked up at Michelle again, this time without tears.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that you love me,” Kory said, sniffling, “romantically I mean.”

“I know sweetheart, and I mean it.”

“I’m sorry I overreacted. Everything seemed so much worse in that crowd.”

“It’s okay, Kor. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you with your anxiety. I know that must have been really scary.”

What Kory remembered about the attack was scary, but what had returned to her in her dreams was terrifying. Why was I hearing Lucy talking to me? She thought, but immediately brushed off the thought, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. “So did you get a chance to speak to the big boss?”

“I did!” Michelle said as she threw her hands in the air enthusiastically, the shoes in her hand nearly hitting the ceiling light. Kory loved how happy Michelle was all the time, and Kory was happy to know that Michelle was happy with her, but she still wanted that introduction with her hand in Michelle’s. “I got the job! I start next Monday.”

Kory smiled, but she could feel it not reach her eyes, there was too much on her mind, “I am so proud of you, darling!” She took Michelle’s face in her hands and placed her lips on hers. Michelle kissed her back briefly, but sat down in the nearest chair.

“I want to meet Lucy.”

Kory’s heart sank. The mention of Lucy brought back flooding memories of her delusions during her anxiety attack. “No baby. Lucy isn’t me, she’s just a tool I use at work. You don’t want to meet her.” She terrifies even me, Kory wanted to say, but instead, she put on another fake smile and said, “Besides, we should be celebrating.” Kory pulled Michelle into the bedroom, where they one again showed each other their souls.

Take Me, Break Me

2013-12-16T06:44:00.000-08:00

Part One

Kory expected the funeral to take place in a dark cemetery during the pouring rain with men in suits holding umbrellas for crying women in black dresses. Everyone would have been around a large, dark pit and a gothic looking statue shaped like a large crucifix or an angel with her arms outspread. Much to Kory’s surprise, the cemetery was beautiful, aside from headstones, which were much like she imagined, only less gothic looking and obviously well taken care of. There were flowers everywhere, at the head of graves, in small gardens along the path, and planted throughout the luscious green grass. As her uncle read words off of a scrap of notebook paper, Kory’s mind wandered around the cemetery, which she began to think of as a garden of beauty as opposed to a place where they buried death. In her mind she walked along the path, stopping to smell the flowers and run barefoot through the grass so she could feel it in between her toes.

“...and thank you, God, for letting her go in peace,” said Kory’s uncle. She returned to her body right in time to say with everyone else, “Amen.”

The word felt bitter in her mouth. Kory was never really close with her grandmother, ever since she brought home her first girlfriend for Christmas eve dinner in the eleventh grade. Her father’s side of the family were all very religious and nearly all of them learned to look past that to accept Kory as the girl she was, not just her sexuality. Her grandmother was never one of those people. In fact, her grandmother never got close to any of her grandchildren, despite traveling from one family to the next after her retirement fund ran out abnormally early. Kory was sad when she heard the news of her grandmother’s death, but only because of her blood ties and basic humanity.

The service for her grandmother took place the day after the burial. Kory remained seated in the corner table throughout the entire service, silently sipping her cabernet. When the service was over, Kory’s cousin drove her back to the university they both attended. During the drive, the two hardly spoke, breaking the silence only briefly to make small talk about the classes they had in the morning, and again to bid each other goodbyes.

Upon arrival, she called her friend Michelle to see what she had missed in her classes for the day, and decided to finish her coursework over dinner with her. The two had been friends ever since they had lived together their freshman year. Kory didn’t know anyone at the school and Michelle dragged her everywhere to try to find her friends and, until Kory came out to her, a boyfriend. Due to Kory’s near crippling social anxiety, Michelle only succeeded in making Kory her best friend and her friends became Kory’s mere acquaintances.

They sat in silence in the dining hall, Kory on her laptop and Michelle reading a textbook, for a few hours, getting up occasionally to fill their coffee cups. Kory liked the silence, and after a day finding herself sitting in it repeatedly, she grew to prefer it, so she just sat and wrote her essay. The paper was for a class on the social implications of death, and despite her grandmother’s age when she died, Kory couldn’t help but think that her own death was something that she needed to begin worrying about. That night, the feeling gripped itself so tight onto her heart that she found herself crying into her pillow.

The next day went by without a second thought, which ironically made Kory take a proverbial double take. Someone old and wise died recently, she thought in the middle of her afternoon tea. She may have been rude and closed minded, but how can everything just keep going? Immediately she pulled out a notebook and pen and began writing. ‘How does Mother Earth just keep spinning when do many lives just stop every day? Not just grandmothers, but children and new mothers and lovers. How does she live with herself?’ She looked again at the few sentences and put away her notebook, shoved the pen in her pocket, took the remaining swig of her tea and left the café, leaving a pound note on the table for the waitress.

On the way home, Kory stopped by a corner store and bought a gallon of milk, a six pack of Guinness, and a card for her coworker’s birthday. She pulled up a list of the groceries that she needed, but the thought of such a routine task after a funeral made her feel sad and tired, so she closed her phone and put the beer and the card into her pack and carried the milk for the half mile walk home. Once she got home, Kory put her things away and stepped into the shower without opening her eyes until she was finished, both to avoid the sting of shampoo in her eyes and to produce the illusion of rest. Once she was dressed in the most flattering outfit she had, one she only wore to work, she began to apply her makeup, which was something she also only did for work.

The bus ride to the pub where Kory worked was a half hour long, so she set a timer on her phone and napped peacefully to the feeling of the bus bouncing. When the timer went off, Kory let herself relax and fall into a state of confidence that she found buried deep inside herself. After starting work at the pub, Kory realized that there was no way she could keep it while being so socially guarded, so through practice, she generated a second personality that went by her middle name, which was Lucille, but she shortened it to Lucy, and was, essentially, a completely different person. The split between Kory’s two sides was not particularly amoebic, there was no definite fission or schism between Kory and Lucy, but rather like the isolation of just one of six sides of a cube. Lucy was part of Kory, and Kory isolated her for her work like an actor isolates their character from their full personality.

“Lucy!” The bus driver shouted back to Kory, “we’ve arrived.”

“Thanks for the ride, Phil,” Kory said while she disembarked from the bus.

“What can I say, Luce? It’s only my job.”

“Either way...” said Kory before she blew him a kiss and began walking into the pub.

“Hey Lucy!” someone shouted to her as she walked in, “Did you remember my birthday? Conner totally forgot!”

“You know Shaun, I never had time to go get you anything. But,” she added at the look of sadness on his face, “I told my friend to pick up a card when she went to the store. I just have to sign it.” She smiled flirtatiously and walked into the back to hang her things in her locker and retrieve her name tag, which said ‘Lucy’ in lavish cursive with hearts sandwiching the letters.

