Tag Archives: prose

Smells like Dreft

Used up and sucked dry,

my inhibitions discarded along with my placenta.

Who is this shirtless woman, carelessly loading a washing machine,

no consideration for mismatched colors.

Fabrics in need of special care must now fend for themselves.

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am a Mother

The slow night

Sleepless nights slowly fade into a waking dream called daytime

I carry my child from room to room, his cries rising and falling like a desperate tide

Cradled in my arms he searches for my breast, for sustenance, comfort

We fall asleep side by side, warm soft skin against my chest

Slow cries give in to calm

Breath steadies and falls into place

Sleep comes slow, lingers briefly and without patience

Is it Monday?

 

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am a Mother

Rubber appendages

Confused, as if under water, head wrapped tightly in gauze, the world distorted and hazy. I blink and shake my head in an attempt to clear my vision, my perception of the world in front of me. My breath comes in short gasps and long drawn out inhalations made with great effort. Unable to perform, to appear as if I am a normal functioning adult, a pregnant woman going about her business, shopping for milk and eggs, hand reaching towards refrigerated shelves with extreme effort not to allow the heavy rubber like texture of my arm to show through the pinkish white skin. One foot placed in front of the other, again and again, I look on in wonder and amazement that my legs are capable of such a motion. Click, clack, click, clack. A deliberate action.

The anxiety of today has overcome me completely. I want to give in, succumb to the temptations of tears, a sleeping pill and a warm bed, dreamless sleep and heavy-headed nothingness. I do nothing. I do not give in and I do not move forward, stuck in a limbo, between panic and sleep. If only I could smoke a cigarette, the action of hand to mouth, inhaling and exhaling with a purpose, luring me back to reality. If only I could curl up into a ball, shrinking down to the size of a grain of salt, disappearing between the cracks in the floorboards. I would hide in the darkness until the safety of night, the relief of tomorrow, any other time than now, this never-ending moment of pause.

Closing my eyes, I wait……

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am Pregnant

Domesticity becomes me

The vacuum creates a pathway for me to follow, down the hall and off a cliff, obediently, blindly I follow. Ring around the toilet hypnotizes me, woosh, I am swirling down, away into the sewer, dark and damp I find a corner, grab a brush and get to scrubbing. A pile of laundry grows before me, a mountain of funky panties and grease stained jeans, becoming volcano like with an ominous reeking danger. Creep a little closer and peek over the edge to find a boiling mass of molten sweat socks, sulfur stinging my eyes. Douse the flames with Clorox and baking soda, Heloise knows all the right tricks. Dust bunnies make a mad dash for their burrows, herding their young and sacrificing the elderly and the decrepit along the way. I sweep up the skeletal remains and clumps of fur, filling my dust pan as I hum along with their low moans of despair and surrender. Pinning cool wet sheets on the clothesline like a fresh kill stretched out to dry in the sun, look at my accomplishments, aren’t they so white, so clean and pure?

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Filed under Feels like Sunday

Mascara, the cure for Insomnia

Things get creaky, the walls when I walk, the floor when I fall. A slow screech lingers in my head, invading the quiet, the dark. Sleepless nights, wandering around my house. Get up, piss, get some water, repeat 10 more fucking times until finally its morning and I can add some more pointless activities to this ridiculous routine. The heavy-headed dizziness of sleep deprivation overcomes me, becomes me. An hour of pilates awakens my limbs, filling my lungs with oxygen. Am I awake yet? Can you awaken when you never really go to sleep? A shower washes away the residue of the previous 24 hours of existence. Am I awake yet? Not really, no need to be. I will live forever in this halfway world between reality, dreams and unsleep. I paint a portrait of myself, intricately filling in every crevice and pore, sweep of eyebrow and curl of lash, smearing of red, the illusion of a mouth, an eye, a girl, a woman, a whore and a clown. Now I am here, I have arrived.

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Filed under Fashionably Unreasonable, Feels like Sunday, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

Selfish

My greatest desires are for solitude and anonymity. Neither of which are possible especially now that I am bringing a new life into this overwhelmingly intrusive world.

I am a selfish ass bitch, always have been, mostly with my self. I am an only child which automatically gives a person the right to be selfish but I have taken selfishness to an entirely new level. I am not talking about the kind of “no, you can’t have a cookie, they are mine” kind of selfishness but the much more destructive kind that causes a person to withdraw from reality without any consideration for those who still reside in a world where people say “hello”.

