Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
molasses musings
It looks like rain
and I've got contentment
slow trickling
through my veins.
Why'd they make veins
so goddamn easy to see?
It's like waking up every morning
with a million dollars to your name
and being told you can't spend a damn dime of it.
It's days like these
where I think
so what, if I never fall in love again;
meaning, fall in love
with someone who loves me back.
I'm tired of giving all I've got
to family, friends and lovers
only to get shot
in the back, when I'm already down.
I've got a cat
who's loved me since the first time
he crawled up in my lap.
Only boy who'll ever love me back.
Mama says I need a man
older than me by five to ten years.
I tell her that just seems too old for me.
She says 'careful, your Peter Pan's showing".
I say, so what?
She says "Peter Pan needs to find someone to take care of her".
I laugh it off.
Only time I'll ever admit my Mama's right.
I'm good at being alone.
I'm good at faking independence.
But I bet I could be real good at being in love.
If someone were willing to take the chance.
and I've got contentment
slow trickling
through my veins.
Why'd they make veins
so goddamn easy to see?
It's like waking up every morning
with a million dollars to your name
and being told you can't spend a damn dime of it.
It's days like these
where I think
so what, if I never fall in love again;
meaning, fall in love
with someone who loves me back.
I'm tired of giving all I've got
to family, friends and lovers
only to get shot
in the back, when I'm already down.
I've got a cat
who's loved me since the first time
he crawled up in my lap.
Only boy who'll ever love me back.
Mama says I need a man
older than me by five to ten years.
I tell her that just seems too old for me.
She says 'careful, your Peter Pan's showing".
I say, so what?
She says "Peter Pan needs to find someone to take care of her".
I laugh it off.
Only time I'll ever admit my Mama's right.
I'm good at being alone.
I'm good at faking independence.
But I bet I could be real good at being in love.
If someone were willing to take the chance.
dreaming
I can write the perfect
romance.
Right now,
it stars
you and me.
Long, slow kisses
followed by gentle
lip presses.
Midnight
Mid Day
Phone calls
just to say 'hi'.
Flowers arrive at my door.
Cookies come to yours.
I can write the perfect romance
the one where you love--
even like me back.
But here I am,
alone.
It's all just words
in my head.
romance.
Right now,
it stars
you and me.
Long, slow kisses
followed by gentle
lip presses.
Midnight
Mid Day
Phone calls
just to say 'hi'.
Flowers arrive at my door.
Cookies come to yours.
I can write the perfect romance
the one where you love--
even like me back.
But here I am,
alone.
It's all just words
in my head.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Rebounder pt II
We've established that Ophelia is a rebound girl.
She gets picked up as a pit stop, not a relationship.
The previous girl tends to blame Ophelia for stealing the man away.
Obvious projection of pain.
But there's another level that keeps occurring.
After the man has moved on to a new relationship, a real relationship, that previous girl, still blames Ophelia.
What has Ophelia done?
She hasn't acted as a matchmaker. She hasn't told the man to find stability. She provided comfort, distraction and release. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Ophelia is not responsible for the new relationship.
Where is the logic these rejected girls are using?
Ophelia's a professional scapegoat.
Why not blame the man?
Where is his scarlet letter?
She gets picked up as a pit stop, not a relationship.
The previous girl tends to blame Ophelia for stealing the man away.
Obvious projection of pain.
But there's another level that keeps occurring.
After the man has moved on to a new relationship, a real relationship, that previous girl, still blames Ophelia.
What has Ophelia done?
She hasn't acted as a matchmaker. She hasn't told the man to find stability. She provided comfort, distraction and release. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Ophelia is not responsible for the new relationship.
Where is the logic these rejected girls are using?
Ophelia's a professional scapegoat.
Why not blame the man?
Where is his scarlet letter?
Monday, June 21, 2010
Three Simple Steps
Step One: swallow five (5) to eight (8) acetominophen with half a shot of vodka, repeating every ten (10) minutes for one (1) hour.
Step Two: remove two (2) brand new razorblades from their package. (the cheap kind in the nifty little dispenser will do).
