Emily Smith
Leaves
You insist you understand where the root of my pain is buried.
You say, “You’re still a part of your family tree.”
But how strong is that tree
when you, one of our mightiest branches have fallen?
You’ve fallen down a hill of never-ending mistakes.
You don’t believe me when I tell you that the hollowness deep within
stems from your abandonment.
I was your young sapling.
Why would you cut off my air?
Didn’t you know
I needed it to grow?
It’s only in my nature to look towards you for nurture.
The memories are swept up in a breeze.
The vacuum inside gets stronger every time your shadow leaves.
Leaves.
Like the leaves falling from the autumn trees.
The faith in myself never seems to grow,
but falls like autumn leaves.
Royal Disarrangement
In a crowded ballroom covered by velvet walls and satin curtains strung upon the windows, sits a girl at a golden crested glass table in the corner. Her long auburn curls draped over her shoulder and down her lacy white gown. She sips red wine from a glass as a man approaches her.
“Are you enjoying your drink, honey?” He asked.
“I was, until you showed up and ruined it,” She responded.
“Please don’t speak that way, dear.”
“Look, just because I was legally appointed to you doesn’t mean we are in love. And it doesn’t mean you can call me names such as ‘honey’ or ‘dear’.”
“Meredith, please. These childish antics may have passed when we were younger, but we are married now! Can we at least try to get along? Give me a chance. I can prove to you that I am worthy of your love.”
“You can’t force love, Micah. I’m sorry but that is the one thing you can’t buy. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I was supposed to go off to university and get an education. I wasn’t supposed to sit pretty and be your little housewife!”
“Queen! You would be my queen. Does that really seem so bad?”
“I wasn’t put on this planet to cook and clean for you. Nor was I born to breed a soldier - a baby boy who would not even get the chance to be a child, but be forced into training before it is even his time. No, Micah, I was not born to do that.”
“Yes, you were,” said Micah.
“Excuse me?” Meredith fired back.
“Yes, you were, and you know that. You have accepted it because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have said ‘I do.’ You had the option to object, but you didn’t. Surely that must mean you feel something between us.”
Many eyes land on the pair bickering, reminding Micah that they are not alone. Micah moves in closer to Meredith, and lowers his voice.
“Listen, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one.
I have loved you shamelessly since then. I can be the one for you too, if you just let me.”
A woman approached the couple with two wine glasses in hand.
“Excuse me, would you like to make a toast?” said the woman.
“We would love to! Thank you very much!” Meredith then grabbed both glasses and chugged the first one. She then rang the other glass with her fork and stood up on the table.
“Excuse me, people of Langdon, your future queen has something to say!”
Micah looks down and covers his eyes.
“I’m so humbled to be here right now. It’s a blessing that I, a girl from such a small kingdom, could get the chance to share my wedding ceremony with all of you! And how amazing it truly is to get to marry Prince Micah, whom I adore so much, and was not at all forced to marry!”
Micah grabbed a hold of her arm and whispered,
“Please don’t do this. You’re going to regret it.”
Meredith pulled away and took another sip from her glass.
“I mean, really. I could’ve gotten the short end of the stick. It’s not like I was approached by the current king and threatened with possible death if I didn’t marry. No, it’s not like my kingdom was threatened.”
Just then, a rotund older man wearing a crown stood up.
“I beg your pardon!” The man exclaimed.
“‘Adjoin your kingdom to mine or I will decimate it!’ I believe those were the words you used? Am I wrong?”
The crowd gasped.
“Oh, what a shame. How saddening it must be to discover that the seemingly strong and kind kingdom you trusted so much is really just corrupt. That they would be so cruel as to take advantage of a young girl who’s just trying to protect her home! How tragic.”
“Guards! I command that you take this girl to the castle vault,” ordered the king. The crowd erupted in panic. A frown appeared upon Micah’s face.
“My dear boy, I’m afraid we must find you another wife, for this one has lost her head.”
Willowbrook Cafe
She walked upon the icy path to her favorite cafe, just as she always did. Rain, sleet, or snow, she always found herself at that old café on the corner of Willowbrook Avenue. She admired the chic, vintage vibe of the place. She also liked the quiet atmosphere, where only the loudest whispers could be heard. Most of all, she liked the feeling of contentment that the establishment gave her.
