I wish she would smile more often.

That she was less sad and less blue.

I wish that she was less lonely.

And of course, by she, I mean you.

I wish you made better decisions.

That you knew how to say what you mean.

I wish you weren’t so impulsive.

And of course, by you, I mean me.

I wish they all didn’t hate me.

I wish they all wouldn’t yell.

I am so angry at me,

But by me do I mean myself?

1. Embrace Your Fear: Surround yourself with things that terrify you, the scarier the better. Everyone knows that a faster heart rate and higher adrenaline levels translates to more calories being burned and, hence, more weight loss.

2. Eat-Eat-Eat: A lot of people complain that losing weight requires that they stop eating, but that's simply not true. If you eat nonstop you'll eventually vomit, causing you to lose anywhere from 80-100% of the weight you just gained. See, easy!

3. Commit a Felony: Felons often face terrific conditions for losing weight in prison, especially in locations that offer supermax or private prison alternatives. It's not a diet per se since its not your choice, so it'll work great for those of us that just can't seem control our urges. Just remember not to cover it up too well or you may just get away with it!

4. Get X-Treme: Embracing extreme sports can be a great way to a ton of weight super quickly as terrible accidents associated with these activities often lead to large amounts of blood loss and, if you're lucky, amputated limbs, both of which have mass that (currently) contributes to your overall weight. Bonus points if you don't wear pads!

5. Die: Have you ever seen a zombie movie? How about The Walking Dead? Sure, the undead may look a little wonky, but you know what no one ever calls them? Overweight. That's because it's been scientifically proven that when you die, your body decomposes and all that pesky fat you just can't seem to get rid of is returned right back to the Earth. And if you're really committed, give cremation a try for optimal results!

The “All I Want for Christmas” Tool-Shed “Juicer’s Only” Diet

Using only a hammer, screwdriver, and needle-nosed pliers taken from the tool-shed, remove a tooth a day until there are no more. This experiment will make eating painful at start and inconvenient later. This diet also offers unexpected value by eliminating:

1- the expense of future dental maintenance

2- the time involved in three daily brushings and flossing’s.

3- the worries of romance.

The Out Behind the Tool-Shed Diet

Pay a large, mean person to follow you around and beat the snot out of you every time you reach for a Reece’s, a Big Mac, a brownie, or a Mountain Dew. (To include ice cream if it is a particular problem, and I would bet that it is.)

The Out Front of the Tool-Shed Diet

Take your unused bicycle out of the shed. Put your pantry, refrigerator, and car keys inside where the bike was, then chain an unfamiliar Rottweiler in front of the shed's door. Five feet beyond the chain’s length place the bicycle. You can think about the food in the pantry and fridge, but I wouldn't advise going there! Instead, use the bike to ride to the store once you are completely famished and must eat something.

This diet is great for maintaining a steady weight, as you cannot carry a great many donuts while riding a bike. This diet is also cost effective, as the dog works best when he, too, is hungry.

The Eat Only What You Can Find or Kill Inside the Too-Shed Diet

This diet is self-explanatory, and is very, very effective... ick!

The Use The Tools Inside The Tool-Shed Diet

That’s right, the scariest diet yet! Get out there and work the weight off! (You could even earn a dime or two as an added bonus, if you were so industrious as to carry the tools over to a neighbor’s yard before you begin.)

I wish you all good luck in choosing the diet that works best for you!

clinging

to

regret

is

like

clinging

to

a 

ball

of

solid

ice - 

you

can 

try

letting

it

melt

in

your

hand,

or

you

can 

simply

toss

the

little

fucker

Shivering

On his front porch

Swollen heart

A fading torch

Silent

On his death bed

I kiss my baby brother's brow

Words I couldn't say till now,

"I love you..."

I knew from the moment I opened the door that letting him in was a bad idea. I hadn't seen him in nearly a week. The wild look in his eyes told me he'd been awake at least 4 days. It was too late though, he'd already stepped over the threshold & into the tiny apartment I shared with my (our) 4 month old son.

I'd only been there about 2 months, after this loser kicked me out of his place. Told me to "Take your baby & get the fuck out!" Which I did, though it was the scariest time of my life. 23 years old with a newborn....no job, no car, no home, no furniture, no boyfriend, no family....all I had was hope. It took some groveling on my part, but people at the church I'd grown up in helped me get into a new apartment & get a vehicle. It was tiny with secondhand furniture but I didn't care. It was MINE & no one was gonna kick me out.

Anyway, I knew that wild look & I knew to stay ahead of it. As I'd done many times before, I went into the kitchen & started to make him some food. When he'd been up too many days, my goal was to get food in his belly & then get him to pass out into a coma-like sleep that could last anywhere from 18-36 hours.

