Light, part 4

“ Excuse me, Miss?,” the beautiful boy questions me. I am catapulted from the memory I long to forget from the depths within me.  Blinking at the brightness of his face, I apologize and offer him money if he comes to the house so I can get my wallet. “I live not too far from here, I can go home and change,” he says with cheer. Again my mouth full of apologies for Barney, my dog, and myself, I take his hand, “at least let me try to get this off,” I stare at the dog shit smeared on his pants. As I lead him through the gate, giving Barney, the you- know -you -are -in -trouble stare, “I’ve got some peroxide and a Tide Stick down here”, looking down the basement stairs. I go ahead and open the door, pushing it open wide, his body still full of joy and brightness as he saunters down the stairs.  Wishing I was not living down here with no joy and brightness, as I point to the laundry tub on the right side. “Maybe I can wash them out,” I suggest, flashing again to the night in May years ago before my light was broken.

My Pursuit of Happiness

I live nowhere now,
my canvas is blank.
My mind filled with thoughts,
"what am I doing with my life?", 
an abundance of dreams.
I am alone and move through the world alone,
yet I am coming alive,
turning to face my own life,
not allowing it to bleed into another's.
I am not afraid of my power, my fate, my life,
I am showing who I am, 
unstuck.
The reset button has been pressed
inside my soul.

Awakened | WritersCafe.org

Awakened | WritersCafe.org

Light, Part 2

He hands me a warm orange Fanta, a door slams above my head and I jump. Spilling orange stickiness down between my legs and onto his bed, I jump up; apologizing for being so clumsy. He pats me on the shoulder, telling me it’s alright, as he grabs from a pile of dirty clothes.  “It’s probably my dad,” he assures me. I remind myself Dawn would be so surprised to see me sitting here listening to music with her big, teenaged brother. He throws the now sticky dirty shirt back into the pile and starts rubbing my legs to erase the accident. His touch feels like electricity running through my body as he stops, resting his hand on the bottom of my shorts. He looks up at me and I am frozen to the spot, orange stickiness still running down my legs. He inches his hand further past my hem towards my panties. Still locked in a daze, he moves his fingers between my pink lace Girl Power panties and my skin; his fingers probing against my untouched place.  He smiles at me, as I hear footsteps ad Prince strumming his guitar.  Deeper he goes between me. Time has stopped, my mind frozen like the snow that just thawed. His other hand makes its way up my belly to the little hard buds growing where breasts will soon appear and pinches one hard. A sound escapes my mouth and warm stickiness clings to my legs. He pushes me back onto the bed, “you’re the prettiest one, I’ve always liked you. You are so mature compared to the other girls,” removing his fingers from inside me. He is standing over me now like a Redwood tree hard. “You’re shorts are all wet, you better take them off and let me put them in the dryer so you won’t get in trouble.” I nod unable to speak or imagine what he’s going to do next. I’m no longer in my body as he slides my shorts off, where am I? Where am I? I repeat over and over in my mind.  He looks up from my bent back body and smiles, “good girl”. 

Light

This is not autobiographical, but a piece I have been working on for awhile, I will add to it in pieces. Please let me know what you think..Thanks!

His face is beautiful, light and full of joy. It shows no pain, no shame. Bright like a baby, who sees his mother after a nap, innocent and childlike. Love and peace radiate through his smile. None of the bent up rage and anger that punishes, hurts and chokes. His light shining up the whole alley, even with the dog shit clinging to his well thought out trendy, thrifty outfit and spider skinny legs. The nervous in my belly turns to embarrassment and shame, which are my only friends. Life is supposed to look like him, yet mine is missing that chapter. The gleam in his eye distracts me to a time when my face shone like the brightness of a sunny spring day, I was 10.  The day he touched me; the light broke inside of me like a bulldozer crashing through a plate glass window at a bank.

It was a muggy May night, warmer than normal this time of year in Chicago. My belly full of hot dogs and pork n’ beans loaded with butter and brown sugar, the way I like it. On my girly pink Huffy bike, I ride the block looking to see who else has finished dinner. Dawn’s older brother eyeing me from the side yard as I hit the corner. The cute one all the neighborhood girls worshipped.

“Hey” he says. I look ahead trying not to smile too big. He’s talking to me, I think. “Slow down” he commands, knowing what us girls say about him and what we’d do if we had his attention. I stop a few feet from him.  His green eyes penetrate me.

“What are you doing out so late” he says slowly like he’s thinking about something other than me. 

“I came out for a ride and to see who else is done with dinner and it’s not that late. I have to be home before the lights come on.”

Full of excitement he is talking to me. I then realize the sun has set yet looking at him smile at me, time and space disappear. All I’m thinking about at this moment is he’s looking at me, talking to me and then places his hand on mine, while I  grip the handles,

“I’ve been watching you,” he declares. “Can I show you my records downstairs?” I nod. “You can leave your bike in the garage and no one’s home, so we can blast the tunes.”

My belly flips over full of dinner, he wants to hang with me! He’s a teenager, on the high school football team and a total babe; I must be the luckiest girl on the block now.  I take my time getting off my bike, careful not to let my shorts creep to up too high or lose my balance. He takes my arm as I dismount, grabs my bike leading the way.  I’m tickled pink from the inside out. He leans my bike against the wall, next to his football stuff.  “Come on,” as he leads the way into his basement/bedroom. All I keep thinking is how mad the other girls are going to be. “Watch your head,” he says as he ducks down in front of me and takes my hand. His soft, pink fingers glow next to my 10 –year- old, tomboy, always in the sun skin; moisture ripples between us, my hands moist from the handle bars.

Becoming

I have dreamed a better version of myself, 
a life not yet lived, maybe a past life.


Anticipation fills my belly,
 of what I will encounter
breathe in, taste on my tongue,
forever to be imprinted on my skin, 
a tattoo.


A virtual reality of 
who I am
to be.


An allowing.
Wings sprouting beneath my skin, 
parts of me in wonderment. 
Letting them spread.
Let go.
Fly.

Becoming,

not a moment wasted, 

with  what if's.

Breathing in a life 
I have already known
is mine.