There she sat, at the last booth towards the window opposite from the oak door. She sat calmly, the beige leather seat sticking to her bare legs. She fixed her dress before crossing her legs and looking out the window to the right of her. The café overlooked the beautiful and quaint Central Park. She often got inspiration from the park goers. The lively little children that would chase each other in a game of tag, their parents who’d look on attentively whilst speaking to the other parents, even the dogs.
She loved all the different breeds she’d come across every day. She often liked to guess their names during the breaks she’d take from writing. She loved to write. She dreamt of making it big as an author, and wrote about the very café that supplied her with so much creativity. She tried a few times to get a story of her’s published, but has remained unsuccessful. Nonetheless, she’s made a promise to herself to never give up.
“Camille!” an old, little woman called out to her, “I was wondering when I’d see you! You’re here a little later than usual today.”
“Hello, Aggie! Yes. I slept in. Long night at the restaurant,” smiled Camille.
“Oh, yes! I forgot you still worked there. I’m really surprised your dad has managed to keep that place for so long, with, well, you know,” the woman laughed nervously.
“Pardon?” Camille questioned.
“The bank seems to be in the midst of closing down most of the establishments on Willowbrook Ave. Didn’t you hear? They got us.”
Camille’s jaw dropped.
“W-what? How come I’m only just finding this out now?”
The woman looked down at her feet before meeting Camille’s eyes once again.
“We were hoping we could whittle our way out of it,” sighed the woman, “but oh well. All good things must come to an end,” smiled the woman before walking away.
Camille slumped down in the booth and let out a heavy sigh. She couldn’t believe the information she had just received. She had been going to the Willowbrook Café since she was little. Her parents even met there. She couldn’t believe that a place that held so many memories and history for her would one day soon, cease to exist. Instinctively, she grabbed her notebook to write about it, just as she always did when something important happened to her. She grabbed her ballpoint pen and scribbled down the title, “The Willowbrook Café And its Long-Lasting Impact.”
She was there for hours, writing away. By the time she looked up from her paper, it was dark outside. When she realized how late it was, she made her way home. She rushed through the door, slamming it behind her, and ran straight to the kitchen, right in her dad's arms.
“Hey! What’s gotten into you, kiddo?” Her dad questioned.
“Oh, dad, it’s horrible! The bank is shutting down the café!” Her dad looked down at her.
“What? What do you mean they’re shutting down the cafe?”
“Aggie told me today! Apparently they’re not bringing in enough customers anymore, and the bank is buying them out. Here, look!” Camille pushed herself off of her dad before handing him her notebook. Her dad took the notebook from her and sat down at the table in front of him. After a few minutes he turned to Camille. “Camille! This is really good!” He finally spoke.
“Who cares if it’s good!? The café is still closing!” She shouted. Her dad stood up.
“Camille, don’t you get it? You can get this out there and it’s guaranteed to bring in more customers. You can save the café!”
Camille’s eyes widened and a wide smile appeared on her face.
“Oh my god, dad, you’re a genius!”
She quickly hugged her father before running upstairs to continue perfecting her piece. She stayed up all night to make sure she had the best possible work in front of her, ready to hand over to the local newspaper. She never took her shot at journalism before, but she finally felt like she got it right.
The sun rose and poked through the thin, white curtains that lined the windows in Camille’s bedroom. The light poked at her eyes and her eyelids began to flutter open. When she finally opened her eyes, she immediately grabbed her papers and ran downstairs, grabbing her jacket on the way out. She continued out the door and all through the town before she finally reached the Willowbrook printing press. She nearly ran over the man who was unlocking the door to the tiny building.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy there, killer,” laughed the man, “What seems to be the hurry?”
“Johnny! I think I’ve written an article that could save the café!” Camille shouted.
Johnny looked at her with a serious expression.
“Well, we better get a move on then,” the editor replied before unlocking the door to the printing press.
Though she dreamt about being a writer ever since she was a little girl, she never knew she could turn her dream into a reality. This was the day things would change.
Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend
From the moment she was born, she felt isolated and insecure. Her mother was mentally gone and she was only fostered for government benefits and not as an act of benevolence. Her adolescence was spent on the rural farmland of California. Hidden behind the scenes of the movie screens, she dreamed of being on the big stage.
She wanted her name in lights,
she wanted to be adored.
