mollieeeyo
Like gliding along ice, my options were thin, and I was very, very tired. I was sitting there, alone with a knife in one hand, and the other was trembling too much. I bent over and felt the cold body. Ice, I thought, just like the thin ice on which I'm quivering.
His words charged at me so quickly that I couldn't dodge them. And I didn't want to dodge them. Because each missile gave me a short sensation that I was alive, that I could feel with my skin and I could breathe with my lungs; hot tremors of morality hitting me all at once. He always came at me like a tank. He always came at me in armor.
I feel this
This animosity
But I can't see it
Not passed you
and your seersucker tie
and it's like you're so cool
and i'm so unlike myself
that I can't pull myself together
in a knot like the seersucker tie.
I told him he couldn't cook and he looked at me with a vicious stare.
"I can make scrambled eggs."
"Yes," I said to him, peering down at the poorly animated yellow matter on my plate. "But I asked for them to be sunny-side up."
He scoffed and turned abruptly to his still-sizzliing frying pan.
"Third times a charm," He sighed.
It was a wonder how he managed to make three beautiful children, but he had yet to master the art of breakfast.
He stood across the room and brushed the wrinkles out of his plaid shirt, looking up at me with a smile that only I could find consuming. I was so absolutely drawn into the light that gleamed in his gold iruses that I almost forgot I had just speant the last ten minutes squawking incessantly about his dirty habits in relation to my clean ones.
He was pleased with himself, I could tell by the way he glided like an awkward ballerina over a pile of dirty boxer-briefs. I couldn't help but crack a smile, and kneel down to pick them up.
anything is possible
until you walk into
the room and i suddenly
see that awful piece
of lint on your suit that
drives me insane, so I
pick it off innocently,
but what seemed innocent
in my mind has catastrophically
morphed into something that
i didn't realize i missed
until that piece of fuzz began
to fall from my fingertips,
just like i did from yours.
i'm waiting for the cement
to break my fall.
The walls were closing in, but I had plenty of ways to escape. Too many. Like hoardes upon hoards of just endless capillaries, hallways, rooms, all begging me with anxious fingers to choose.
I've never been down this read before.
Maybe it'll be nice.
But I deliberately picked my road to demise.
I want to start over. Many days I awake with a bitter resentment; a rather nostalgic feeling of memories I've never sowed, or even imagined. When did I become such a wreck? I ask to begin again, but a hand holds me back, like a mother would stope a child in an amusement park, restraining them from all of the delicious wonders of the funnel cake stand. If only it seemed that easy anymore. I always thought the first time was the hardest, but when it comes to living a fulfilling life, it's just the opposite. But after time and time again, the cycle must always start over; more difficult than the last.
I can't even see in the dark. Things aren't as they seem, either. He lights up my life like a firework, despite his rather drab appearance. And I can tell that he is less than popular, his ratty jeans never did scream J. Crew. But something about his smile made all of that disappear--it was real.
The baggy blue jeans sag off of my fatigued legs, begging for a direction to swirl in the breeze. I need to clean, but here I am, procrastinating with potatoes and dripping with sweat. Today is like any other day, a robins-egg-blue sky and wispy clouds; no calamity and perfect soil. Life is subtle, at wind's mercy like our willow trees by the creek. He places his grimy, thick gloves on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze, and then a kiss. Our garden is finally finished, alive.
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writing since 2012 · 15 entries · 14 days shown up
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the words Mollie reaches for
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