Monsters and Lovers



My mother was telling me about some kids she went to school with back in the seventies. One died in a fire while working in a hat factory. The other succumbed to a brain tumor, the third, a motorcycle crash. All that potential snuffed out before they even had a chance. Now they’re just shadows; it’s a fate that awaits us all. Tales to be told to whoever will listen. Some to leave an impression, others, forgotten. All my memories- I need to get them down on paper before I forget. Those moments of secret love: those seconds of sincerity soon to be crushed beneath the weight of half the world. Those around me don’t concern themselves with such things. History to them is weakness; they just move on as if nothing ever happened. Reflection only interests them if it involves money or lands them a better job. Yet here I am, picking away day after day so that these wounds will never heal. Let me feel everything twice; let me be real in a time when honesty is a commodity. There are so many secrets I’ll never find, and it taints all that I do. Good. Bad. Boring. Vulgar. These days should be shameful, not wasteful. No one will remember your conformity when you’re gone. The more you fit in means the more you won’t be missed. Just another cog. Just another brick. Peaceful eyes watching mine as I sleep. A body to serenade and destroy in the same breath. Watch me do what I want; half for you and half for me. Shake your head as I celebrate the glory of our merging by getting drunk on wine and beer. The room spins and no matter how hard I try you refuse to sing me to sleep. Instead, you shake your head and go into the next room. I call you a whore and declare my love for the stars and no one else. It’s over- you’re gone. Only the next morning I crawl next to you and beg for forgiveness. My head hurts. Please, show me some tenderness. Show me some love. It’s not my fault I was born so sensitive. You call me a cunt and then bring me a cup of tea. I remember so little, yet what I do shines brightly.

10 replies »

  1. Sometimes I think we have a selective memory as a way of self-preservation. I only say this because it seems all the time I get blind-sided with little tiny memories, a mere spark of a thing, that when I stop & ponder it…suddenly it bursts into flames. Beautiful writing as always. Every day is a gift, glad you honor it as such.

    • I agree. I remember the bad times fondly, only when I pick away at them I’m like, ‘yeah, they’re called bad times for a reason’. Still, I think it’s good for the soul to be at one with your past. And if it keeps giving you fresh writing material, then all the better! Thank you for your kind words, and thank you for believing.

      • I can’t say I remember them all fondly, but I don’t shy away from their power anymore. Of course I believe, that’s what keeps us going. You have a true talent, and I am glad to be able to reap the benefits of that, and I think now I’m glad to hear that at least you are not suffering.

      • It sounds a touch cliché, but life is a journey and it’s how we grow and understand our choices that matter. Like you said, as long as we don’t give in to the bad stuff, we can achieve so much. I’m happy you like my words, it’s one of life’s little pleasures. I hope you continue as you are, and that every day brings you all that you desire 🙂

      • Not cliche – it IS a journey and it’s all about what we do in our times here. We can give into the bad stuff as you say, as long as we don’t dwell there, too easy to get caught up in the mire.
        Thank-you for your kind words.

  2. “The more you fit in means the more you won’t be missed.” Absolute truth. Just wish our younger generations could find strength in knowing it is in that which makes us unique which also makes us stronger.

    • Definitely. I know it’s easier to go with the crowd, but the minute you step away and stand on your own two feet, life takes on a whole new perspective. How wasteful it is to blend in with everyone else. Happy new year my friend X

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