She never wanted to be rich,
She wanted something more.
She modeled on the covers of magazines,
she was every boy’s dream.
She dyed her hair,
even changed her name to something more obscene.
Still craving more, her schedule was scattered with singing and dancing lessons. As her insecurity clouded her reality, she didn’t see her expanding fame.
“Well done. I can see your career rising in the east like the sun.”
-All About Eve, 1951
She faced scandal head on. She reinvisioned the modern day image of women. One who doesn’t equate sex with sin. Once a starlit now a star. She sang for love just as she lived for love.
When she became the mega star she strived for, she proved that gentleman really do prefer blondes. But they only saw her as just that. A blonde beauty who’d look lovely accompanying a male lead, but could never be the star of the show.
Past a veil of smoke,
hidden behind platinum blonde hair and ruby red lips,
lay a girl with the most beautiful mind.
Desiring fame and love,
she wanted to resemble more—
More than a dumb blonde,
Hollywood’s most famous written trite.
She had a talent that breached farther than a damsel in distress,
or the butt of a joke.
But no one ever knew,
because no one bothered to look past the veil of smoke.
As a hunger for independence and success grew, she strived to learn and grow with it. She craved respect and authority, which ultimately gave her directorial approval, and with that, confidence.
But as life went on and the eyes of the media became too heavy. The glare of the lights became too bright. She fell in and out of deep depressions, substituting security with pills. Fans were shocked, when they watched a star so hot begin to burn out. As her career began to fall apart, her mind started to spiral. Her worst fear had come true. She was living the same nightmare as her mother.
“A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,
but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
-Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, 1953
Her support system dwindled,
down to only the ball player.
But as life began to throw fast balls,
and her spirit began to shatter,
they wouldn’t foresee,
her strike out.
Surrounded by empty bottles,
she died alone,
with only the diamonds around her neck,
Proving that diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.
Dear Silas
It was a cold September- so cold, it was almost my last. I had struggled for months before everything caved in. Too many suicidal thoughts lived in my head. At times I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was the beginning of my eighth grade year and I was miserable. I had no idea why, but I knew I didn’t want to live life the way it was. I was so lost, I didn’t want to live at all. I’ve always been one to try and solve whatever problem I may be going through at the time, and I only saw one solution, and I became fascinated with death. I couldn’t look at sharp objects without thinking of using them on myself, I couldn’t walk on a bridge without thinking of jumping, I couldn’t even look at a window without thinking of going straight through it. I lived with my grandparents. My grandfather is disabled and had various health issues, so there were many different medications in his medicine cabinet. The plan came to me rather quickly. I knew which pills to take, when to take them, and where. Although I didn’t have any respect for my life anymore, for some reason, I was scared. So the night before, I ended up telling the lady with the clipboard who everyone told me could solve my problems.
I was taken to the hospital in tears. It was the first time I had cried in months. I was given a bed in the emergency room. Nurses took my blood and even urine tested me. I thought that was ridiculous. “I’m suicidal, not a drug addict,” I said. The nurse who accepted my cup only awkwardly laughed. I sat in a hospital bed for hours before a bald man who asked a lot of dumb questions regarding how I was feeling presented me with a choice. I could go home and continue to see my therapist and just hope to get better, or I could go to a mental facility in Philadelphia. I chose the mental hospital. He ran to make a few calls. In the time he took to make a call, my aunt had arrived at the hospital and convinced me not to go, and instead come home with her. The bald social worker told me he couldn’t find me a bed at any of the local mental hospitals, and I told him not to “sweat it.” I chose to relocate, but instead of relocating to a facility, I chose to relocate to my aunt’s house. They thought perhaps this new opportunity would lead me down a better path. They were wrong. He certainly was not the right path.
Dear Silas,
I’ve tried so hard for so long to protect your identity, but I see no reason to anymore. I shouldn’t stop anyone from seeing you for who you truly are. I pondered over it for twenty-four hours and three hundred sixty-five days before it finally hit me. I wasn’t protecting you; I was protecting me.
I didn’t want to subject myself to the humiliation of falling for a smooth talker, who, for the longest time, I only referred to as my bittersweet tragedy. It’s fitting, because as soon as I found you, I lost me. Of course, I didn’t see it that way at first. When we first met, you made me feel so free. But your touch quickly changed. Your arms were like metal chains around me. Your demeanor was as cold and controlling as a winter storm. You manipulated my body by toying with my emotions. You molded me like clay then had your way with me. Tell me, boy, did it make you feel like a man?