I am secretive and sneaky as shit when I need to be. I became an amazing liar, mostly to myself. I faked a life and almost succeeded at death before I realized I was so full of shit that I could barely breathe. Terrible way to die, suffocating on your own stinking shit.

Opening myself up, airing out my rotting cavities, hanging my bloody panties out on the fence, staring into my own asshole just to see what’s in there. Offending my senses, arousing my curiosities, I peered further and found that I am not just a selfish alcoholic on the verge of collapse, that I am flesh and blood, that I am real.

Now that I am pregnant and feeling more “real” than I ever could have imagined, I would hope that I would lose some of my selfish ways and see shit from some entirely new plane of Motherhood consciousness that I should somehow have gained access to. No such luck. I am feeling even more selfish, more reserved and less communicative than ever. But I am remaining positive that the destructive nature of these emotions are being put to good use and with all hopes of a positive outcome for the kid. I am positive because now the basis of my selfishness is founded solely on love. Love and a huge amount of “get the fuck away from my kid or I will kill you” sort of emotions.

Fuck, all I do is contradict myself. In one afternoon I address and mail about 100 invitations to a baby shower that I am halfheartedly committed to and then suddenly and belligerently swear off all human contact simply because I couldn’t fit into my fluorescent Hawaiian gown.

As I resign myself to black stretchy yoga pants I realize what I am really feeling (besides the kids knees pounding into my ribs). I am afraid. Afraid of the moment when the kid is no longer just “mine”. He is going to come out and be a part of the world. He will be held by other people, cuddled by family and friends, stared and cooed at by strangers and licked by my dogs. His toes which once tickled my insides will soon be kissed by lips that are not mine. My selfish ass bitch self is fucking angry about this. I want to scream out, “He is mine motherfuckers, back the fuck off!”

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, Fashionably Unreasonable, I am Pregnant, Something that happened

lock the door

Unavailable now that I am conscious,

so very fucking conscious.

More present in my dreams, more accountable.

The inconsistencies of waking life,

make sense when I lock my door.

Behind the wall, underground and burrowed deep

into the wet earth, I tunnel through and around myself.

Becoming a man, a child, a mutant worm digesting itself,

copulation becomes disintegration, multiplying the existence of nothing.

 

 

 

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I dreamed..., Uncategorized

inside out and spread on toast

Sometimes, I forget whose life I am living,

I get lost in the walls.

I scream inside myself, the silence much too loud,

the nothing that surrounds me much too confining.

Clothing too restricting, I strip naked, to no avail,

it must be my skin pulled tight, and I can’t get rid of that now can I?

Crawl into a hot bath, a dead cow, a crowded bus, my own swollen vagina.

Hide inside me, I heard it’s safe in there.

Open me up, spread me wide,

a donation box for your unwanted household goods.

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

bedhead

I am inside out, repulsive and oozing.

I am a lazy motherfucker, I just slept past noon

and I have no plans for the day

except maybe a nap a little later.

I feel like I need to reserve more time just for dreaming,

I accomplish so much more inside my own head.

What do normal people do all day?

I was never normal but I know what I used to do all day.

I worked like a motherfucker and I certainly didn’t accomplish a goddamn thing.

Well, I do feel a little better about my current state of pajamas and bedhead now.

Nothing, it’s all nothing.

Now, if only I could smoke a fucking cigarette.

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Filed under Feels like Sunday

Rainy day orgasm

A rainy day makes life worth living, that alone. Everything makes sense when seen through clouded glass. The world seems to be a safer opponent, like catching a stranger in the shower with soap in their eyes, the threat of conflict diminished substantially. I feel like a child let loose, inhibitions and reservations washed away along with my eyebrows. I walk a little taller when I am soaked to my panties in cold rainwater. I splash in muddy puddles in my 4 inch heels and laugh at people clutching umbrellas rushing for cover. A rainy day feels right, like my insides are on display for everyone to see except that they are all too busy trying to stay dry to notice. I am inside out, I am a 10 foot smile, I am a screaming orgasm, I am a baby on fire, I am flying above you with the rain clouds and you have no idea because when was the last time you looked straight up into the rain?

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I awaken with hesitation

The slow process of acceptance

stalls with contemplative pause,

moves forward in jerky hesitation

falls back momentarily,

panics at the sight of what is left behind.

A step backward, for comfort

pondering the situation,

the worthiness of this journey.

To step forward on weary legs

or fall into the waiting arms of predictability.

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, Uncategorized