I give so much of me up
To those who don’t deserve it
(So much kindness to ones
Who end up selfish and shitty)
Knowing that they won’t change.
Yet I continue breaking off little bits of myself,
Handing off the smallest slivers,
Trying to fix their problems,
Agonizing over things I cannot control,
Hoping that one day
Someone will appreciate me
Instead of using me up.
–08/14/2018
sundays
–growing up, sundays were for family
that’s what dad always said–
mom woke us up early
took us to church, where we sat on the kneelers and listened to father mcgonegal,
his big booming voice talking about god and jesus and how we should be better human beings
i used to sit on the padded kneelers and draw on the back of the sunday bulletin with a pen my mom had buried at the bottom of her purse
careful not to press too hard on the paper because i was afraid if i accidentally wrote on the wooden bench of the pew
god would somehow know and be disappointed in me.
(i was too young to be pissing off omnipotent deities)
not really paying attention to the broadway musical of the liturgy of the eucharist going on behind me
this is the blood of the new and everlasting covenant, do this in memory of me
–years later i would sneak away during mass to the cvs across the street, losing myself among the lip glosses and single slabs of eyeshadows that i’d sometimes fantasize about slipping in my pocket
because dad would forget to give me my allowance and i was afraid to remind him
always making my way back to church just in time for communion–
sundays were for family
back at home
mom would make bacon and eggs and pancakes
grits for dad, he loved to put half a block of cheddar cheese in them
dad’s breakfast was first, especially if he had drank his first breakfast before we came back from mass
if mom didn’t take care of dad first, there would be screaming and yelling
and sometimes dad’s fist would find mom’s cheekbone
then she would cry,
saltwater mixed with bacon grease,
a brunch version of christ’s baptism
sundays were for family
if my friends called, i would have to quickly talk and then hang up the phone
because the lord’s day wasn’t for the things i could do on saturday
and lashawn you are always on that phone a bit too much, always running your mouth about some nonsense
why don’t you come over here so i can show you what tonight’s pick three is gonna be
i dreamed about your great uncle again, that means death, 769 is gonna come out or maybe his birthday, 214
where the fuck is your mother, i bet she’s sitting in the kitchen reading some damn book again
when i was your age i had to sit and read the bible on sunday afternoon or else i’d get the switch
i would sit there and half listen, watching him spend my allowance on state licensed and operated number running
i wasn’t quite sure gambling was part of the lord’s day
sundays were for family
hop the top for twenty, horn high aces for five
doesn’t anyone here spend time with their family, it’s sunday
hands throwing twenties into the center of the table,
dice hitting the back wall and landing on 7
that final stanza of the biblical sabbath,
off-broadway but juliet still always dies
cleaning up the cheques just to set them up again
father mcgonegal sermonizes no more,
his pastorage taken because he got high on pig tranquilizers and asked a park ranger for a quickie
go in peace to love and serve the lord
sundays
–07/29/2018
I thought that I’d miss you
once you’d inevitably leave
but here I am
and there you’ve gone
and I don’t miss you
not one bit
I’ve stopped crying over ghosts.
–“Untitled”, 03/24/2018
“you’re so strong”, they say
as if I had a choice
as if there was any alternative.
you taught me to be strong,
and you were the strongest man I know.
you were my first best friend,
my truest friend
you got me when no one else did
a perk I guess of sharing some of the same DNA
you taught me how to properly dunk mini donuts into a glass of milk
tried to teach me to play the keyboard,
but I was too impatient to learn.
you taught me to be gracious
told me that I was capable of the world and so much more
I learned to appreciate sports from you
learned to carry an intelligent conversation
how to make people laugh.
I inherited your stubbornness
the tendency to work too much.
