Andrea
I used to dance when I was young. When my legs did not fail me. When I watch them up there, I am filled with joy again, and sadness. My limbs ache but cannot move; I am not old, I am eighteen; I should never have gone out that night.
Stranger;
He was the audience to my suffering then,
although he is more interested in my body, pressing against me, forcing my mouth shut so that I cannot scream out in protest.
Therapist;
He is the audience to my suffering now,
although he is more interested in collecting money, pressing me into taking more sessions, although he has yet to help me.
Her hair was intricate, a spiral of sun colored tresses, with barrettes of flowers, as if sewn in. I wanted to know what she thought about as she sat in front of her mirror every morning for an hour, weaving this masterpiece upon her head. Didn't she ever get tired of sculpting her body this way?
Today I sat at a table with a beautiful centerpiece
and I did not need you here to enjoy it
They feel a lot for him
Poor boy
He was going to be a football star
If only he didn't rape her.
Meanwhile,
She sobs violently in her room
But the news anchors pay no respect
it was her fault anyway,
The way that she dressed
I do not feel myself moving anymore.
Stuck forever
within this state of loneliness and crippling anxiety
pining for something
anything.
I do not move forwards, nor backwards.
I long to wear a smile
I used to make fun of the tourists I saw standing on the grassy fields in front of the leaning tower of Pisa, all taking those stupid photos of themselves, pushing against the tower for their friends on facebook. When I started working on the sets of horror movies, I would always be reminded of this, because after each cut, the actor playing the monster would laugh and joke like his real self, while I knew, that the future people in the theaters would never see this viewpoint.
I have never had one. Or the kinds I read in books, anyway. All mine care about are gossiping about family members and making sure I'm keeping up on my studies. Maybe someday I'll be a real aunt to my brothers' kids
Furious. No, that word alone doesn't cut it.
His ignorance wasn't infuriating; it was disgusting, horrifying. How did people like him even happen?
"C'mon baby, I paid for your dinner. Now you've gotta give me something." He lunged for my hand.
I took off my heels and ran.
I am eighteen years old, and filled with questions.
I ride the subway with strangers, to a school full of strangers, in a
world full of strangers.
Certainly, I am the strangest of them all.
Seemingly, the only one who longs to ask the old man beside me
what he had for breakfast, and whether it was enough,
or what he wanted to be when he was six, and
what he is now?
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writing since 2013 · 35 entries · 33 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Andrea showed up.
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the words Andrea reaches for
lostsuddenlylipsnowstrangersarmshouseliquidtakingmorninglovelaughwaterseaforeverfall