I Swear I Didn’t Make This Up

The voices of the past continue to

haunt my mind, like vultures

picking at my bones as if I've been

dead for a long time. I got up way

too early this morning, partly

because my lady wouldnʼt quit

snoring. & it also didnʼt help that

the couple in the house behind us,

we're screaming at each other:

the woman throwing & breaking

things, threatening to call the cops,

the man yelling:

“Fuck you, bitch, you canʼt make me

leave, not until we talk!”

The baby crying in the background:

What about me… Don't I exist???

It is all too much, too strange &

familiar. There is no one

to blame, really.

It is what

it is.

What is done is done all over again.

I give up by getting up & making

coffee, resuming the same routine,

feeding the wild cries of the world,

preparing for whatever'sʼwaiting around the corner, while the cats are

quietly eating from their bowls, content. I swear I didn'tʼmake this up. Any of it.