Step Three: go down the road, not across the street, to bleed all your problems away!
Step Two: remove two (2) brand new razorblades from their package. (the cheap kind in the nifty little dispenser will do).
Step Three: go down the road, not across the street, to bleed all your problems away!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
In Black and White
[[Note: the use of Ophelia here is in terms of manifestation, not retelling of recent events. Obviously.]]
Ophelia woke up to the smell of hazelnut coffee. She brushed her wavy cinnamon hair away from her face and opened her left eye to look at the nightstand, before lifting her head from the pillow.
Coffee.
Bagel.
Make that, bagel with veggie cream cheese.
Sunday New York Times.
Ophelia sat up.
"Babe?" she called.
Her favorite breakfast. Orgasm inducing newspaper. What was the catch? Or better yet, what was he apologizing for?
Ophelia reached for the paper as she heard her boyfriend's footsteps approaching the bedroom.
As she slid the paper from the nightstand to the bed, something fell in her lap weighing down the sheets where it landed.
A ring.
A platinum, princess cut diamond engagement ring. The kind of ring she'd been picturing all her life.
She set the paper back down and picked up the ring as Henry entered the room.
"Morning." he smiled.
"I think you're supposed to help me put this on." Ophelia said, holding up the ring.
Henry sat on the edge of the bed.
"Is that a yes?"
Ophelia nodded.
"Can't help but trust what comes from the Times." she shrugged.
Henry laughed.
"I figured as much."
Ophelia woke up to the smell of hazelnut coffee. She brushed her wavy cinnamon hair away from her face and opened her left eye to look at the nightstand, before lifting her head from the pillow.
Coffee.
Bagel.
Make that, bagel with veggie cream cheese.
Sunday New York Times.
Ophelia sat up.
"Babe?" she called.
Her favorite breakfast. Orgasm inducing newspaper. What was the catch? Or better yet, what was he apologizing for?
Ophelia reached for the paper as she heard her boyfriend's footsteps approaching the bedroom.
As she slid the paper from the nightstand to the bed, something fell in her lap weighing down the sheets where it landed.
A ring.
A platinum, princess cut diamond engagement ring. The kind of ring she'd been picturing all her life.
She set the paper back down and picked up the ring as Henry entered the room.
"Morning." he smiled.
"I think you're supposed to help me put this on." Ophelia said, holding up the ring.
Henry sat on the edge of the bed.
"Is that a yes?"
Ophelia nodded.
"Can't help but trust what comes from the Times." she shrugged.
Henry laughed.
"I figured as much."
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Rebounder
Ophelia is a rebound girl.
Or, more often, a in between girl.
Boys'll mess around with her until they're ready to commit to the one they really like. It's happened more times than she can count, now.
The most recent, stung the hardest.
Ophelia let herself fall for a guy she knew from the start, she couldn't have.
He was a limited time offer, and they both knew it.
But the things he said; the way he treated her, she was helpless. He was perfect.
She'd let herself dream that maybe, just maybe, circumstances would play in her favor and they could be together.
But now he was in a relationship-- with someone else. Undoubtedly someone better.
She should have known her place by now. The girl you could play with, no questions asked, until you were finished. She wasn't the place you looked for long term happiness.
Or, more often, a in between girl.
Boys'll mess around with her until they're ready to commit to the one they really like. It's happened more times than she can count, now.
The most recent, stung the hardest.
Ophelia let herself fall for a guy she knew from the start, she couldn't have.
He was a limited time offer, and they both knew it.
But the things he said; the way he treated her, she was helpless. He was perfect.
She'd let herself dream that maybe, just maybe, circumstances would play in her favor and they could be together.
But now he was in a relationship-- with someone else. Undoubtedly someone better.
She should have known her place by now. The girl you could play with, no questions asked, until you were finished. She wasn't the place you looked for long term happiness.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
outlining
Ophelia's hands shook as she walked out of the lobby of her apartment building. She was nervous.
She smiled when she saw him standing outside, under the red canopy. It was their first date.