I’m certain that my love of true crime came from you
and I will miss watching our “murder mysteries” together
because of you I’ve never felt short,
even though I’m the tiniest person in the family
confident in every step I take, head up because your daughter would never, could never, won’t ever walk with her head bowed down
you passed on your fierce pride,
along with your quick and ferocious temper
I think of you constantly,
pushing my sadness aside because it does not bode well to dwell on tragedy
I hope to make you proud one day, if the human soul exists
if your human soul is somewhere out there
I hope that wherever you are, you smile and say
“you see that strong and accomplished woman? that’s my baby girl, my Caker Boo.”
I love you, Dad.
–“Sunday, November 13, 2016 @ 7:28 pm”
George Chillious, 04/26/1944-11/13/2016
I’m that unconventional kind of pretty, I suppose
If one were to try to define one’s features and retain modesty.
Sometimes I think I’m cute, other times I hate my reflection
I constantly feel too big for such a small person
A walking contradiction
Unsteady yet confident,
The girl who doubts herself in a room full of women
Who feels most like herself in jeans and a tee shirt,
At her best with just lip balm, mascara, and a smile.
I stumble over nothing when I walk,
Clumsy but certain.
Athletic grace has not once entertained me
Just look at my ankles as proof.
I stay up all night and wake up early,
Partly because life is so damn short
But mostly because I’m afraid to miss all the things the Muses have to offer.
I wear my hair up almost at all times
Because life has to be lived and I don’t need hair in my eyes.
I say things over and over in my head,
Because I worry that I’ll trip them up once I say them aloud
And I usually do,
Words have a way of getting stuck in my teeth like caramel popcorn.
I suck at guys, and am perpetually single.
The real world Liz Lemon.
I chew on the edges of my nails when I’m worried,
I make jokes to cover up my nervousness and thin skin
Because I’m a tough girl on the outside,
Who will never let them see how deep they cut her
And who keeps her insecurities inside.
She is braver than she realizes
And stronger than she believes.
Lazy but a dreamer
I’m a mom and a person,
A badass and a debutante,
Indie but mainstream,
Naive but jaded.
I might stumble but I’m never completely down
My glass is eternally half full.
–“autobiographie”, 07/01/2016
I will never forget
One of the most terrifying moments
In my life thus far
The night is forever etched in my mind
I was seventeen
I still believed I was invincible
Because when you’re that young,
You’re convinced that you will live forever
I was at work
We were getting ready to close up
I was in the dining room of the Burger King
Checking the garbage cans
And there were two of them
Two males
One in a gray hoodie, his face covered with something
I think maybe nylons, I can’t remember exactly
The other is a blur in my memory
They opened the door
And stepped into the vestibule
I remember seeing a glint of silver
And time both slowed down and sped up
I remember thinking “gun”
How crazy is it that I just knew
Instinctively I just knew
And the door flew open
Everything froze but raced forward
I wish I could say that I was brave in that moment
I wasn’t
I was so so scared
The one in the hoodie, whose face I couldn’t see
He pointed his gun in my face
I remember that I was shaking
And all I said was “please”
Because I was seventeen
And I didn’t want to die
He stood there, his face unseen
The gun pointed at me
My life did not flash before my eyes like they all said it would
Instead my heart raced in my chest
My pulse thudding in my ears
My thoughts moving slow like mud
Thinking of my mother and brother sitting across the room
In danger because they had come to take me home
The other jumped the counter
Ran in the back, grabbed my manager
She was crying, she was so scared
He made her open the register
Her hands shaking
Tears streaming down her face, gun pressed to her head
Sixty-five dollars
Our lives were in limbo over sixty-five dollars
Miraculously they left after that
We could have died that night
All over sixty-five fucking dollars
So many lives worth more than what was in that register
I’ll never forget that night as long as I live
The night I realized I was not invincible
And that is why,
All of you people who don’t understand why
Because you weren’t there
All my nightmares end with bullets
I don’t dream of that night
But all my nightmares end the same
Guns are not sacred or special to me
They are heavy reminders of the violence they bring
They sicken me
All of these shootings sicken me
And solidify why I could never revere firearms the way some others do
And that is why, in case you wondered
That is why I want gun control
You might not understand,
But I will never forget.