When Kory was ‘Lucy’, she was the perfect bartender. She showed off while mixing drinks; she would toss bottles in the air and spin them in her palm before putting them away. Kory talked with the customers, who were mostly regulars, and most importantly, she flirted with every guy that came in and talked to every girl like she was their best friend. If Kory had never made ‘Lucy’ a reality, she would never have the confidence to do anything like that. Her coworkers would talk about her while she was socializing. “I love Lucy,” they would say, and everyone always replied, “Everyone loves Lucy.”

During her shift, Lucy got seven phone numbers, two people asked her to marry them, and three elderly men said she reminded them of their granddaughters. Sometimes during especially busy shifts, girls would get into fights with their boyfriends after Kory flirted with them: they always flirted back. Occasionally she would get phone numbers from girls too, but she never kept them; she always discretely threw them out while the girls weren’t looking. One major difference between Kory and Lucy, was that Kory acted straight as Lucy. Not homophobic, she didn’t have a problem with girls hitting on her, but something about it made Lucy uncomfortable. Besides, Kory didn’t need phone numbers from girls. She only had eyes for Michelle.

After she wiped down the tables and turned off the signs, Kory retrieved her things from her locker and bid everyone a good night. While she waited at the bus stop, she closed her eyes for a minute or so, letting herself rest and tricking her mind into thinking she was actually asleep. As the bus rolled up, she opened her eyes and her shoulders sagged and she hugged herself tightly as her confidence as Lucy faded away and the rest of Kory’s personality returned. She put her hair up into a tight ponytail and pulled her shirt up so she didn’t feel so exposed. Kory always felt so naked after acting so confident for so long.

“Hey, Kory!” the bus driver said as he opened the door, letting her board.

“Hey, Chris.” Kory replied. She had gotten to know the bus drivers that worked her route so well that she received friend requests from them over Facebook, which she always thought was strange, seeing as most of them were well into their sixties. Chris wasn’t one of those; he drove the bus part time to help pay his way through school. He was also the only guy that she could honestly say was her friend.

Kory navigated her way down the narrow aisle and nearly sat in her typical seat before noticing an older man sitting there instead. She awkwardly apologized for almost sitting on him and placed herself in the row of chairs opposite to him, immediately hiding her bright red face.

“No worries,” said the man politely, “Did you just get off work? It’s very late for a girl as pretty as you to be riding the bus alone.”

“Yeah, actually,” Kory said timidly as she looked up distrustfully at him, “But I only worry about being alone on the bus when someone brings up that it’s dangerous.”

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, miss.” The man stuck out his hand to her, palm facing up, almost as if to say he had nothing to hide. “The name is Father Abrahms, Louis Abrahms. You can just call me Lou.”

“You don’t look like a priest.”

“You don’t look like a bartender,” Lou retorted.

“How did you-”

“Killarney’s Pub is the only place around here that’s open this late. You just said you just got off work.” The Father looked down at her lapel. “Besides, you’re still wearing your name tag.”

“Oh, shit,” Kory said, looking down at the curly loop of the ‘y’ and the gaudy hearts, and looked up at him again, “I mean... Shoot.” She blushed again but the man just laughed. Not an uncomfortable laugh as so many people do while riding the bus, but a real laugh, from the stomach. For some reason it made Kory like the man. He was kind of creepy, and everything told Kory that she shouldn’t be talking to strange men, but he seemed nice, and she could feel some residual confidence bubbling up from her bout as Lucy. “Sorry, my name’s Kory. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father.”

“Kory?” he asked as she placed her hand in his still outstretched palm, “I figured your name was Lucy.”

“No, that’s my middle name. It’s just what I go by at work to get around being socially awkward incompetent in situations that don’t involve myself and my cat.” As she said it, her face got bright again. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I don’t even have a cat.”

“It’s totally fine. I tend to have that effect on people. In fact, that’s why I ride the busses this late at night; I find that this is the time when people really need someone to talk to.”

“Seriously?” Kory pulled her jacket in tighter, “Are you just really selfless or are you building up your Karma points for the big man?”

Lou laughed again, this time louder. “You’re a funny one!” Kory didn’t mean it as a joke. “I guess a little of both. I feel that people need more selflessness in the world, but everyone decides they don’t have to be the one to do it because someone else will. Also, I know it’s what the Lord wants me to do, and as his servant, I do it.” He stopped for a second. “That wasn’t supposed to be a joke was it?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. See? Now we have a beginning of something you need to talk about.”

“I don’t need to talk about this. I just hate organized religion.” She realized it sounded rude, but even as a devout atheist, she felt that lying to a priest, even by omission, was wrong.

“And why is that?”

“Because half of my family shunned me for nearly a year because ‘all lesbians are going to hell.’” She saw the look in his eyes change. “And now you’re judging me because of it.”

“My dear, I am not the one who will be judging you for your ‘sins.’” The Father made air quotes with his fingers as he said the word. “The one who will doesn’t care who you crawl in bed with at night. He says to love, not to refuse love to anyone that’s a little different.” He paused again, most likely for dramatic effect, “Now I may be wrong, but I'm guessing it’s not your family that made you so resentful of organized religion. That explanation is just such a generic excuse for a lesbian woman, besides, you said ‘nearly a year,’ meaning they came to terms with it, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So what else is it?”

Kory hesitated. She had never told anyone about the real reason except for her journal, which rarely spoke back. “My best friend is Catholic, and not like, ‘bugger off Galileo’ Catholic, but like the new kind that realizes that they’ve fucked up- I mean, screwed up in the past. She’s been really accepting of me being gay, I mean, she was weirded out for a little while after I first came out to her, but after that everything calmed down, you know?” She stopped talking and looked at the Father, who was still intently listening, like he wanted her to continue. “Ever since I met her - she was my roommate when we were first years - I had a crush on her. She, like, brought me places and made me meet new people, and she broke down these walls that I had built for myself and left me...” she trailed off. Lou was still listening, not making a single sound and not moving except to breathe, so she continued, “She made me feel all exposed and raw, but she was always there to show that, maybe, not everyone will exploit my insecurities.” Kory didn’t have to look up to know that he was still listening, and she knew she could leave it there, but she just kept talking. “My grandma died last week and ever since the funeral I couldn't shake this feeling that if I don’t tell her now, like, sweep her off her feet and tell her everything that I’ve kept bottled up soon, I’m gonna die without ever getting the chance to.” This time she looked up, finished, and made eye contact with the Father.

Quietly, he said “You’re crying, dear.” Kory reached up and touched her face, which was dampened by tears that she didn’t realize existed, and laughed in surprise. “You know exactly what you have to do, Kory. You’re afraid of rejection, right?” he didn’t wait for her answer, “You’re probably also afraid that she won’t think of you the same after you say it, that she won’t accept you knowing that you have feelings for her, like it would ruin your friendship.” He moved his head so that his eyes matched hers. “You know that that won’t happen. She’s already accepted you for who you are, and she’s been fine with it for, what, two, three years? I doubt that it’s going to change.”

“I know but-”

“No.” he cut her off, “don’t make excuses. You could tell me, some random guy on the bus, so you can tell her.”

“You’re a priest. You’re supposed to be accepting.”