"Hi." she said, trying not to sound too excited.
"Hey." he said back.
"Wanna play pool, get something to eat?" he asked.
"Sure." Ophelia nodded.
They walked past the bar at the end of the block.
"You can't get in there, can you?" he asked.
"Nope. Not yet."
Ophelia was eighteen.
"That's okay. I know a place."
They turned the corner, Ophelia tripped over her feet when he stopped in front of the parking garage.
"My car's in here." he said.
Ophelia paused. A car? She didn't really know this guy yet, she'd only met him a few days before. All the teen drama tv show warnings ran through her head. Don't get in a strange boys car!
She followed him in anyway. What could happen?
He unlocked the driver's door and climbed in. He brushed piles of papers off the passenger seat before unlocking her door. She climbed in too.
He drove out of the garage. Then motioned to an open pack of Marlboro Lights on the dash. Ophelia took one and lit it.
He drove them straight out of the city. Ophelia hadn't left the safety of her neighborhood since college had begun a few months earlier. Her palms sweat and she lit another cigarette. It would be okay.
"I have to make a quick stop, pick up my sister from work. This is her car, okay?"
"Okay."
They drove for half an hour, deep into the suburbs. Ophelia didn't know which one.
They stopped at a little restaurant and a thin girl in a waitress's uniform glared at the passenger seat before opening the back. She began to speak in a language Ophelia couldn't understand. He answered back.
He started driving again. Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of an apartment building.
"Have a good night, dear." she said to Ophelia.
"Thanks. You too." Ophelia said.
The girl said something in that foreign language and he laughed.
"Goodnight." he called as she slammed the door shut behind her.
"Okay! Let's go.' he said to Ophelia, pulling out onto the road again.
The pool hall was in a strip mall. It was dark and smelled like sweat and beer. TVs mounted on the wall played different sporting events.
Ophelia followed him to pool table.
Ophelia was bad at pool. She lacked coordination in general.
He laughed and made jokes about how she was pretending to be bad on purpose, so that he would help her.
After every shot she made, he kissed her. Always shoving his tongue in her mouth.
"Let's get out of here, yeah?" he said.
Ophelia nodded. It was getting late, she wanted to go home.
When they were back in the car, he kissed her again. Sliding his hands down her shirt. Ophelia pushed his hands away.
He drove into a neighborhood and parked the car. He slid on top of her. He unzipped his pants; then hers.
"Stop." Ophelia said.
And for a moment, he did.
"You're right. There's not enough room in here."
He climbed off, back into the driver's seat. He left his pants half down. As he started to drive, he put her hand on his exposed crotch. She left him harden under her fingers. The first time she'd ever felt...
He was pulling into the parking lot of a motel.
"You go in and pay."
Ophelia zipped her jeans and pulled her purse up from the floor.
She didn't know what else to do.
If she said no, he could leave her there. How would she get back to the city?
She went into the office and bought a room.
The first charge on her credit card.
When she came out, he was waiting. He pulled her by the wrist up the metal stairs to their room.
Before Ophelia really knew what was happening she was on the bed.
And that, dear readers, is how Ophelia lost her virginity.
She smiled when she saw him standing outside, under the red canopy. It was their first date.
"Hi." she said, trying not to sound too excited.
"Hey." he said back.
"Wanna play pool, get something to eat?" he asked.
"Sure." Ophelia nodded.
They walked past the bar at the end of the block.
"You can't get in there, can you?" he asked.
"Nope. Not yet."
Ophelia was eighteen.
"That's okay. I know a place."
They turned the corner, Ophelia tripped over her feet when he stopped in front of the parking garage.
"My car's in here." he said.
Ophelia paused. A car? She didn't really know this guy yet, she'd only met him a few days before. All the teen drama tv show warnings ran through her head. Don't get in a strange boys car!
She followed him in anyway. What could happen?
He unlocked the driver's door and climbed in. He brushed piles of papers off the passenger seat before unlocking her door. She climbed in too.
He drove out of the garage. Then motioned to an open pack of Marlboro Lights on the dash. Ophelia took one and lit it.