I was silent as I put water on to boil and then began to make a sandwich. Sometimes my voice annoyed him. Other times, he'd claim my silence was proof that I was somehow plotting against him. Careful because no eye contact is bad, (why you so sneaky?!), but so is too much (what the fuck you looking at?!) I'm debating on what to say, if anything... But too much time has passed & he's studying me closely. I can feel the scrutiny scraping my skin like a tattoo gun. I'm flustered & clumsily drop the knife I'd just smeared with mayo. "Gross," he says looking at the white blob on the floor. "You're such a slob." I laugh away the insult by agreeing with him, keeping silent in my head the thought that it's MY place, I'll leave the mayo on the floor till it cements if I fucking well feel like it! I clean up the mess & hand him his sandwich.

Next, give him soda & napkins, which he accepts without acknowledgement. When he's done he pushes his plate towards me, even though he's closer to the trashcan. I clean up after him & throw noodles in the pot to boil. And still his eyes are relentless, pushing me into a corner, I can feel him vibrating, every nerve strung tight, every muscle clenched, even his jaws are locked as he grunts, "Where's the baby?"

I'm surprised, he barely acknowledges our son. It doesn't occur to me to be scared. "He's sleeping," I answer with a smile, nodding my head towards the one bedroom. I've got the baby's crib set up right next to my bed. I'm loading the dishwasher when I hear a strange mewling. I walk into my cramped room, his back is to me, he's leaning over the crib where our baby lay peacefully, looking angelic in yellow pajamas.

The noise is from him... his eyes are empty & wild, an icy sliver shoots into my heart as he reaches down and lifts my sleeping son. Then he's crying and looking down on baby's sweet face, but he's shaking his head no, and the mewling isn't just whining, his words are slowly registering. "He's dead. He's dead." He croons over and over and that icy sliver explodes and shoots cold splinters to my every cell. He's crying and clutching my baby to his chest, rocking, and I'm scared. My baby is tiny! Vulnerable! Helpless! And it's not his fault he was born with a strung out father and an idiot mother.

I move to the bed and sit next to him gingerly, scared to death I'd do the wrong thing, causing him to hurt my baby. I know the consequences of his anger & that my son wouldn't survive them. I know that trying to predict the thought process of a tweaker is like trying to nail jello to a wall. Mostly I know this situation is volatile, but I'll die to keep my baby safe.

I touch his leg softly. "What are you talking about? What are you saying?" My voice is calm, soothing reassurance. No need to panic, hand me the baby!

He continues rocking & crying, ignoring me. Baby's eyes are still shut. An icy splinter stabs my stomach and I have the sick, vomit inducing thought, is he right? Is my baby dead?

"Let me see him!" I demand, and reach to take my son. But he swivels away from me, and with a glare that normally induces fear, he hisses, "...dumbass cunt. Why'd you kill my son?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I reply loudly, standing up suddenly, hands on hips leaning towards him. An aggressive stance that he'd never seen on me. "I would never hurt our son, I love him! Give him here, what are you talking about!?!" Perhaps it was just surprise at my back talk or shock at my authoritative tone, but he handed me my baby. I turn away from him, my eyes are closed in relief, while I silently offer a thank you prayer that my son is breathing just fine & he's no longer in the arms of a paranoid drug addict who didn't want to begin with.

Into the kitchen, keeping my son against my chest and him at my back. Protective. Then suddenly my head is yanked back, he's got me by my ponytail & I'm being dragged to the floor! I land on my knees, but Baby doesn't stir. And then he's leaving me, going around me into the kitchen first & I see the noodles are boiling. He runs to the wall and picks up the phone. Shaking it angrily at me like it's evidence of my failures. "You ain't calling the cops on me again, bitch!" And then the receiver is yanked from the wall, leaving frayed wires sticking out of a white rectangle where the paint hadn't faded. As the phone falls uselessly to the floor, I could kick myself thinking of all the times I HAD called the cops to remove him. Refusing every time to press charges, now cops came to my door rolling their eyes. Which I blamed on his drug dealing, not on their frustration with my stupidity.

He's breathing is ragged, I see anger growing as he looks at the broken phone. Probably having a similar recollection of cop calls I've made, a hazard in his line of work. Then I'm moving quickly, I could give a flying fuck what happens to me, but I've gotta save my baby. I spin, back into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Opening the blinds, can I get this window open?

