Victim Statement Editorial

Lay down, the past, underneath,
a crumbled blanket to sleep,
the sidewalk,
you pass quickly on the skyline,
things look better from a distance.
I’m on the other side, a hapless byline
in a ‘choose your own adventure’ book.
I’m watching you drift by-
no more “hello’s”,
niceties falling short, failing us,
the plight of children caught between.
They’ll be ok, kids always are, resilient, tactile,
raw emotions blanked out by playgrounds and Fruit Loops.

Somebody saw me in a crowd, alone,
Nothing even worthwhile
toddlers crowding the stage, lights and heat,
the burgeoning distance where no one can see
-a situation where every instinct let me down.
This auditorium couldn’t hold all my angst.
Angst. Just another word that = I feel sorry for myself.
How I disappointed, but never my intention.
My face blank, I see you and your paternal crutch
and mine, nowhere near here.

Thank god, at least I have a chance now.
I see your face, or faces, dependent on which mood,
weighed in, quality over quantity I guess.

Just stop glaring at me for once.
This isn’t a party for me either.
Despite how your mind grasps at straws
your painted fingernails chipped, resembling claws
and an array of scars
ripple across what’s left of my heart.
We have plenty of baggage for another trip,
let’s empty the contents into someone else’s life.

We’ll never be the same, I’m over here and you’re there
and it was never how it started, but where we left off.
This auditorium, filled with strangers,
filled with people, maybe I said “hi” to them once,
in an effort to relate.
But that’s a poor excuse
and not worth the wait.
Spanning 41 years, awkward smiles, and tears
just in private though.
I’d hate for you to see me as I am.

Troll along, who cares where you go-
the box will keep you neatly in bounds.
People Magazine, Starbucks and cashed in 401k’s.
Looks like a prison from here.
How did it end this way??
I remember.
I just got up and left.

…and me
somewhere in the back aisle,
wishing the whole place was gone.
or is it already ?
The emergency exit within a few sprints to the sidewalk.
Running away, running for my life
or just looking for the next victim.

Martyr/Victim/Mother/Ex-lover

This is gonna hurt me more that it’s gonna hurt you… but how would I know?

The place in your heart, filled with the dark,
rancid hearts, past expiration,
because I can’t make excuses for what I am.
I am sick– aren’t we both?
Here we are- like before,
don’t you need me?
I don’t need you anymore,
the listless shuffle and disputes,
fed to each other
back and forth.
Stifles to the core– self satisfaction in being right,
forget right now,
living in someone else’s fantasy
that didn’t play out anyway.
This room is dreadful, cold and lonely at night.
You & me, alive, in different homes,
One of us moving forward,
the other holding on.

…but doorstops make poor friends,
every beginning finds it end.
And we’ve reached our limit.

Connected

Is that how he’s gonna remember you- your face plastered to the screen, as the text spews ominously and superfluous.
Coming from nobody, nobody to him at least.
“I must be a foot note to you.”

How do I know I’m alive, when you don’t see me?

What skill he will have when divorce comes someday, the stretch of words that are never spoken between the living and dead.
OMG- I get the car and you can have the house!
WTF- I’ll take the social inoculation.

Enjoy the love that silence offers.
Digital space and jargon that might as well ease the pool of thoughts you thought you once had.
How was this a gift, when things prettier than me pulled you away?
Shinier things the commercial told me I needed.
Need to be close to “the ones I love”

The studio audience applauds.

Dad just stared in his palm. Dad transfixed on something more essential than me.
How do I exist when you pretend I’m not here?

Niceties shared by crowd noise, silenced by machines.
Your need to connect, while not touching another human soul…