He drove them straight out of the city. Ophelia hadn't left the safety of her neighborhood since college had begun a few months earlier. Her palms sweat and she lit another cigarette. It would be okay.
"I have to make a quick stop, pick up my sister from work. This is her car, okay?"
"Okay."
They drove for half an hour, deep into the suburbs. Ophelia didn't know which one.
They stopped at a little restaurant and a thin girl in a waitress's uniform glared at the passenger seat before opening the back. She began to speak in a language Ophelia couldn't understand. He answered back.
He started driving again. Ten minutes later, they stopped in front of an apartment building.
"Have a good night, dear." she said to Ophelia.
"Thanks. You too." Ophelia said.
The girl said something in that foreign language and he laughed.
"Goodnight." he called as she slammed the door shut behind her.
"Okay! Let's go.' he said to Ophelia, pulling out onto the road again.
The pool hall was in a strip mall. It was dark and smelled like sweat and beer. TVs mounted on the wall played different sporting events.
Ophelia followed him to pool table.
Ophelia was bad at pool. She lacked coordination in general.
He laughed and made jokes about how she was pretending to be bad on purpose, so that he would help her.
After every shot she made, he kissed her. Always shoving his tongue in her mouth.
"Let's get out of here, yeah?" he said.
Ophelia nodded. It was getting late, she wanted to go home.
When they were back in the car, he kissed her again. Sliding his hands down her shirt. Ophelia pushed his hands away.
He drove into a neighborhood and parked the car. He slid on top of her. He unzipped his pants; then hers.
"Stop." Ophelia said.
And for a moment, he did.
"You're right. There's not enough room in here."
He climbed off, back into the driver's seat. He left his pants half down. As he started to drive, he put her hand on his exposed crotch. She left him harden under her fingers. The first time she'd ever felt...
He was pulling into the parking lot of a motel.
"You go in and pay."
Ophelia zipped her jeans and pulled her purse up from the floor.
She didn't know what else to do.
If she said no, he could leave her there. How would she get back to the city?
She went into the office and bought a room.
The first charge on her credit card.
When she came out, he was waiting. He pulled her by the wrist up the metal stairs to their room.
Before Ophelia really knew what was happening she was on the bed.
And that, dear readers, is how Ophelia lost her virginity.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
lovelovelove monologue
Riddle me this, lover.
It started with just a kiss.
Then we slipped.
Oh.
I love that.
See?
I loved it, before I met you.
This is who I am.
Now,
I'm falling for you.
It was supposed to be just a kiss.
Shhhhh
don't say that.
It'll be your face I miss.
Darling, darling, it was just a kiss.
How did it get so complicated?
Situations beyond our control;
damn it, damn it, damn it!
I've got the Ophelia curse.
Love is my loser's game.
[Author's Note: Please, please, please do not interpret this as applying to any situations that may be happening IRL. I am a FICTION writer. My inspiration comes from all over]
It started with just a kiss.
Then we slipped.
Oh.
I love that.
See?
I loved it, before I met you.
This is who I am.
Now,
I'm falling for you.
It was supposed to be just a kiss.
Shhhhh
don't say that.
It'll be your face I miss.
Darling, darling, it was just a kiss.
How did it get so complicated?
Situations beyond our control;
damn it, damn it, damn it!
I've got the Ophelia curse.
Love is my loser's game.
[Author's Note: Please, please, please do not interpret this as applying to any situations that may be happening IRL. I am a FICTION writer. My inspiration comes from all over]
outlining
They were brothers, for all intensive purposes. Family in the absence of blood ties.
Jeremy was the loud mouth. Broad shouldered and audacious, the token older brother.
Evan was his opposite. Shy and calm, thin enough that one didn't expect the muscles that appeared beneath his clothes.
And then, of course, Oliver, the middle brother, whose personality was a balance between the others. He was their voice of reason. Even his body was a compromise between the two. Perhaps that's why they'd become so close, this odd trio. Jeremy and Evan would have never survived on their own, without Oliver to balance out their extremes.
