Him

I felt the cotton like material bounce back beneath my finger tips. The Red glow of the heater staring back at me under the intense pain. I loved him. But he was slipping away. I no longer remembered his favorite books, his favorite songs, the things he use to say. The phrases that emulated off my brain in the darkest moments of my life, were slipping away. For a time in my life where things were coming together, loosing the one man I had clung to, was not something I expected. The aspect that he was not someone I should desire nor long for, did not defeat the senses in my heart that told me not to put him away. In a life where constant struggle and pain were things I could expect, my own mind could not be controlled when it came to him. I could think about him all I wanted. No one could tell me no, dig inside my mind and tell me to stop it. This quiet was mine. This was my mind, my moment of peace and solitude. Beyond reason, remorse and morality, I clung to him. He would always be that baby faced cherub sitting in my mind, stroking my cheek, telling me what I was good at, what I was passionate about and that he was there with me, he loved me. And now he was slipping away under this impression of sense and good judgment to move on and do what was right, as should have been all along. Was it right that I clung to him? An infinite fantasy ready and willing to be enveloped at my command like the bounce of this fabric under my fingertips that I controlled, like so little else in my life? No. It wasn't right.

she looked at them with a petulant child look, but she was all grown up

and given a job with people who reminded her of her parents

whom she didn't entirely agree with

but did the job in an automatic functionality of performance

based on the only knowledge she had:

that of listening with an obstinate authenticity 

lacking in any sort of enthusiasm

as though her thoughts that she possible knew better (but did not)

were hard to keep from her face

if she tried at all.

Just for you

I know I'm such a downer
Just for you
It has nothing to do with my philosophy
The way I've lived my life
The things I've seen'
The things I've heard
The things I've read
I know I"m such a downer,
Just for you
So, I'll just change magically,
Within these few seconds
For this fleeting moment
In your fleeting eyes
That will fleetingly
But just like me
So I'm not a downer
Just for you

That grocery store floor 

Reminded her that

Any dirty floor

Was a place anyone

Could culr up into pockets of life

Bite sized

Trival

And die

So they get Soft Footing.

So they get soft footing?
They get security?
They get rights?
They get medical attention when needed?
They get food?
Shelter?
Clothing?
Life itself?
And what of US?
Nothing!
Droppings!
We get mold ceilings we hope will not cave in once more.
We get barley paid rent
Jobs held onto by threads
Of our what they think to be misguided decency
So we sit!
We think!
We watch!
We knoow
OH WE KNOW!
And they get soft footing
They get meals
Knowing,
KNOWING
The next one will always come.
So they get soft footing.

Her

All the piddering and all the paddering doesn't do a world of good.
Not when it's all the same.
All the images remain on the screen to comfort and sooth me
and I move onto the next when that one dosen't quite
affect the emotion I was looking for
No,
All the Pidderinga anda all the Paddering
Does not quite do the same
As when you were alive
And I was just a petulant teen
Sitting in a car
Waiting to do our beach laundry
Disgrntful to be sitting next to a being
So distasteful
As ones mother
OH!
Yes!
She can be so bad!
But the world?
What of the world can hold you?
Can send you with warmth?
The world that will KILL YOU
For your beliefs.
The world where you're scared
To SAY  A WORD,
No,
But  a mother,
Yes,
She is wrong,
She is unjust,
She is the one you should hate.
YES
And all this laid before you feel
Before knowing and understanding
And yes then she is gone.
But yes.
Look at your fing window.
And hate her.
Yes.
Hate her

No, this is not it either

All their faces pushed in on you.
Maybe that's what is what feeling life is all about.
Feeling indignation.
Feeling wronged
Feeling pain.
Feeling betrayal
Feeling love and hatred in the same sentence of loss and lust
Feeling a way out and not taking it
Screaming at 3 am walking around wanting nothing more for it
to go away on it's own accord
Not sitting pretty
Empty inside
Provided for
Left alone
Undisturbed.
No, this is not it either