You’re probably wondering why I’m reaching out. After all this time, why? Perhaps it was easier to deal with when I didn’t have to see your smug face everyday. You torment me without ever meeting my eyes. The fact that you fail to look me in the face almost patronizes me, but probably benefits the both of us, considering the fact that I’d gouge your eyes out if given the chance. Still, the way you continue to disregard me renders me speechless, but what else should I expect from a guy who targets broken girls, only to feel more put together?
Anyway, as much as I’m sure your twisted little mind would find immense pleasure in screwing with my head, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. After all, verbal discretion is the best way for me to thoroughly express myself while still refraining from making rash decisions. This is me confronting you the only way I know how. I’ve called you out, and now I’m saying goodbye.
Emma
To say goodbye, I must remember how I said hello, because, though I’d like to forget, he impacted me far past the point that I could “just forget.” I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. My cousin had a huge crush on him, so I already knew of him. I even saw a few pictures. Honestly, I didn’t understand the hysteria. He was average looking to me in the photos. I didn’t feel anything when I looked at him. Granted, I wasn’t feeling much at all at the time. But the first time I saw him, I understood why my cousin was so taken by him. It was on the school bus when I first laid my eyes on him. He looked at me briefly. I didn’t think much of his gaze, but his eyes imprinted themselves into my mind. He had the most captivating green eyes I had ever seen. It’s as if his gaze made you really feel like you were being seen.
The second time I saw him, again on the school bus, I finally was successful in encouraging my cousin to befriend him. She wanted to speak to him, but was too afraid to do so. I, at the time, was tired of hearing her complain. I guess you could say I was tired of hearing about him in general. “But what would I say? What would we even talk about?” She asked me frantically.
“Start by saying hello and complementing something he’s wearing. Simple.” I told her. Clearly it worked, because they ended up talking up a storm. All seemed well until I felt that heavy gaze weighing down on me. I glanced to my side. They sat in a seat together, but his eyes were on me. I sat in the adjacent seat, scrolling through my phone, ignoring him. Trying to display my lack of interest as clearly as I possibly could. I had just spent an hour talking my cousin into talking to him. I wasn’t about to ruin that for her. Though I was going through a rough time, she was too. She was by my side while I was going through everything, and I didn’t want to hurt her by interfering with a possible chance at happiness for her. Besides, I was in my own little world at that time. I suppose he was too. But of course, because nothing in life is ever easy, our worlds soon collided.
Dear Silas,
I was surprised when I received a letter back. Maybe you aren’t as much of a coward as I thought you were. Were you apologizing because you’re actually sorry? Or are you just trying to maintain your image? Afraid your precious Anna might see you for who you really are? Or does she already know? I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve heard the rumors. I’m not pointing fingers here. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. I’m just saying, it looks all too familiar.
But that’s besides the point. Your apology now is just as effective as it was then: fruitless. Why even bother wasting your time spewing lies? My favorite line, and I quote, “Well, what did you expect?” I don’t know. Maybe I expected you to be a decent human being? But I’ve learned not to expect much from you. You always left me disappointed and unsatisfied.
Anyway, I’ve thought about your proposition. And I’ve realized that the only way there’d ever be a truce between us is if one of us were dead. Based on your running tab of wrongdoings, I think it’ll be you first. Perhaps I’ll crash the funeral? Maybe not. I’d rather not be the only one in attendance. I was angry before, but after your degrading letter, I’m livid. I hope life is hard for you.
Emma
My older cousins liked to have fun. And since there really isn’t much time to have fun as a teenager during the day, they chose to have fun at night. They would sneak their friends into the house at midnight, and under the fluorescent LED lights of my cousin’s tiny bedroom, they would have what they thought was fun. One night, I decided to join in on the fun. My cousins and I hung out for a while. We talked and bonded, which isn’t something we ever really did before. They were older, and I thought that made them cool. I looked up to them. Now that I look back at it, I realize they were idiots. I think most teenagers are, though, and that doesn’t exclude the life of the party who jumped through the window at midnight.