Jeremy lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of the club.
"If we each pull one tonight, we should be able to make the rent."
Evan adjusted his glasses and looked up from his shoes.
"Yeah, well, we would have been fine if someone hadn't blown half of what we had on weed."
Jeremy took another drag.
"Fuck you, skele-boy. I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't keep the lights on--"
"Enough, guys. We'll figure it out. Look alive, we got prospects rounding the corner."
Three women, what modern slang would classify as cougars, giggled their way out of the club.
"Mmmm, look what we've got here." one of them said, spotting the boys.
"Tasty." her companion agreed.
"What's it gonna take to get you boys to escort a lady home?"
Jeremy smiled, tossing his cigarette.
"A kiss and some cash, my dear."
The women cackled.
"Well who can argue with that?"
Jeremy was the loud mouth. Broad shouldered and audacious, the token older brother.
Evan was his opposite. Shy and calm, thin enough that one didn't expect the muscles that appeared beneath his clothes.
And then, of course, Oliver, the middle brother, whose personality was a balance between the others. He was their voice of reason. Even his body was a compromise between the two. Perhaps that's why they'd become so close, this odd trio. Jeremy and Evan would have never survived on their own, without Oliver to balance out their extremes.
Jeremy lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of the club.
"If we each pull one tonight, we should be able to make the rent."
Evan adjusted his glasses and looked up from his shoes.
"Yeah, well, we would have been fine if someone hadn't blown half of what we had on weed."
Jeremy took another drag.
"Fuck you, skele-boy. I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't keep the lights on--"
"Enough, guys. We'll figure it out. Look alive, we got prospects rounding the corner."
Three women, what modern slang would classify as cougars, giggled their way out of the club.
"Mmmm, look what we've got here." one of them said, spotting the boys.
"Tasty." her companion agreed.
"What's it gonna take to get you boys to escort a lady home?"
Jeremy smiled, tossing his cigarette.
"A kiss and some cash, my dear."
The women cackled.
"Well who can argue with that?"
Half Glass Monologue
Emily: I believe monologue
I like high heels because they make men look at me.
I walk around like I'm a hooker: I might as well be.
I'm selling my soul for hits of faux affection,
until I find a guy giving the real stuff.
Yeah, I won't leave the apartment until my make up's done.
Going out in sweats looks weak; vulnerable.
I don't have that luxury.
My motto's always been "look your best when you're feeling your worst, and no one will know any better".
It's just the way I gotta be.
I live my life in a fucked up way;
because I've had a lot of fucked up things happen to me.
I'm not going to give you a sob story about how we were poor, and I got hit.
That's all in the past.
It just means I like a good strong drink when things get rough.
And I'll punch a few walls, until my hand's broken or bleeding, when I'm sober.
It's just the kind of girl I am.
Call me a slut because I'll go home with the guy
who's saying all the things I want to hear.
I need to hear it somewhere.
I'm unemployed and it's a problem.
My skill set is limited.
I write, I drink and I give excellent head.
Not the kind of things you put on a resume.
I hate depending on people. I hate taking favors.
Hell, I don't even like gifts. What did I do to deserve them?
It's just who I am.
I just gotta find a guy who's gonna hold me when I need it,
and let me punch things when I want to.
I like high heels because they make men look at me.
I walk around like I'm a hooker: I might as well be.
I'm selling my soul for hits of faux affection,
until I find a guy giving the real stuff.
Yeah, I won't leave the apartment until my make up's done.
Going out in sweats looks weak; vulnerable.
I don't have that luxury.
My motto's always been "look your best when you're feeling your worst, and no one will know any better".
It's just the way I gotta be.
I live my life in a fucked up way;
because I've had a lot of fucked up things happen to me.
I'm not going to give you a sob story about how we were poor, and I got hit.
That's all in the past.
It just means I like a good strong drink when things get rough.
And I'll punch a few walls, until my hand's broken or bleeding, when I'm sober.
It's just the kind of girl I am.
