Ah, hello.
I'm so relieved to finally tell my story.
You see,
I had no one.
No one,
I could tell.
No one to trust.
No one to whisper
No one to catch me
No one to call me
No one to
No
one
It was 7:05 pm.
she, in the living room.
Child on the floor, child at the door
there was another child
next to the child at the door
three child
She sat crunched
With the heating pad
on her prominent hunch.
Nodding at the light
She typed her letters
She kept herself
upright
The man stood standing
in the cooking space
Never cooking
Just looking
for the right words to
throw his
punch.
I took a deep breath in. My fingers danced together at the side of my red, Georgia Bulldog chair. I got four of these bulldog chairs for free a couple of St. Patricks Days-ago, a decently drunk family didn’t want to haul them around. They hadnt even pulled the tags off. Anyway, I sat in the loud red chair with various paints and hobby-type things scattered around me. Staring off, imagining I might look kind of intelligent or mystery- a modern thinking (wo)man. But my panic was probably as loud as the chair. Thinking too much about whether or not that woman walking the dog even thought about me or my chair. Whether the same passing men are passing because they are there to see me, monitor me, know me.
To know me
is to loathe me
is to blow me
is to duck and cover,
oh no, here she comes
don’t look now
it’s the bipolar mom girl
And at this moment the loud singing dude came running by.
a poorly written essay on operant conditioning 
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