Thievery

My mind ran through the backdoor of my childhood home and it knocked over the jar that my mother loved yet she paid no thoughts to it. She had busied herself in the kitchen trying to cover the stench of the man who had visited during naptime. She painted the house with the aromatic smells of the dinner that my father would burst through the door and expect after his flight home. My mind retreats into the corner as he combusts while he finds the remnants of the intruder in the bed he laid. It numbs as he bubbles over in tears and shakes with violent twists, declaring thievery.

– K

Dreams

Dreams

You told me I could follow my dreams and become whatever I deemed to be my own and true to my being, yet here I am crying as I type this in the bathroom. I’m mourning my dead dreams and struggling to catch my breath, hoping the lady in the next cubicle won’t hear me. She sits across me in the office and I fucking hate everyday of it. I hate the numbers and the rat race, chasing whatever it is we are all looking for…wealth, success, whatever nonsense it is. Last night I tried to tell you how I felt and you could sense it coming so you covered my pleas with your obnoxiously loud laugh that taunts me in my darkest moments. 

You told me I could be anything I wanted to be but how could I?

How could I follow my ‘filthy‘ dreams?

– K