What's wrong?

Oh, it's nothing.
Smoke filled kitchen,
burned chicken crisp
resting on the stovetop.
Mushy vegetables,
over-steamed in the pot.
Don't even talk about
the runny pudding,
the pan of popping oil drips,
or the broken dish
and spattered gravy on the floor.
It's a miracle the dog
hasn't found his way outside
in this mess of frustration
and disappointment.
And I haven't had time to change
out of my bloody sweatpants.
But we can try again in a week
after this cycle.
We're out, by the way.
Perfect...

Why would you tell me that?

Yeah,
that's what you asked.
I get it.
You're a guy.
Metaphorical speak isn't your forte.
But that?
Was just stupid.
Why would I tell you
that I watched our dreams
crumble,
and did nothing?
Why would I tell you
about the future I saw
for us?
Why would i regret thinking
that you were it?
Because I saw you leave
before you left.
Because I saw the flames rise
and die.
Because I saw you.
Because I felt helpless.
Because I couldn't watch you leave
again.
Oh,
too late.

Not quite dinner and a movie, but good enough.

So I was a mistake.
So you hate me.
So you want nothing to do with me.
So what?
Hate you, too.
Didn't want you around either.
Might as well go backward!
And jump like you always wanted.

But warn me ahead of time.
I want snacks for this show.

Part 2

Sometimes she tries to hold
her head high when she sees him
walk past, but ends up hiding her face.

And sometimes she comes to think
that nothing is getting better,
instead spinning, spiraling downward.

And sometimes she finds
something else of his in an
old drawer or cabinet.

And sometimes she cries into
the one old t-shirt he left behind
(which is starting to smell less like him).

And sometimes she still wakes up
screaming at the thought of watching
him fall (on repeat).

And sometimes she keeps the phone
on her bedside table because
she never knows when he might call.

And sometimes red and blue lights
flood the windows of the house and
illuminate the once darkened streets,

Because the one time he decided
to show was the day her practice
was put to good use.

And sometimes he thinks about her
and everything he could apologize for
and sheds a tear or two.

Part 1

Sometimes she wears makeup to bed
to look pretty for the man that
shows up in her dreams.

And sometimes she wishes that he
would remember her birthday one year
(or today)
before he falls asleep beside her.

And sometimes she counts the tears
as she thinks about who would care
if she was gone.

And sometimes she waits alone at night
on her porch with the hope that he
will come down and sit by her side.

And sometimes she twirls the rope
around her fingers and hands,
tying, untying, and retying just in case.

And sometimes he stumbles through
the bedroom doors at all hours
and expects everything all over.

And sometimes she sits in the dark at
the kitchen table with a tumbler and ice and
a half empty bottle staring her in the face.

And sometimes she thinks about
how sorry she is for whatever she did
to deserve this life.

And sometimes she realizes that
it's a question that will remain unanswered.

Insomnia

No,
no sleep for me tonight.
Shut away the living nightmares
and watch the headlights cross the ceiling.
Every creak,
every light whisper from the radiator,
like thunder.
Turn on the light?
No, what fun would that be?
To make the flashbacks
diffuse like smokey spinnerets
after a hushed candle.
No more relived memories made to movies.
And forget about having reason to cry,
the only way I seem to tire.
But even that doesn't heavy my lids.
That damned drafty window
makes the curtains dance.
Images of faces
from the corner of my eye.
Of course,
they're gone now.
Stop following me!
Light purples show first signs of dawn.
Blink.
Daylight.
14 hours and counting to do it all again.

Not totally lying.

If I smile,
that means I'm happy, right?
Facial expression is the first thing people see.
Smile and the world smiles back.
Maybe one day I'll join it.

If people see my happy,
even if I'm pretending,
that makes me a happy person, right?
Even when three inches above my smile,
there are tears on the breaking edge.

They're just about ready to jump,
and I can't say I blame them.
I would want out, too,
take the first flight to freedom,
show everyone how it really is.

I'm up for a thrill right about now.
Stand on the edge with a straight look down.
And take the plunge.
Be free like the tears
I try, and fail, to suppress.

Memoirs of a Single Mom (Part 4)

Him - Mommy, why do I always have to go play at Daddy's house?
Me - Because daddy wants to play with you and spend time with you sometimes, too.
Him - But I like it here better. That's not fair.

Him - Mommy, why does Daddy always bring over play-dates? I don't like them. They treat me like a baby, but I'm a big boy now, right?
Me - Yes, you are a big boy now. But sometimes when you go to bed, daddy still has time to play with his play-dates.
Him - That's just cuz he doesn't play with me...
Me - What do you mean?
Him - When I go to Daddy's for a sleepover, he just makes me watch the guys with the funny hats that cover their faces play catch.
Me - Football?
Him - Yeah, football. And then when they don't do good, Daddy gets mad and makes me go to bed early. Then I get woke up by him wrestling with his play-date in Daddy's room.
Me - Well maybe that's just how daddy likes to play.
Him - But it's not fair.

Him - Mommy, I don't want to go to Friendly's with Daddy.
Me - Why not? You love Friendly's.
Him - Not with Daddy. He never lets me get anything I want cuz it's too much.
Me - Maybe this time if you behave and ask really nicely, he'll let you get what you want, okay?
Him - Fine...but can we play a game when I get home, pleeeease?
Me - If it's not too late and you get your PJs on fast enough, you can pick out a game to play.Whatever you want.
Him - That's why I like it here better. Daddy doesn't play anything fair.

Him - But Daddy, I want to stay here!
him - Why don't you want to come with me? I bought ice cream and chicken nuggets and recorded the game for tonight.
Him - Because you don't play with me. You're no fun.
him - Oh...
Me - Well then, I guess you have more fun at home in store for you and your "play-date", don't you?
him - I guess I'll get going then. Bye.
Me - Bubye, now.
(I watch him leave. he opens the car door and the short burst of light reveals yet another girl...but this is the one that I of all people should recognize.)