“I preach at a very conservative church; I know a lot of priests that would have been very angry at your supposed deviations.” He paused again, and Kory began to think he planned out each pause because they were timed so perfectly that they felt scripted. “Tell her as soon as you can.”

“Kory!” Yelled Chris from the front of the bus, “This is your stop!”

“Okay!” she yelled back, and turned back to the Father, “Thank you so much. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk about this.”

The Father stood as she got out of her seat and offered her his hand, which Kory brushed aside as she hugged him. “It was really nice to meet you Kory. I wish you all the best of luck with your friend, and I know you won’t appreciate it as much as someone of the faith, but I will include you in my prayers.” He pushed her back and looked into her eyes before saying “Don’t put this off any longer. You deserve to be happy with who makes you happy.”

The second Kory stepped into her flat, she pulled out her notebook and pen and scribbled out the words, ‘You deserve to be happy with who makes you happy. --Father Louis Abrahms, 22^nd of February 2012.’ She shoved the notebook back into her bag and wandered into her room where she collapsed onto her bed and fell asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed.

“Kory! Kory, answer your freaking door!” Kory opened her eyes to the sight of smeared makeup on her newly cleaned pillow case and the sound of someone violently knocking on the door. “And your phone! Answer your phone too!” Slowly and groggily, Kory made her way to her front door, where upon opening it, she found Michelle in a pink tank top and calf length yoga pants. “Kor- oh. Hey girl! You look like shit, but it’s okay because I brought you cheesy romantic movies and carmel kettle corn to celebrate you sleeping through your one and only class today which you - like a total weirdo - scheduled for eight in the morning.” Kory wasn’t listening. She was admiring the sight of Michelle that rarely comes out; her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun, her makeup was nowhere to be found, and she looked like she just came from the gym. Michelle was a student from America, California specifically, and like a true ‘Cali Girl,’ as she called herself, would never go out looking anything less than pure sexy, which she adamantly believed had nothing to do with yoga pants and had everything to do with winged eyeliner and red lip-gloss. Kory disagreed. In her eyes, Michelle would be gorgeous wearing a trash bag. “Kory? Are you listening?”

“No,” she said weakly.

“I just said I even found a lesbian romance for you too, in case all this hetero crap grosses you out.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Kory smiled, a wide, genuine smile. “why don’t you set it up and I’ll take a shower.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, Kory was cleaned, dressed also in yoga pants—a gift from Michelle along with a yoga mat and an instructional DVD that she never touched—and sitting on the couch watching bad romance movies with Michelle lying down using her thighs as a pillow. Moments like these were the ones where Kory was completely sure of her love for Michelle; the moments where they were both so exposed but so comfortable with each other.

“Hey M?”

“Yeah Kor?”

“I love you.” Kory was so grateful that Michelle’s head was not resting on her chest, or anything that had more of a distinct pulse than her thigh. She could barely hear the movie over the sound of her own heart beating.

“Awe, Kor, I love you too.”

“No,” she said, stronger this time than the first.

“Huh?” Michelle craned her neck so that she could look into Kory’s eyes, quizzical expression in tow.

“Not like, ‘awe I love you girl,’ I mean, like, ‘I’m in love with you, girl.’” As she said it, Kory could feel Michelle's jaw tense in discomfort. Kory didn't care, the Father’s advice would be worth something in the end. "I mean that I fall asleep thinking of you, I dream of you, and I wake up happy that I get to see you. I mean that when you speak, I watch your lips and try to imagine how they would feel against mine. I mean that, if you would have me, I would do everything in my power to make you the happiest wife in London. I have spent the last several years hiding my feelings from you. Every minute I spend with you feels like slow motion, and I can take in every moment with you, and commit every look on your face to memory, and when I feel like things are getting unbearable and speeding by, I can just close my eyes and think of you and everything becomes okay. You’re so comfortable with life and you radiate this confidence and you made me realize how much I can stand up to, even with my aversion to social things. You make everything bearable." Kory pushed Michelle's head off of her lap so that she sat upright next to her, and as she looked deep into Kory's eyes she could see her honesty and her beauty, exposed by the black and pink yoga pants and blue flannel shirt and her face clean of all of her make-up. "That is how I love you."

“Kory...”

“Shut up,” Kory said as she leaned in and planted her lips firmly against Michelle’s. At first, the kiss was completely one sided, but Kory felt Michelle’s eyes close as she gently placed her hands on the sides of Kory’s face. It could have been seconds later, maybe a minute—Kory didn’t care, it could have been days and it wouldn't have mattered—she pulled away. After their lips parted, Michelle placed one last kiss right on the tip of her nose. In that moment, Kory knew. She knew with absolute certainty that this would be the girl that will break her soul and crush her like she were a few centimeters tall. Kory knew with everything that this couldn’t last. That thought acted as a fracture, a crack, in her heart, not quite a full break, but when that moment would inevitably come, when that fracture inevitably became a fissure, Kory knew she would cry so hard her tears would snuff out the stars like candles on a birthday cake. She didn’t care.

Take me, break me, she thought, she may have said it, she didn’t know, whatever you do, I’m yours.

My Emotions (In Another's Words)

2013-11-22T15:38:00.000-08:00

By Thomas Prendergast with quotes from Nick Sagan’s Idlewild
Bold and italic words are not from the book.

Her “name just made me feel

lost and sad,”

“But God was she beautiful!”

She turned out to be

“the straw that broke the junkie’s back.”

She turned out to be

“actual Doom,

ugly sister to Destiny”

But then again, I remember the

“puddle of jet-black garments

gracing my bedroom floor.”

“She was stunning.”

I “can’t help but think of her

tripping on her cowboy boots

as she stepped

out of her panties.

Clumsy, yes,

but I found it endearing.”

She broke me,

“no doubt about that”

But she

“helped make me who I am,

no doubt about that” either.

She said she was

“Giving up on the present

to take a chance on the future,”

But she left me

“twisted and tensed,

taking shallow breaths

like a newborn kitten.”

She’s “gone now,

off chasing a better tomorrow”

“I’m alone with my thoughts.

I said I had nothing left …

but that’s not true.”

“That’s right,” Tommy,

“We’re not done yet.”

And if somewhere there existed

some sort of journal,

one consisting of my thoughts,

the last entry in her chapter

would read:

“If you’re reading this,

what can I say?

I tried to hit the long ball.

I went for all the marbles and lost.

Sucks to be me.

You would have done the same thing

in my position.”

My future,

I would find,

“stood at the corner of”

Acacia street, and

“Celestial Drive…”

Singing Songs Through Smoke

2013-01-11T23:28:00.001-08:00

Inspired by William Carlos Williams' The Red Wheelbarrow

So much depends

upon

Branches burnt black

beneath

Skies coloured like

fire

Sending signals rather

sung.

The Poisonwood Bible

2013-01-11T23:26:00.000-08:00

Inspired by William Carlos Williams' The Red Wheelbarrow and written in reference to Barbara Kingsolver's book "The Poisonwood Bible"

So much depends

upon

Faith in their

God

Who's love is

infinite

Yet cannot be

found.

