It’s Little Miss A back with her writing, except this piece will punch more than the other usually tickles. Everyone writes for different reasons. I write to remember. So, this is a tribute to my memories and the people that live in it.
I left feeling absolutely destroyed.
She stared at me helplessly with drool drooping from her chin
teasing the hem of her green collared shirt
Lips left in a permanent squiggle.
Eyes pleading, Blank sorrow was what gripped me
It was what gripped my heart and bunched it up
Ready to tear and rip what was left inside of me
But after what happened next made me think
maybe what lay beneath my ribs was already empty
I had 2 dollars in my pocket and the guy sitting with his skinny eyecandy avoiding eyecontact probably had more
But that was not the point.
The point was that i could only smile guiltily back
The point was that i could only shake my head to her open palm
The point was that I dug through my bag
but didn’t thrust dollars out
The point was that I didn’t reach out to her
The point was that nobody bothered
The couples sitting at the table
All they could think about was their dalliance
The physical desires
The pecks on the cheeks, stroke of the forearm, exchange of saliva
and who knows what else.
They had waved their palms in a slow dance as a signal for her to move on
The guy had frowned, sighed indifferently
The girl had pinched her nose,
waving the air with her other arm, trying to forget.
So prevalent So present and Yet invisible
So invisibly visable.
What a sick but beautiful contorted oxymoron
I rocked out of my seat and took the next escalator up
and threw away my food
because I was sick to the core.
Because life is just a rambunctious mess.
Just a turn and spin machine in the casino
rows and columns of guess and checks
One flip away from poverty or wealth
How far was I then from being her?
My mind twirls as I think how to calculate this
because I want to calculate this.
I want to understand how I have lived for 8 years in a perfectly nice condo
adorned with gold and white accents
fur coats, chunky gold necklaces
right. next. to the slums with dirt coated fruit carts
and measly straw hats.
Too heartbroken to turn our cheeks and too selfish to act
I guess that’s how the world operates
Just keep your head down so you convey sympathy
and wave your fingers to convey you cannot help.
“I’m sorry. I want to but I can’t. “