monster
Four minutes in and I knew I had made a colossal mistake.
Five minutes in I locked myself in the bathroom.
Seven minutes in she coos, "Come out Precious".
The stench of her breath a lurid, oily thing that slithered through the keyhole.
Nine minutes in I realized my bride wasn't human, and jumped from the window.
GET OFF YOUR PHONE
You've come to my place of business to comeplete a specific task.
Get off your phone.
You expect me to wait around for you to be finished, like I have nothing else to do
Get off your PHONE
You are speaking loudly, as if you don't know, or likely care, what an indoor voice is
Get off YOUR PHONE
Oh, you're done but I'm not expectantly waiting at your beck and call? So you'll just pick it up again and start another...are you f&%$($$
Get OFF YOUR PHONE
You are still in my place of business to complete a specific a task and I would REALLY like to get your ass out of here as soon as humanly possible. I notice that you've finally put down your phone so I swoop in. Ok sir, we're almost done. Is that? Did you just? I am GOING TO GET FIRED IN A MINUTE
GET. OFF. YOUR. GODDAMN. PHONE. OR. GET. OUT. OF. MY. STORE.
a completely true story
I lie because it has become a necessity of life.
I am her only tether to happiness.
Her only outlet for stress, fear, loathing.
She lies to make herself feel more important,
But doesn't think we know.
We do.
I feel no love from this person, this 'Mother',
No support without consequence.
I lie because I am obligated through some familial contract.
Somehow, I must always be the life raft.
Without the fetid air of lies to keep the raft inflated,
The Mother would drown in the lonley sea of her own making.
Autumn
Emily clucked over the sound of her shutter and lowered her camera. She knew no matter how many years passed and how much training she had, no photo would ever be able to capture the full beauty of a Smoky Mountain Autumn. The weight of the camera in her hand was familiar, like the clasp of a best friends fingers, always dependable and ready for adventure.
me?
A girl of indeterminite age. Curling dark hair and a smiling face. Wide blue eyes that have had compliments thrown at them her whole life. This is the me I see in the mirror. The face other people see. But I don't know who this person is. I look into my own eyes, at my own smile, I shake my own dark hair and watch it bounce back into place. But there is no recognition. Just the person other people see. The girl the mirror shows me.
I don't know how to find me .
Behind the eyes that just can't see.
So I perpetuate the fallacy.
I post the picture that shows the version of me that is both most and least open to interpretation.
You can't know who I am just by looking, and neither can I.