What We've Done

2013-01-11T23:17:00.000-08:00

By guest author Connor Prendergast

Is our hubris

So unconquerable
That we truly believe
Our words - our ideas -
Can even begin to
Allude to the vastness,
The complexity
And majesty of
Where we are?
How we are?
The greatest poets
Are tongue-tied.
The greatest thinkers,
Philosophers,
Yield only great
Questions.
And yet, how
Is there hope?
We sit, so obviously
Paraplegic,
At the base of
Olympus Mons.
So inexplicably,
We realize our tears,
Rising geysers,
Are products of
Our immense joy.

I Must Go On Standing

2013-01-09T18:55:00.001-08:00

By guest author Connor Prendergast

Love is a long

Catastrophe,

Like the bruises plain

On hips, jeans

Drawn so low.

Like the silent

Crumple

When her breath

Falls warmly on

My neck, asleep.

The fire would

Be a low murmur,

A sort of

Cosmic play

On the sparks

On kindling,

Across the room.

We are aware,

Now,

That we can

collapse and explode,

All at once.

That Night

2012-12-12T21:02:00.000-08:00

The first time they ever met was on the coldest day of the year. It was also the only time Elle forgot to check the weather report and left her house wearing a light jacket and running shoes, caught unprepared for the coming blizzard like a dove surprised by hurricane winds. Within five minutes of their meeting, Grace gave her the thick winter coat she was wearing, telling Elle her shivers were from nerves. “My body is pretty much a furnace,” she said, “I’d let you borrow its warmth, but this is only our first date.” The coat was the next best thing. As she wore it, she noticed it smelled like strawberries and felt like Apollo's embrace. Elle wore it home that night after dropping Grace off at her apartment; she blushed deep enough to match the scent that had then seeped into her pores when their lips first touched. She called as soon as she got home and opened up to her like front doors welcoming extended families home for the holidays.

That night she fell asleep at one in the morning.

That night she dreamed of strawberries.

On their second date, instead of kissing Elle goodnight, Grace invited her in. The two women left a trail of semi-casual date-night garments leading from the front door to Grace’s bedroom. As Elle fumbled Grace’s blouse half-on-half-off her body, Grace asked, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?” She just replied with a bite on grace’s lip and a smack on her rear before she pushed her through the bedroom door.

After, they lay panting, tangled in sheets and limbs as Grace told Elle the story of how she came out to her parents on Christmas morning. “My mother nearly dropped a handmade vase from my grandma, and my grandma nearly needed to go to the emergency room!” They laughed and held each other but Grace’s face fell. “That was the last Christmas I ever spent with my family,” she said with tears running down her face. They weren’t really tears of sadness - she had long since moved on - but they were tears of pure truth. “That was the year I turned fourteen.” Elle leaned in closer and kissed her tears away like a baptism left salty on her lips.

In the morning, Grace made a pot of coffee and began steeping some tea for Elle that she found pushed to the back of the cabinet. She also made eggs and toast and brought it in on a small tray which she set down on the nightstand to lean in and wake Elle with a passionate kiss. Shortly, the two were sitting cross-legged on Grace’s bed eating.

“So, you never told me your story,” said Grace, “When did you come out to your folks?” Elle stopped chewing for a split-second to pull up the bedsheets further up, completely covering her thighs.

“I never really did,” she set her toast back onto the tray and brushed off her hands, “I guess its just something we always knew.”

“So they were fine with it?”

“No… my parents were extremely religious,” Elle pulled the sheets further up her body, displaying only her head and neck, like a father who let his kids bury him in the sand, “They sent me to a Christian summer camp for ‘troubled children.’ Actually, it was a really rough time for me." Grace leaned in to brush away her tears and kiss her on the nose.

“Lovely…” Grace gripped the sheets, “Let me see them.” Reluctantly, Elle allowed her to pull the sheets back to display the scars stacked onto one another like a pile of disheveled therapist’s notes. “Oh, Elle… baby…” Grace didn’t need to run her finger along the scars to feel the texture, but she did anyway. The scars ran from knees to hips, varying in depth and density. Grace touched her lips to the valleys on either knee, moving up until she had kissed each scar like every one was a star the children would wish on someday.

Elle took Grace’s face in her hands and pulled her into her arms. “Lover, I know, it gets hard sometimes, but you have to always know that everything gets better.”

“I know,” Elle did not speak the words, only whispered them softly to keep from crying harder, “I spent four months out of every year getting taught that my love was a lie; that God hated me for falling for the prettiest girl on the playground during sixth grade recess.” Grace held her as she opened up once again, rocking her gently to the rhythm of her tears. “There was this one girl at the camp, she was a counselor, only a few years older than me, she told me she was there to really help the kids, not brainwash them like the others. She caught me in the girls showers trying to bleed the unholy from my veins.” Elle used her right index finger to trace the only closed scar on her legs.

“She didn’t tell anyone but the nurse, and she didn’t even tell her that I was gay. That night we stayed up in the nurse’s office braiding my hair as she told me about her two moms. They were devout Catholics and had been together for two years before their church’s pastor agreed to unofficially marry them, despite their faith. She said ‘Ellie, every time you think you’re alone in this world, you call me, day or night. I’ll tell you how you can never truly be alone; how there are always so many more that feel the same pain as you.’” Grace and Elle both wiped tears from their eyes as Elle continued, “She saved my life that night. I planned on cutting my wrists free of the world and the pain without so much as a ‘thanks for nothing’ note to my parents.”

“Lover, so long as you live, you will never be alone.” Grace pulled up her shirt and turned to Elle, showing her rows of scars carved into her skin like a Mayan catalogue of events carved into stone.

Elle bent in and kissed them into stars left for their love to fathom into constellations.

Fears

2012-08-27T20:47:00.001-07:00

People say they are scared of love.
They're not.
Love is what overcomes fear.
Overcomes sadness.
Anger.
Grief.
People do not fear love,
Their minds too often make false connections
Between the uplifting beauty of love,
And the gut-wrenching,
Peace-killing, nerve-wrecking
Explosion the heart withstands
Once silence falls.
People do not fear love,
They fear love's company.
They fear the uncertainty of love's return.
They fear they fall too hard,
Too fast,
Without being followed.

Love is a driving force,
A motive to become more,
To become better.
Life is the force that silences love,
That hinders it, but also gives it room
To grow.
Life is love's brother, twin, and friend.
The two are ever present and
Never alone.
it is because of life, its experience,
That we fear love.
it's all about that lovely girl,
That girl we would pray about.
if we had the power, we'd
Give her the sun,
The moon, and the stars.
if we never had that lovely girl,
if we never stayed up 'til midnight
Just to study the contours and curves
Of her body, and the beautiful imperfections
Of her skin, none of us would fear love.
When our world shone bright at the sight of her,
When our dull day went from black and white
To mind blowing technicolor, that day,
She gave us a gift.
Wrapped neat in brown paper bags,
And a tight black ribbon with a rotton,
Disheveled bow,
The gift was our experience.
Our gift was fear.