Call me a slut because I'll go home with the guy
who's saying all the things I want to hear.
I need to hear it somewhere.
I'm unemployed and it's a problem.
My skill set is limited.
I write, I drink and I give excellent head.
Not the kind of things you put on a resume.
I hate depending on people. I hate taking favors.
Hell, I don't even like gifts. What did I do to deserve them?
It's just who I am.
I just gotta find a guy who's gonna hold me when I need it,
and let me punch things when I want to.
Another Half Glass Monologue
Travis: I believe Monologue
I'm the kind of guy who gets hurt really damn easily.
I don't have a lot of friends,
I don't trust people enough.
I'd rather have friendly acquaintances.
I compartmentalize.
School stays at school.
Family stays with family.
Lovers stay in the bedroom.
None of the lines should ever overlap; there's too much chance for someone to realize I'm not who I say I am.
I love intimacy.
Sometimes, I'd rather cuddle than fuck.
But people don't see me that way.
I'm the cool guy you can pick up for a one- nighter
and leave before I wake up, knowing I won't ask for more.
So I take the sex and reminisce on the touches;
hoping I was good enough.
I drink a lot.
I always have.
You don't start doing breakfast shots at thirteen without a damn good reason.
Whiskey's like water, and tastes that much sweeter.
I don't black out, and it takes a certain situation to make me vomit.
But I'll put down a fifth in a blink.
Sue me.
It makes my mind slow down; no more anxiety. Just feeling.
I act like a cynic.
I know I'm a romantic.
I just gotta find the girl who knows the difference.
I'm the kind of guy who gets hurt really damn easily.
I don't have a lot of friends,
I don't trust people enough.
I'd rather have friendly acquaintances.
I compartmentalize.
School stays at school.
Family stays with family.
Lovers stay in the bedroom.
None of the lines should ever overlap; there's too much chance for someone to realize I'm not who I say I am.
I love intimacy.
Sometimes, I'd rather cuddle than fuck.
But people don't see me that way.
I'm the cool guy you can pick up for a one- nighter
and leave before I wake up, knowing I won't ask for more.
So I take the sex and reminisce on the touches;
hoping I was good enough.
I drink a lot.
I always have.
You don't start doing breakfast shots at thirteen without a damn good reason.
Whiskey's like water, and tastes that much sweeter.
I don't black out, and it takes a certain situation to make me vomit.
But I'll put down a fifth in a blink.
Sue me.
It makes my mind slow down; no more anxiety. Just feeling.
I act like a cynic.
I know I'm a romantic.
I just gotta find the girl who knows the difference.
Emily's Favorite Monologue
[[Monologue from Half Glass, read @ Fiction Writers & Playwrights at Dinner]]
Emily’s Monologue
Baby, the rest of the world is cold enough already, they don’t need your frost covered speech fogging up their cell phone screens. Stop saying what they want to hear—what blends in. Whisper warm little lines in my ear. Help me melt the world one kiss at a time.
Soon we’ll all be swimming again.
You and I can shout “Come on in, the water’s fine”!
Fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine! Keep standing there like a snowman—silent and stationary—ignoring the hula dancing bikini girl over here in the sand, calling your name.
Travis, please!
What am I saying? You’ll never listen to me. You’re bent on being cool, so you don’t get hurt again. But don’t you see what you’re missing? You’ve got happiness right in front of you, if you’d stop being a martyr and let somebody in! Fuck, I know it’s hard to trust people, I’ve been there too! But not everything is too good to be true. So what if it fails in the long run, do what’s going to make you happy right now, kid. I’m not waiting forever. Let’s experiment together.
I’ll see you on the boardwalk, babe —I’ll be the one wearing heart shaped glasses with rose tinted lenses.
Emily’s Monologue
Baby, the rest of the world is cold enough already, they don’t need your frost covered speech fogging up their cell phone screens. Stop saying what they want to hear—what blends in. Whisper warm little lines in my ear. Help me melt the world one kiss at a time.
Soon we’ll all be swimming again.
You and I can shout “Come on in, the water’s fine”!
Fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine! Keep standing there like a snowman—silent and stationary—ignoring the hula dancing bikini girl over here in the sand, calling your name.
Travis, please!
What am I saying? You’ll never listen to me. You’re bent on being cool, so you don’t get hurt again. But don’t you see what you’re missing? You’ve got happiness right in front of you, if you’d stop being a martyr and let somebody in! Fuck, I know it’s hard to trust people, I’ve been there too! But not everything is too good to be true. So what if it fails in the long run, do what’s going to make you happy right now, kid. I’m not waiting forever. Let’s experiment together.
I’ll see you on the boardwalk, babe —I’ll be the one wearing heart shaped glasses with rose tinted lenses.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
outlining
Ophelia lit her first cigarette of the day, looking out at her familiar street, ready to walk down to the lake.
"Hey, can I borrow your lighter?"
A tall, thin man with rusty brown hair had exited the building and slipped a cigarette between his raspberry hued lips.
"Sure."
She handed him the red plastic Bic with a smile.
Ophelia watched him cup long bony fingers around the flame until the end of his cigarette glowed.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
She slipped the lighter back into her purse.
"I'm Danny." he said, extending the hand she'd watched moments before.
"Ophelia." she said, allowing him to take her hand.
"You live here?"
"Mhmm. 2014. My third year here in the building."
"Wow. You like it, then?"
"Nowhere I'd rather be."
She took a drag of her cigarette.
"What're you up to, so early?"
"I was going to head down to the lakefront. It's really nice in the morning," she paused, "want to join me?"
Danny nodded.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They began walking down the street together.
"Mind if I stop for a cup of coffee?" she motioned to the cafe down the block.
"Sounds good." Danny said.
They crossed the street, taking the last drags of the cigarettes.
****
"Babe, what do you want for dinner this week?" Ophelia asked, looking up from her grocery list.
"Ummm, I don't know. What about that eggplant lasagna?"
"Sure."
Ophelia and Danny had fallen into a relationship neither had seen coming. It was four months into the school year, and Christmas break was around the corner.
"So, I've been thinking," Danny began, "I know we both have to go home for Christmas."
Ophelia nodded.
"What if I fly up a couple days after, then we can take the train back here together?"
"Really?"
"I'd like to meet your parents."
"Nobody wants to meet my parents. I don't even want to see my parents." Ophelia laughed.
"Okay, maybe I just want to see you again as soon as possible. But they're going to have to meet me eventually."
"I know. I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a plan."
He kissed her.
"Ready to go grocery shopping?"
"Yep."
******
Ophelia brushed the flour from her hands to answer her cell phone. It was Danny.
"Hey baby, Merry Christmas!"
"It would be better if we were together."
"Awww, don't go all cute on me, mister. I don't want to cry with all my family around." she giggled.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too." she sighed.
"What's wrong? Nervous about me meeting your parents?"
"Yeah."
"Don't think they'll like me?"
"How could they not like you? It's me they don't like." Ophelia said, putting the finishing touches on the pie she was ready to slip into the oven.
"It'll be alright."
"I know."
"Hey, can I borrow your lighter?"
A tall, thin man with rusty brown hair had exited the building and slipped a cigarette between his raspberry hued lips.
"Sure."
She handed him the red plastic Bic with a smile.
Ophelia watched him cup long bony fingers around the flame until the end of his cigarette glowed.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
She slipped the lighter back into her purse.
"I'm Danny." he said, extending the hand she'd watched moments before.
"Ophelia." she said, allowing him to take her hand.
"You live here?"
"Mhmm. 2014. My third year here in the building."
"Wow. You like it, then?"
"Nowhere I'd rather be."
She took a drag of her cigarette.
"What're you up to, so early?"
"I was going to head down to the lakefront. It's really nice in the morning," she paused, "want to join me?"
Danny nodded.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They began walking down the street together.
"Mind if I stop for a cup of coffee?" she motioned to the cafe down the block.
"Sounds good." Danny said.
They crossed the street, taking the last drags of the cigarettes.