He was of average height, with a muscular build. He had mid-length curly, brown hair, accompanied by those captivating green eyes. He saw me once again, and he smiled. He flashed a breathtakingly bright smile, hitting me like headlights. Little did I know that that smile would soon hit me like a whole car. We didn’t talk much at first. Nothing more than a hello. Other than that, we didn’t interact much. I was shy, and I think he noticed that. That probably made me a target, or maybe it’s just because I’m female and he’s desperate. But being the Leo he is, he wanted my attention. So he threw a shoe at me. I laughed in response, but it became clear to me what he was trying to do. A strange form of flirting, but a way to flirt no less. I saw two options in that moment. Throw it back and give him what he wants by interacting, or throw the shoe to the side and turn him down. Turn the possibilities down. Hell, possibly walk out of the room right then and there and get some sleep. But I was younger then. An innocent thirteen year old who just wanted to feel something again. So I threw the shoe back. Little did I know that it was actually a boomerang, smacking me in the face a month later.
My cousins ended up falling asleep, and we got to talking. He asked me why I was living with my aunt and I came clean. I’ve never been one to hide the truth. I can’t say the same for him. “Oh my god, you must think I’m crazy.” I told him. He just smiled that smile of his and giggled a bit.
“Of course not. I’d never judge you for your past.” He told me. We talked about his emotionally absent father and his sick mom. I told him about my completely absent father and the mother who abandoned me. I really felt a connection to him. It was only after he wrapped his arm around me and laid his head on my chest, that I decided it was time to call it a night. I stood up and told him it was getting late. We awkwardly said our goodbyes and I locked the window after he jumped out of it just like he jumped in. I went to bed, feeling weird about the whole situation.
The next day, he texted me, apologizing profusely. I told him it was okay, and he asked me to hang out with him again, because he wanted to see my face again. I bubbled like an idiot and agreed, and ever since that night, I gave him all my time. We sat to and from school on the bus everyday. He’d hold my hand and caress it with his thumb, resting his head in the crook of my neck until we’d have to part ways. We spent every hour from midnight to four in the morning together, and occasionally longer when no one was home on Saturdays. and when he wasn’t with me, his scent was, as I wore the jacket he gave me everywhere, even wearing it in my sleep. He sent me hundreds of texts telling me how I was his everything, and how he’d do anything for me. I know now that people lie. They lie easily and they look pretty doing it.
Everything between us was great. He made me feel something again, and was on the verge of making me experience my first love. One day, my cousin asked me to go for a walk with her. I turned her down. She told me I could bring someone with me if I wanted to. So I texted him, “Do you want to go for a walk down to the river?”
“Hmm...idk. It’s kind of a long walk,” He responded.
“You suck,” I told him.
“I’m just kidding. You know I want to be wherever you are.” He responded. So my cousin and I met up with him at his house down the street and we laughed and joked throughout our two mile journey to the river. Silas and I sat on the rocks while my cousin took pictures of the river. He and I talked about random things. We talked about his parents’ broken marriage and I asked him if he ever fell in love before. He looked me cold in the eyes and told me he didn’t believe in love. I should’ve seen that as a sign, but I was naive and believed I could change him. We walked back home, stealing kisses every chance we got.
The day was fine, until I walked back into my aunt's house and she grounded my cousin and me on the spot for leaving and not telling anyone. She took my phone away so I couldn’t reach him. I was worried the lack of contact would hurt him. We spent all our free time talking to one another, I didn’t want him to think I was ignoring him. I was upset to say the least about not being able to reach him, but thought that he’d understand. After all, our connection seemed so strong, a little time with no contact surely wouldn’t change anything, right?
I planned on telling him the next day, but he wasn’t on the bus, and he didn’t come over. I checked in with my older cousin’s and I found out he was making zero effort to contact me. I was hurt, but I chose not to jump to conclusions.
The next morning on the bus, he didn’t sit next to me. He didn’t even say hello to me. But I overheard him talking about a girl. And she wasn’t me. Apparently, he found a new girlfriend. Later that afternoon, he said hello to me on the bus. I said hello back and told him to sit with me.
“So how’s your new girlfriend?” I asked him. He looked shocked. I guess he really thought I wouldn’t find out.
“What girlfriend?” He laughed. I said her name and suddenly he knew all about who I was talking about. He told me it was very new, but that he had liked her for a long time. He began to tell me all about her with his hand on my thigh.