Like having the fear of death, having the fear of love
Makes not a difference in the world.
We live our lives afraid of our exit,
Afraid of our journey to the afterlife.
We live our lives being told what to think,
What to fear.
"Death," they say, "is the ultimate terror.
stay healthy, be good,
and postpone your finale as much as possible."
We live our lives repeating the mantra:
"i don't want to die,
i don't want to die,
i don't want to die,
i don't want..."
And we live our lives, but we die,
inevitably and absolutely.
Just like how we love what we can and
We helplessly hope our love stays true.
But it doesn't,
And we come to know that
Gut-wrenching, peace-killing
Explosion of sorrow and tears,
Of loneliness and fears.
The explosion sends shudders through our gears,
Leaving us screaming past the piers,
Praying to God that she hears,
But the terror manifests through the years,
Leaving us petrified of love.

For what seems like lifetimes,
We shy away from that blessed
Want. That sacred peace.
But, like the inevitability of death,
We fall again, still too hard,
Too fast.
We continue the process,
Through love and through fear,
'Til one day...

it stays.

Beautiful Things When Nature Sings

2012-04-10T21:44:00.001-07:00

Nature is nurture, the future boils down to something larger, like a departure. iT's the seasons that provide this reason, and while we are wheezing (that is, not quite breathing) and not quite seeing this relieving teasing and weaving that these seasons are pleasing, time is freezing, and love is leasing. Springtime is like sunshine written in common time, and sunshine is fine, but the warm shade under the trees and the smell of rain on the breeze, oh, this is beautiful and oh so colorful. iN summer, the sun may come on strong, but its song never steers you wrong as it sings all day long. iT's worry free and it's stressless, like finally cleaning up this nest's mess, or fitting in that red dress. Yes, summer can be so stressless, but this isn't the best yet. Now, in the eyes of some, autumn is the time of death, when the leaves and trees and stars and seas seem to lose their breath. But autumn has such depth and such breadth that this death, oh, it catches our breath, as if those rows of orange flow close to our souls. And our cheeks and nose, colored with a deep rose, seem to reflect those red leaves, those rows of rose. Gradually these trees undress their leaves, as if each tree knows (those rows of rose) of the snow's posed blanket of white, so they undress to sleep their night away, their winter's wondrous might. Winter's white might is powerful, quite right to say, and though some's sight shows it as a plight, show it with fright, the winter's white is truly beautiful. Winter's white's wonder is plentiful, and its love bountiful. Then, after this beautiful wonder (or wonderful beauty), this peaceful and playful cold opens the door to sunshine. Like going from a waltz's time to our fine springtime and sunshine written in common time, and sunshine is fine, but...

How to Find Love

2012-02-02T00:19:00.001-08:00

Begin in teenage years.

Date a girl for several days.

Break up. This was not love. Search

Without looking. That is to say, do not

Search with your open eyes, but with your

Open heart. Open your heart wide, wide enough

For people to get in, for people to stay in.

Get hurt. Love does not come cheap.

Continue through high school. Find a girl

And date her for two of your four years. Date her,

On a whim, and fall for her. In fits of passion and lust,

Make love to her clumsily, it being both of your firsts.

When you lie in bed, skin on skin, whisper to her. Tell her

You love her. Tell her how you found her, how you

Opened your heart and she flew right in, like a

Dove. A dove with talons. Later, give her terrible words,

Something akin to “we need to talk.” Break

Her heart. Feel sorry for hurting her, but regret

Nothing. Or don’t. Receive terrible words,

Something akin to “it’s not you, it’s me.” Have her

Break your heart, knowing they are just words,

And it was you all along.

This was not love.

In your escapades following your separation,

Find amazing friends, friends that help you

Open your heart once again. Friends that climb in

And make your heart their home. Fall for one of them.

She is beautiful in every way, you tell her. Love her

Through everything and anything. Have her

For a short time. You fell for her more

Than anyone in the past. More than that girl

Who was your first.

Lose her. It will tear you apart, this girl that

Fit. This girl that may well have been yours

Forever. Lose her. Now you know love.

It hurts.

How to Fear Mannequins

2012-02-01T23:41:00.000-08:00

Begin in a horror movie.

The villain? That perfect Aryan GAP

Family of plastic. With their polo shirts,

And 10 dollar sweaters.

Hey! Khaki shorts, buy one get one half off!

Run. They’ve come alive.

They feel naked, those cocoons of fake human,

They feel naked in their discounted red,

White and blue.

They feel naked, and you have the fleshy

Jumper they desire.

They feel naked, but in your skin, they’ll be at

Peace.

Run more, don’t try to hide, they hear

Your heart beating, their jealousy

Of functioning organs leading their every action.

There’s no escaping their wrath, their

Envy, their greed.

Run faster, run longer.

There’s no escape, they are

Everywhere.

Fight back, shatter them into the hundreds

Of individual pieces they truly are. Hit them square

In the chest, blast their arms off. And watch

As they slowly return to their composed forms,

Your hatred and temper swaying them

Not in the least. Watch as your hope fades

With every joint that clicks into place.

Cry into your hopelessness, scream at your

Attacker.

There is no hope for you, friend. This fear

That has been instated and installed

In your soul… It consumes, corrodes, corrupts.

It condemns you, ‘till you give in to your fear

And find yourself huddled in a small dark room

Because your ever present severe claustrophobia

Is kinder, and gentler, than the Aryan demons

In GAP clothing and permanent unconvincing

Fake smiles.

End in a horror movie.

The villain? Your mind. Your twisted,

Plagued brain, demanding fear in

Inanimate objects. Find yourself

In groups of people, telling them

About this plague your brain created,

Hearing them call you crazy.

“We’ve been underestimating their

Power for too long now,” you

Say. “Its only a matter of time,” you

Say.

How to Love Lips

2012-02-01T22:07:00.001-08:00

Begin forming words.

Move with beauty and grace.

Dance to the message your body forms. After,

You will embrace her, mixing in a new dance.

You make truth, this is your business. But also,

You make lies, this is your sin. Don’t listen

To the problems of others, this is not for you,

But when they need you, tell them the way to fix these problems

Dance once again and remove their sorrow

Out of their mind.

Go to new places, dance with others,

But save your waltz for her

For when you return home. This dance you share,

This wondrous lust, this thing

Is precious, and therefore, delicate.

In your life, you will have many people to share this waltz,

Many people to share this

Sacred lust. That doesn’t

Make it any less precious.

When you dance with her, remember

Those steps well, those moments.

Share this dance with only her, until

She finds another with swifter feet, and better

Shoes, better moves. Now it is your turn

To find another, better dancer.

Dancing cannot be the only thing

You ever do. Sometimes you are more

Lovable when you sit quietly,

And watch. Watch someone else’s

Dance. By simply being there,

You instill confidence, proclaim

The truth that is your business.

