Sacrifice Today

Poetry or a story? Not sure too high to see past myself and my words

Oh no
She’s back on the good stuff again
Coming around her bend
Benders and bent over
A polyester couch
That rips at the seams
An apartment
A part of a man
She does not know
Perhaps a condo
No condom he said
Or did he even have to?
Perhaps she agreed
Maybe she didn’t
Didn’t make a difference
She didn’t make a sound
When he clasped his sweaty palm
Over her dry lips
She forgot how to breathe
And it felt nice
To lose air
There’s an air in here
That is different from the one outside
The kind that sticks in your throat
Stuck between a body
And a boudoir
Or is she hallucinating
Because the halls are bleeding
And her hand
Out reached in front of her
Grows fur in warped manners
Warped manors
And sad castles
Sand castles
Caved in
That rest beside a salty lake
All the water
She has forgotten to bless
Would taste so good
Would be so sweet
On her little white tongue
Grunts
And moans
Like suffocating wildlife
She wants to live a wild life
Conservative was too taxing
Can’t do taxes
Forgotten how to pay the bills
She thought
Which was rare
She thought
A life on the run
From no one in particular
Perhaps the person she was meant to be
Would shoot her up with adrenaline
Shooting up in the back of an old Chevy
Could not run if she tried
And she tried
If not physically
Mentally
To escape these people
This place
Her self
But she found that the maze
Always led her back
To the beginning
Chopping down corn fields
And whacking tall grass
Just to see the part of her
That stands shorter
Than the thinnest blade
Of browning fields
Fields of gold
Was that what was playing
Over
And over
Scratched like a record
Was he recording
She couldn’t turn her head to see
Seeing his palm
Pressing into the pink of her cheeks
When he was finished
So was the night
She stood slow
And pulled up her blue dress
Blue eyes
And soul
All warped in this sad moment
Of lost innocence
And fading youth
Understanding by experience
That maybe she
Is not capable of love
Or maybe she
Is not capable of being loved
So she walked home
In 6 inch heels
Skipping the cracks in the sidewalks
She always did love her mother
It was her father
That furthered her use
And the use of her
And her body
Because she felt no man
Was capable
Of treating her nice
Or perhaps they simply weren’t willing
With her curved nose
And running eyes
Running to the next light
The sky was light
Again
A new day pondered
A fresh start
When she walked by the reflective window shops
She thought herself to be quite pretty
In her out of sorts state
Stating the obvious
That maybe she was beautiful
Though she kept walking
Back to her tiny apartment
With shaking hands
Shaking keys
Shaking the knob
To let herself in
Where she’ll sleep on her mattress
Knees hitting the wooden floor
Because she had to sell her bed frame
Wasn’t in the best frame of mind
Wasn’t in her worst
Just needed some extra cash
To keep believing that tomorrow might be better
If she was just willing to sacrifice today

Author's Note

Constructive criticism is welcome, cruel criticism is not

Art by Joce Cova

Reviews

[Richard Knox]

Wow! This is such an intense piece of writing! Poem or story…doesn’t matter. It just draws me in to her state of mind. I love how it progresses, the feverish stream-of-conscious word play, the rich imagery and emotions, the way it evokes inner demons, regret and self-disdain. It makes me want to scream to the young woman, “Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Or, better yet, whisper it as I hold her to me. Another poem/story from you that leaves one aching from the experience so vividly shared.

[The Things She Noted]

Thank you so much, Richard, for your lovely comment! Always appreciated! :)