“But she doesn’t look like you,” he smiled. I took his jacket out of my backpack and put it in his. “You should probably take this. It’s getting cold.” I told him. He looked at me confused before saying, “Oh, right,” before turning his back to me and talking to his friends. I began to cry. Not once did he turn to comfort me. But as I walked off the bus, he hugged my waist and said, “See you later, best friend.” I cried for hours before I got mad, and decided to text him, and called him out in everything. He lied through the gap in his teeth and told me he didn’t hear me cry, and that he was sorry. He never even read my last text message. Not only did he not care about me, this act of blatant disrespect made it clear that he didn’t even respect me. I still saw him daily. His guilty eyes would watch me get on and off of the bus everyday, until I moved back home to avoid seeing him. I haven’t heard from him since. He wasn’t my first love, but he was definitely my first heartbreak. It was a cold September, but October gave me frostbite.
Dear Silas,
This will be my final letter to you. I have said all that there is to say. I just felt it was only right to give you a proper goodbye, which is more than you ever did for me. In your last letter, you had said how I should be over everything by now. Don’t flatter yourself. I got over you rather quickly. It took much longer to get over what you did. You meant a lot to me. So much that at the time, I thought I’d never get over you. But I tend to get more angry than sad, so it was a lot easier to forget how sweet you acted when I decided to hate you instead of missing you. Without the sweet memories, all that is left is the pain and betrayal you have cost. It’s much harder to miss someone who only caused you pain, don’t you think?
Once I didn’t have you anymore, all I had was time. Time to ask myself why. How? How could you do that to me? You knew how vulnerable I was. I trusted you with everything in me and you showed me exactly why I shouldn't have. You made me feel so stupid and small. By feeling this way, I made myself small. And for what? You’re not even worth the time of day. Yet I gave you all my time everyday. I don’t understand how a person could ever intentionally scar another person so deeply with no regrets and then wipe the slate clean like it meant nothing at all– like I meant nothing at all. The total lack of regard for another human being's emotions is nothing less than vile. You are vile, and I will spend the rest of my life questioning other people’s intentions, and wondering whether they’re just as vile.
I- I just don’t understand how someone could go out of their way to hurt those who ache just from the thought of hurting them. I would’ve taken a thousand heartbreaks before I ever broke yours.
I can’t wait until you actually feel for someone for the very first time. I hope she leaves you in the dust, lonely and broken just as you left me. After that I hope she tells you to “just get over it.” How ironic would it be if you were to be treated with the same inhumanity you showed me? I wonder what people would think of you if they knew. What would your mother think? She already sees you as a disappointment. It must break her heart. What would your little brother think? I know he looks up to you. It’d be a real shame if he were to take after you. A real waste of testosterone if you ask me.
We haven’t spoken face to face in over a year. Of course, no complaints from me. In fact, I’m currently counting down the days until I never have to see you again. It’s time to say goodbye. Not only to you, but also the sad chapter of my life from which you came. I wish I could say it was nice knowing you, but obviously I’d be lying.
Emma
This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
I’ve stayed up all night,
searching for the sunlight,
searching for a reason why,
we should still be friends.
And I drove you home last night,
knowing that that would be the
last time I drove your way again.
This town has never looked so dead.
It’s crazy to think,
that just last week,
we sat at your piano.
We pressed the keys,
tapping our feet,
and now I’ll never play that song again.
I light a cigarette in the driver’s seat.
I’m trying to burn away the memories.
I take a glance at the backseat,
the last place you touched me.
All this because you couldn’t let me in.
Do you have any idea what could have been?
Now I have to drive home alone again.
I’ll probably end up texting your best friend.
Apophenia
She saw things in the same way many women I've come across have.
She saw things much deeper than they had to be.
She saw me sprawled across a bed,
pages and pages of unfinished words scattered around my tired and generous body,
and assumed that just because this was my state of being,
that I was an artist.
And because she thought I was an artist,
and because I do things in a different way,
she thought that in me,
she would find something more gentle,
more kind perhaps?
Unfortunately,
I’ve always been one to disappoint,
And the poor woman found the reverse.
I know I should feel bad,
And to some extent,
I do.
But I never asked her to be there.
I never asked her to pine after me.
I never asked her to love me.
It’s not my fault.
The papers keep stacking up on her bed.