This is no place for your sin.

Just sit and watch, see

How gracefully the muscle moves the bone,

Watch as practiced limbs create beauty

Before your eyes. See the way they speak

With you. See how these movements create

Love, not romantic, but fanatic,

In your odd little heart.

This journey, that is falling in love

With something, will have a

Side effect. You may start to

Notice more beauty in everything,

In people, in things, in the world,

In life, in death,

And in everything in between.

This is not really

“How to Love Lips”

This is “How to Love.”

What is Peace?

2011-12-14T22:28:00.000-08:00

Last night I found myself wondering

What peace really is.

I found myself pondering

If it is some permanent state of being

We as humans search for our entire lives.

Is it something that once found

Will cause happiness

Worldwide?

Does peace just sit there

Like a fed up parent

Waiting for her chaotic,

Mislead

Toddler to tire himself out

Before she can pick up the pieces

Left by his destructive ways?

Lost in these dizzying daydreams

I came across a revelation.

This revelation made clear that

The relationship between peace and war

Is not that of a fed up parent and her reckless toddler,

But it is that of two lovers,

He, who dances dangerously dealing death

To all.

But also her, who, while dancing with her lover,

Lands love luxuriously upon the lives of onlookers.

There is no death to be dealt without the luxury and love

Of peace.

Along side this revelation came a thought so profound,

"Peace is beautiful, but fragile, like butterfly wings.

Touch them once and the may just crumble away

Into the dust."

Peace comes and goes,

Showing her skill on the dance floor for only a minute

Before her lover's turn comes around

And shatters our serenity she selflessly gave us.

Finally,

I realized what peace is.

Peace is more

Than something our governments strive for,

More

Than a cause our soldiers die for.

Peace is more

Than some end to justify these means,

More

Than our filthy American dreams.

Peace is maturity,

On a level entirely new to us.

There's a Lesson in This

2011-11-06T10:22:00.001-08:00

Clay never loved his brother. He always had to share everything with him: a birthday, a name, a mother. Clay never wanted a twin, never thought that his life needed to be split in two, and never thought his mother loved them the same. She had always favored Robert, who had always favored himself, Clay wasn’t anywhere in this equation. When Clay heard the news that Robert had been killed in battle, his exact words were: “Shit… Bastard should have kept his head down.” No tears were shed, no funerals were attended, and no remorse was felt. Would he have been the same as Robert, if he were loved, or would he have done it differently? He liked to think he would have welcomed the unloved Robert with open arms and they could have a wonderful life together, but Clay knew otherwise. It wasn’t just that he was loved more, it was this sense that Robert was his better half and Clay couldn’t stand it.

Three years later, Clay received a draft notice. He didn’t want to follow in Robert’s footsteps. Not the dying; Clay wasn’t scared of death, but the façade of a hero fighting a hopeless cause. Robert celebrated when he was scheduled to ship out. Robert volunteered, and Clay hated him for that too. Eventually Clay got tired of running and joined the forces in Vietnam. Clay remembers liking helicopter rides. Clay remembers loving the feeling of brothers in the field. Clay remembers loving the excitement everyone felt when the mail came, though he never got anything himself. Clay remembers his first Christmas in Vietnam and the letter he received. Clay’s happiness was tangible, until he saw it was not from his mommy dearest. The return address was labeled: “Saint Peter’s Mortuary of Passing.” Clay remembers the dropping sensation he felt all the way from his throat past and piercing his heart and sinking in his stomach. The words ricocheted in his mind: “Self-inflicted gunshot wound, Left temple.” There was no more mommy dearest, no more family, no more people to come home to. Just Clay. Just Clay and his brothers in the field.

He finished his first tour, receiving medals for valor, honor, and more unimportant things. He completed his second tour, Like the blink of an eye, Clay thought. Clay was about to finish his third tour, five months in to a six month ride. There was no more excitement for mail, no more laughing in helicopters, no more love between Clay and his brothers in the field. It was just him. Just Clay and his mind. And although Clay hated tattoos, all that was left of mommy dearest was inked on Clay’s left bicep that consisted of a heart and a banner that read:

“Mom

1924 to 1967”

“This is idiocy!” Clay had yelled at his platoon, all lounging in their foxholes smoking their cigarettes and their dope, “You are all worthless! Sam, you are supposed to be on guard, and I prefer you sober when you are guarding us. Men, There’s a lesson in this, just as there is in everything. Today’s lesson: don’t be a damn dumbass and you won’t die!”

“Sir, what if its not your fault when you get shot?”

Clay was already walking away, head up high in the middle of an uneventful scouting party. “It’s alway your fault soldier, and soon you will realize that.” Silently, Clay sat in his foxhole and touched his left arm, as though it brought him closer to his mother, and he thought, still silently even in his own mind, of how he hated that he would never see his mother again. Not in heaven and not in hell, That religious bullshit is just meant to keep the masses calm, Clay thought, his mind feeling empty and hollow, Keeps the streets clean it does, clean as dirt. With that, Clay drifted into a dreamless sleep.

“Sir we believe we have spotted a Charlie village up north a few klicks, should we leave now or gather more information?”

With a start, Clay came to his senses, stood, and began shouting orders, yet still quite enough to keep to themselves. Clay firmly believed that the skill was gained through his many tours in Vietnam. The others thought it was just Clay.

“I’ll take the flank and Sam, you lead us there, you’re the one that spotted it after all!”

“Yes, sir!” the platoon chorused.

After rapidly gathering their things, the group set out, a few were smoking cigarettes, but all of them were alert and focused. “Sir,” Sam yelled back, a couple minutes in, “looks like they have a bit of fortifications! Do we still want to-” a shot rang out in the field and Sam went down hard, a bullet right into his chest, shredding whatever gear was in the way.

“Sniper!” one of the men yelled. The platoon dropped, hiding in the grass and whatever else they could find, but Clay kept his eyes on Sam, crawling closer to the boy. He was like a brother to Clay, not the brother in arms, but a brother as if Clay had actually loved Robert.

“Sam…”

“S-Sir,” Sam was pale, spitting blood in every shallow breath, “Cl-Clay…” he fumbled a small, folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket, “Please t-t-take this t-to my girl i-i-in New Y-Y-York, sh-she’s h-havin’ my d-daughter...” Sam went limp in Clay’s arms.

“No… no!” Clay screamed at the sky, on the off chance he would be heard. “He had so much to go back to!” Clay watched as his platoon was torn to pieces, wasted away in foreign turf.

With a start, Clay came to his senses, looking around at his men.

“Sir? Do we have marching orders?”

Clay looked around. Clay looked at Sam, standing tall and proud, not a scrape on him. On the inside Clay smiled and thanked God. A miracle, this, He thought, “Yes, Sam, you take the flank, I’ll lead us in.”