No!!!!! It's painted shut! I'm trapped in this room & my baby is in danger. Now my eyes are wild as I'm looking for a weapon to defend us. But there's nothing! Nothing! And my heart is pounding painfully in my throat & I'm putting my sleeping baby back in his crib & the doorknob is being turned, now shaken violently & accompanied by his outraged exclamation at being locked out. My brain has 1000 ideas, but remains frozen like a deer in headlights. A sound of breaking wood, he's kicked the door down.

And I'm standing in front of the crib, a pitiful bodyguard, he's crossing the room & his hands squeeze my throat & he's yelling & I'm on the ground. He reaches into the crib....

And then my leg lifts and delivers a hard, accurate kick to the back of his knee, which drops him fast. And he's turning to look at me, incredulous disbelief in his eyes. I've never once fought back. He looks at me & the baby, debating. So I behave like most women, steering him the direction I want, without him ever noticing his momentary lapse of control. I'm winding up like a baseball pitcher before I come back with all my might, punching him in the jaw.

My hand bones crunch, holy hell that hurt! Both our eyes are wide with shock at my nerve. The wild look in his eyes shifts now that his rage has a focal point & even as fear washes over me, I am determined to keep my baby safe.

He lunges at me, hands straight to my throat as I'm scrambling backwards. He gets the collar of my shirt instead, ripping it open along with the flap of the ugly nursing bra. Then he's on top & he's straddling me & he slaps my face hard. He's cussing & though I'd usually stay still & take my punishment quietly, I am wiggling beneath him, arching my back trying to buck him off me.

Then he notices I've been exposed, he rears back and slaps my engorged breast, bringing tears to my eyes at the pain. My tears are typical for these scenes, he smiles as he cruelly begins twisting my nipple. My traitorous body squirts milk at him which is soon soaking the remains of my shirt. He's watching in disgusted fascination, apparently distracted from his initial intention of beating my ass. Suddenly, I know what to do.

I lower my eyelids & make a soft moan. I wiggle more, making sure to create friction against his growing erection. I half sit, trying to get my torn clothes off. Seeing this, he grabs my ponytail & yanks & tugs till I'm bare from the waist up. He lets go & my tears are real as he defiles my breasts with his ugly lust.

I turn away as my shorts are pulled off. He's rubbing on me, I feel him growing harder, though I'm not getting wetter. He doesn't care & forces himself inside. My tender skin screams in protest but my mouth remains silent.

I consider the absurdity of my situation while he's fucking me. Ironically, this is when his nose starts bleeding (another tweaker hazard). He must feel it, he must see bloody drops land on me. I want to push him off me & run far away, but I can't leave my son. If I can make him cum, then he'll sleep.

But he's taking forever & I remember that being up too long can lead to being UP too long. I start moving my hips, moaning quietly. Disgusted with him but even more with myself.

Then he flips me over & he's trying to force anal, now I'm fighting for real, this hurts & I don't want it! He's still bleeding, he wipes blood onto his cock, using it as lube which he then forces in my ass with angry determination.

I'm being ripped apart, here at the foot of my bed while my baby sleeps through it all. Blessedly oblivious. Minutes or hours, then he's pulling out and shooting his load on my back. I don't look at him as he lays beside me on the carpet. I count to 500 before I move an inch, making sure he's out cold.

Finally, I get up off the floor. I grab my baby & shut the broken bedroom door as best I can. I put him in his stroller while I'm in the bathroom, scrubbing the blood off me.

Into the kitchen, turning the burner off. Draining the perfectly cooked noodles, marveling that entire episode took 10 minutes. Noodles in a bowl, and I see my baby is awake. He's watching me, smiling, content, completely unaware the dangers we live with.

I smile and make silly faces at him, he rewards me with happy laughter. I'm smiling normally as I eat. "Mommy loves you!" I say, behaving like dead baby accusations and bloody buttrape didn't phase me. I finish eating, and we take our daily walk to the mailbox.

I have a roommate

who believes she lives alone

Though I've never made

my presence known to her

She finds comfort in me

and talks to me as if

she knew I was listening

I can feel her staring at me

Sometimes for what

seems like hours

Searching for something

beneath the white paint

If I could only leave this room

I'd go out and find

her the help she needs

I hear it all

The 1 am drunkenness

The 2 am screaming

The 3 am crying

The 4 am pleas

But what I hear the most

is the silence while she

fights the battle within

My friend was going through a rough time, so I put this on her phone case.

When the sky turns grey,

Smile.

When the lightning strikes,

Laugh.

When the thunder claps,

Cheer.

When the rain falls,

Applaud.

Because you know,

That eventually,

The sky will turn blue, 

The lightning will stop,

The thunder will silent,

The rain will disappear,

The storm will pass,

And you will have a headstart.