****
"Babe, what do you want for dinner this week?" Ophelia asked, looking up from her grocery list.
"Ummm, I don't know. What about that eggplant lasagna?"
"Sure."
Ophelia and Danny had fallen into a relationship neither had seen coming. It was four months into the school year, and Christmas break was around the corner.
"So, I've been thinking," Danny began, "I know we both have to go home for Christmas."
Ophelia nodded.
"What if I fly up a couple days after, then we can take the train back here together?"
"Really?"
"I'd like to meet your parents."
"Nobody wants to meet my parents. I don't even want to see my parents." Ophelia laughed.
"Okay, maybe I just want to see you again as soon as possible. But they're going to have to meet me eventually."
"I know. I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a plan."
He kissed her.
"Ready to go grocery shopping?"
"Yep."
******
Ophelia brushed the flour from her hands to answer her cell phone. It was Danny.
"Hey baby, Merry Christmas!"
"It would be better if we were together."
"Awww, don't go all cute on me, mister. I don't want to cry with all my family around." she giggled.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too." she sighed.
"What's wrong? Nervous about me meeting your parents?"
"Yeah."
"Don't think they'll like me?"
"How could they not like you? It's me they don't like." Ophelia said, putting the finishing touches on the pie she was ready to slip into the oven.
"It'll be alright."
"I know."
Monday, June 7, 2010
Fat and Ugly? Look Again.
You can't call me a monster
by simply judging my flesh.
For I've lain with a score
of Adonis's brethren
when those who fit your scale of beauty
haven't stood a chance, decked out in their finest.
by simply judging my flesh.
For I've lain with a score
of Adonis's brethren
when those who fit your scale of beauty
haven't stood a chance, decked out in their finest.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Train Wreck'ed
Popped half a pill
to get to sleep last night
when the feelings like a caffeine overdose
screamed and I remembered
'this is what it feels like to be suicidal'.
It's been months since I've had a legit impulse
but there it was;
bubbling away in my veins.
So, so tired I couldn't move;
but the anxiety tore on inside me.
Almost as bad as that time in high school,
itching away the day at my desk,
waiting to get home and finish
my final test.
Anyway,
the pill took away the pain.
And I woke up this morning still floating.
Half a xanax hasn't gotten me high in years,
but this past month of total sobriety
has cleansed me of tolerance.
And it scares me that this is the closest I've felt
to normal
in years.
Because half a pill
dissolved itself, under my tongue,
and into my bloodstream.
I'm an addict in the making.
to get to sleep last night
when the feelings like a caffeine overdose
screamed and I remembered
'this is what it feels like to be suicidal'.
It's been months since I've had a legit impulse
but there it was;
bubbling away in my veins.
So, so tired I couldn't move;
but the anxiety tore on inside me.
Almost as bad as that time in high school,
itching away the day at my desk,
waiting to get home and finish
my final test.
Anyway,
the pill took away the pain.
And I woke up this morning still floating.
Half a xanax hasn't gotten me high in years,
but this past month of total sobriety
has cleansed me of tolerance.
And it scares me that this is the closest I've felt
to normal
in years.
Because half a pill
dissolved itself, under my tongue,
and into my bloodstream.
I'm an addict in the making.
Friday, June 4, 2010
fuck you.
You can cry all you want;
I didn't hide a thing.
I wasn't lying
when I said
it was a line I wouldn't cross.
A post dawn rebound
doesn't mean a thing
but forgetting heart break
for a few minutes.
If the situation
isn't working out
that's not my fault;
my decision had no bearing
on your hunt.
You can blame it on me;
I know you will anyway,
that's the way
our relationship's always been.
Were you ever really my friend?
I didn't hide a thing.
I wasn't lying
when I said
it was a line I wouldn't cross.
A post dawn rebound
doesn't mean a thing
but forgetting heart break
for a few minutes.
If the situation
isn't working out
that's not my fault;
my decision had no bearing
on your hunt.
You can blame it on me;
I know you will anyway,
that's the way
our relationship's always been.
Were you ever really my friend?
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