Lost in Your Hands

2011-10-03T18:01:00.000-07:00

i'M lost in mind,
i Just can't
Feel you this time...

iF i Said
You had my mind,
And said
You change it all the time,
Would you believe
My insignificant words?
Would you still leave
And make this all worse?
Or could you stay here
With me?
Or would you leave here
Without me?
i'M just so lost this time,
Just can't return from it.
All this aching in my mind,
And still i Can't leave this shit.

Packing my bags,
Thinking of that serenade,
That hand-me-down hag
That neither of us made.
iF i Said

You had my mind,

And said

You change it all the time,

Would you believe

My fighting words?

Would you please leave

And stop making this worse?

i Can't see anymore!

Not through all your tears.

i Can't breathe anymore!

Not after all these years.

Darling, you are making me grieve,

You are making me hurt.

Would you please leave,

And stop making this worse.

Another Untitled

2011-09-18T15:00:00.003-07:00

Oh, this binding chain,

This nutritious cage.

We see every day our

Ponderous restrictions

Refuse to fade.

Vanish,

Disappear before our

Eyes.

From time to time

We find ourselves in a place,

A place that simply conducts

Happiness.

This is the only place

Where we can close our

Eyes.

Free of any worry.

However these binding chains,

This nutritious cage,

They don’t want us here.

They want to see our blue

Eyes.

The color of these glass orbs,

The only thing given to us,

Reflects this life through

Blue lenses.

Not enough in these pockets

For the rose colored glasses.

So This iS Madness

2011-09-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

Confusion sets in, madness it is called.

But how our mind starts to act on its own,

Something like a drum sounding in the cold.

We wait for something just to us be shown.

The downfall of our life cannot be now.

We might try to say that we are to young,

‘Cause of our experience is not how.

iF gone, our life by a thread would be hung.

Responsibilities of ours are great.

All too great in fact to leave such a place

We cannot leave a place without this hate

Our exit must be later and with grace.

We have not been given une chance comme ca.

Mais nous pouvons voir que nous aurons la.

The Story Beneath Cinderella Speaks

2011-09-18T00:37:00.000-07:00

She said she was leaving here, going away and leaving me wanting more. I’ve never truly been the best, or been the one to answer life’s questions correctly, but I never thought that was reason for her to leave. She said maybe, maybe one day she will return, find me and complete me once more. She just needed time away from me to think of what I'd done.

When we met, nearly a year ago, I believed I was blessed, having someone so good in my life that always seemed so wrong. Madly in love, we were married in a month, despite her father’s persistent word of warning. It was mid-July and pleasantly warm, even though it was pouring rain outside the church. Every time we kissed that night, it felt as though time had slowed, and sometimes stopped altogether. I told her I needed her, for I loved her so much. I was so happy, yet so scared. What would happen, if she were to leave? What would that mean for me?

January.

“What does your father mean?” I begged her for an answer after a long and uncomfortable dinner with her rich father. Her father and I had never gotten along, as was expected between a wealthy man and a working man. “Why would you need a new start, aren’t you happy here?”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” I didn’t, I couldn't bear the thought of her father ripping the two of us apart. “Darling, please,” I looked, “Please calm down,” she tried to settle my reeling mind with small words and pleas. When that didn’t work, she said, “Darling I’m not going.” That got me to settle down, at least most of the way.

“But your father. Won’t he be mad?” I asked her, not needing the answer. “He is quite convinced you are joining him.”

“My father needs to accept you,” She pulled me close, so close that I could feel her warm, sweet breath on my cheek, bringing back memories of our beautiful night following our wedding ceremony. I could feel her almond eyes on mine, peering into my soul and capturing my mind. I could feel her breathing, her bosom rising and falling to the rhythm of her breath. Her beauty mesmerized me, baffled me. “I am yours, forever, and I don’t care whether or not my father has a problem with that.” Do you mean that, I meant to ask her - but then I thought, Of course she means it, she loves me.

“Thank you,” I smiled at her, completely relaxed.

April.

My splendid marriage began to go south in my lovely little home in Southampton the day I heard a knock on my door, and my mistake was answering it. As I got up off of my wooden chair, the knock came again, rapping violently on the front of the house. Persistent bastard, I thought, as the knock came again. It happened twice more in my walk from the dining room to the front door two rooms away, making me think this man must be a deliverer of bad news, had she been in an accident? I ran to the door, fearing this man and what he came for more than I feared death.

As I grabbed the doorknob, the ball of metal seemed to drop temperature to that of ice in my palm, a bad omen. I pulled the door quickly open to reveal this deliverer. “Hello son,” Her wealthy, hating, spiteful father said, shooting more ice than the metal in my palm, “May I come in, or have I lost that privilege to you as well as my daughter?”

“She’s not here,” I spat in return, avoiding his question on purpose, “But I would be ... happy ... to let her know that you stopped by, completely unannounced, may I add.”

“Yes, you may add that,” said he as he walked in my door, as though he took my lack of an answer as a conformation, “And as wonderful as that would be, I came here to speak with you, not your lovely wife.” A smile started to spread across his face, not a happy expression, or even neutral; the man was taunting me with his smug smile on his rich face. I had to put my hands in my pockets to keep from smacking that grin right off of him.

“Whatever you have to say,” I said, repaying him with a grueling sneer, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Ah yes, I expected that.” I wanted to bury him. He hadn’t done anything overly offensive since he’d gotten here, but his mere presence made me foaming mad. “However, for this I believe you will make an exception. What I came to tell you is very important.”

“What is it then? Really, what is so important you had to come here unannounced?”

“She is coming with me and you cannot stop her.”

“No, she told me she is staying with me here,” he’s lying, I told myself, he has to be. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here to be so disappointed.”

“I am afraid you are mistaken. I am her father, and my word is law,” He grinned again, but this time showing perfectly white teeth.

“Well I am her husband and she doesn’t lie to me!” I screamed, spitting on his blazer.

“But doesn’t she? I’m terribly sorry to tell you this but your marriage was a sham.” The words came out like he was saying the sky was blue, as-a-matter-of-fact. “She never loved you.”

I heard a crack and saw him fall, spitting blood. I saw hands grab him by the lapels and heard three more consecutive cracks. I felt a pain rise in my knuckles and a scream rise in my ears. Was it mine? Was it his? No, it was hers. I looked up and saw her staring, screaming and sobbing. “No!” She cried, “Please stop!”

I realized the hands on his lapels were mine, and the blood on my hands and on the floor was his. I dropped him. He just fell. I heard one last, deafening sound. It was his head hitting the wood floor.

She said she was leaving here, going away and leaving me wanting more. I’ve never truly been the best, or been the one to answer life’s questions correctly, but I never thought that was reason for her to leave. I walked her to her ship, a giant boat, and looked into her eyes. She said maybe, maybe one day she will return, find me and complete me once more. I said no, she won’t return. I could feel it, sense it in my heart. I kissed her and held her tight. I felt as though days passed, years maybe. "Don't go," said I, "I can't do this on my own."
"I'm sorry," she replied, "I feel like if we try to get closer we will only lose touch." She left me with those words ringing in my ears. I wanted to scream out to her, to yell that I love her, but I just watched her walk away, boarding with her bandaged father. Maybe someday, even if she doesn’t return, she could come to terms with my actions. I noted the date and time, I didn't know why I did it, it just seemed right.

