Two sided

I can appear as one

And often be another

As a two faced coin

Or double sided sward

I can scorn as easily

As I can be one to appease

Break me if you dare

For my wrath

Will not be one

Many can bear

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I loom…

I think of you in my loneliness

When all is quiet and the night has come

As the darkness kisses the moon

I loom

Onto memories that consume

Gracing my thoughts

Of a love lost too soon

All of what was

And what still glooms

It’s funny to me

How often you intrude

Even as the day

Makes tune

My forever love

Will always be you

 

#52Weeks #ShortStory #AmWriting Challenge: Week 4 #WritingPrompt!

“Poor people don’t plan long-term. We’ll just get our hearts broken.”

 

As a young girl I learned what the struggles of poverty meant. What it was to be without, hungry, cold, tired… spent. I can still see the dark lights of the halls in the shelters that I lived. The hardened meals that were served. Brittle rice, meat that tasted like cardboard. All to which led me to my first eating disorder. Sad right, the thought of starving yourself because the food is just that bad. Some would take that as me being ungrateful, and perhaps there could be truth to that. Although, I’d see it more as a young girl that didn’t ask to be in a shelter at the age of 6 because of her mothers drug addiction. A girl that cried herself to sleep at far to young of an age to understand pain and yet, pain was all she knew.

There were days, still vivid as if yesterday, that I remember lying in bed with my baby sister and speaking through tears of how I’d take her away from it all. Her little mind barely able to grasp a word that came from me but, still uttered.

That was the first time of course that we were homeless. The second was when the young girl in me was now in her early teens. I remember begging my mother, crying vigorously for her to not take me back there. I resented her at this point. Hated her for making me and my younger sister go through it all again. Whilst, to her this was our security of getting into a better home. As if she didn’t learn her lesson the first time.

We were there for almost a year. I would wake at 6 am every morning, get dressed and leave while darkness still lingered in the streets. A thing that today in age I’d never allow for my own offspring. I’d get on the subway, find a seat and place my earbuds in. Erasing the world from my overaged soul. Losing my mind to a bit of Kirk Cobain or whatever the mood called for. Those days were my bitter escape, the moments I cherished most. The times that I now reminisce to as I struggle through what life has presented me today. A heart break still exhausted as before, yet hardened to the core.

Flesh upon Flesh

Do you feel me?

At the curve of your limbs

Slivers of my touch

The embrace of my hem

Thrashing against you

Eyes locked in sin

Flesh upon flesh

Gliding in perfecy rhythm

The ache of your strength

Sliding in deep

Writhing I gasp

My insides seep

Uninhibited

I crash

Us both weak

Tensing in passion

Both lost as we sleep

She was a girl who was tired often and far too much.

Whom knew of life before she could touch

Whom suffered pain and yet remained sane

She was a girl always willing to please

Forgetting herself

Stilled from her seize

A girl whom feared

Her wishes and dreams