I wrote down: ‘April 10th, 1912. Noon.’ I then watched as the Titanic drifted away.

Cinderella Speaks

2011-08-29T21:35:00.001-07:00

Do not take this from me.
You do not want me that mad.
All you want is to set me free.
You cannot do that when i'm sad.
The best way to set me free
is to let me go.
You have to let me be.
You have to know.
iT's all part of the same fight.
iT's all pieces of the same shine.
All pieces have their own might.
Just let me go, i'll be fine.

A new wind is blowing.
A change we all knew was to come.
i Can tell you who now is showing,
i Would but they look so glum.
iT's the way i am
To differ from the rest.
i Am the water on the wrong side of the dam.
i Know how, but i have'nt passed the test.
Oh, how i wish you were here.
Your empty space is saddening.
i Scream for you from beyond the pier.
Your lack of an answer is maddening.

You have made my mind,
You change it all the time.
Your words, always so kind.
With my lack of speech, i can only mime.
i'M sorry i cannot be my best,
But for tham i have little respect.
i'M sorry i cannot pass the test,
But for that there is no retrospect.
Making sense is beyond me,
Like my screams which are past the pier.
iT's the nonsense that makes us free,
But you've made it, you've made it here.

Why, This is Just Nonsense

2011-08-29T17:58:00.000-07:00

Johnson Macmillan was having a very odd day. Not so odd that he found himself doubting reality, but just enough so he couldn't take his mind off of it. His day started out with the radio playing a song at exactly five thirty in the morning, just like every day. Afterwards, like every day, he came downstairs to make a warm cup of breakfast tea and read the newspaper. However on this particular morning his tea tasted off and he found he couldn’t quite focus on the news because of it. Setting it down for later, he took a brief shower and left his small one bedroom flat one half hour early. As he walked out his door he grabbed his driving cap and placed it comfortably on his head, and as he left the building he bid a good morning to a bellman that he’d never met before.

Johnson climbed into his 1948 Series 75 Fleetwood Cadillac and started the engine. The drive took much longer than he remembered, but Johnson made sure he did not take any wrong turn or get lost in thought like he may have wanted to. The length must have just been my imagination, he told himself. Over and over he kept thinking of the tea, he had made it just as he normally does, two sugars and a dash of cream after steeping for three minutes, but it tasted just wrong. More like ashes than tea, he thought.

Johnson parked in his usual parking space, but as he got out of the car and locked it, he found himself staring at a sign that read, DR. JOHNSON MACMILLAN, and in smaller letters under it, PHYSICIAN, which he had never seen or even heard of before. Johnson made a brief excuse that may have sounded like, I just must not have gotten the notice, or rather if you were next to him, all you would have heard was mumbling, as the statement was more for Johnson than anyone else.

Dr. Macmillan, as he always thought of himself in the hospital, walked into the lobby, where a voice from behind him said, Dr. Johnson, I am afraid you are an hour early. Which made no sense to Johnson, as he thought he would be arriving on time due to how long the drive took him added to the full half hour early that he left his flat.

Yes, Johnson said as he turned to see the person speaking to him, I awoke before my alarm. The person, or rather woman, who announced his arrival seemed quite familiar, but she was sitting behind a desk that was very unfamiliar. Typically, when he would walk into the hospital, Johnson would look left to a sitting area for patients and right to a polished wooden desk with a receptionist waiting behind it to clock Johnson in. The receptionist was a man named Gerald. However, this woman was sitting behind a stone and tile desk and her name was most definitely not Gerald. Johnson was beginning to become very upset, not even over the woman or the desk, but over the fact that the desk was behind him and to his left and there was no sitting area at all, also he had been in the building until eleven o'clock last night and there had been no time for such drastic renovations.

What time was I supposed to start? Johnson asked, just for fun.

Well, that’s an odd question.

I’m having an odd day.

Why, 7:30 as usual.

Aha! Johnson exclaimed, I knew something was amiss!

Taken aback, the woman, Samantha, looked frightened. By what do you mean, Johnson? But Johnson was no longer listening, he was thinking about the bellman, and more specifically, about his name-tag. It had read, Gerald. His previous bellman had been named Samuel. He was beginning to doubt coincidence. He was beginning to doubt his sanity. He was not, however, beginning to doubt reality, for Johnson knew he could tell a dream from the real thing.

I apologize for startling you, Johnson said, trying to sound as sane as possible, which made him only seem a little more insane, as I said, I am having an odd day.

I completely understand Dr. Macmillan, Samantha said, her voice slightly wavering. Would you like me to put you in as sick so you can relax at home?

That was an interesting question, Johnson had never used a sick day for anything other than being sick. Yes please, he said, that sounds wonderful.

Okay, you have a great rest of the day.

Johnson had a strange feeling in his stomach, like he was somewhere he wasn’t meant to be. He retained that feeling all the way to his building, where he opened the door and was greeted by Gerald, the bellman. He mumbled something that may have sounded like, Hello again... sick day... Have a nice day... thank you, I hope I feel better too. It may also have sounded like nonsense, but Johnson did not care.

Johnson Macmillan sat on his firm yet comfortable couch and did nothing all day. Only once or twice did he stand up, and only to make a bit of food or use the lavatory. At almost nine thirty in the evening, Johnson went to bed, thinking about his day of the ashy tea, wondering, had he not drank the tea, could he have focused on his news, and gone to work to find a normal hospital, just the way he left it? That night Johnson slept a deep dreamless sleep, and awoke to a song playing over the radio at exactly five thirty in the morning. He recognized the previous day as just a strange dream and made himself a cup of breakfast tea. A cup of tea that tasted all too much like ash.

Johnson Macmillan finished his tea, read his paper and left at the time he always used to leave. As he walked out his door he grabbed his driving cap and placed it comfortably on his head, and as he left the building he bid a good morning to Gerald, the bellman he had met many times before.

Where i'M From

2011-08-20T15:55:00.000-07:00

The truth is in the words,
The words are in the paper.
'Does that make the paper the truth?'
You ask yourself.
No.
No, the paper is just the vessel.
The words are the message.
The truth lies in you.
Therefore,
Your body is the paper,
The vessel.
The truth lies in you.
You are the messenger.
You are the message.
You feel something stir deep inside you.
The truth maybe?
iT's longing to be free
From your body the shell.
The cage.
Or maybe it's the emotion,
The longing inside you.
Nevertheless,
You love that feeling
iT's the feeling that makes you,
That drives you.
That emotion,
iT's screaming at you.
"Run!" it yells.
"Run faster away from here!"
You begin to listen,
One foot before the next.
Then you recall your roots,
That truth form which you came.
iT may not be the force that drives you,
That makes you.
But you stop.
You lower your head in prayer.
Please, you pray,
Please, return me home.