This is when I catch a glimpse of me passing by flickered wavy reflected in the auto-open doors snapping back of a WalMart on a bustling breezy day. Windblown nose and cheeks red from the chill what little hair tossed and laid barren dried seaweed abandoned on the shores of a drought-ridden Galilee. My clothes a hurried layered attempt to cover my aching rapidly withering frame just to insulate it from the constant cold. Mismatched.

I am mismatched. A walking antithesis of every ambition I spent my life like a kid with endless pennies feeding and twisting the great bubble gum machine in the sky hoping praying to land the one black ball with the pure gold gooey center so often told and retold in movie myths. Cheeks bulging with expectant desire grown fat stretched thin deemed stupid now hollow stubby grey sunken defeated.

I'm the mess my mother always told me I'd make of my life. This day alone just looking to purchase a loaf of bread and grape jelly to help fill the gnawing always in my gut as I fumble with with the self checkout technology hands covered in liver spots bulging blue veins chewed to the quick finger nails. Smirks and subtle avoidance surrounds me like a stinking shield. I am that old debris crumpled filth that blows into ditches with the seasons only to be stabbed and bagged by chain gangs when dandelions bloom.

We look at algae

that murky slipping gift

and call it by name

or if we don't know

we say: man, what is it ?!

and someone wizen

answers: Kelp

or if no one is there

to ask

we turn to pages,

reference pictures

and try to catalog it

ourself

among other

slimy ocean greens

of which there's great mass

and the mess is not chaos

unless we presume it

ourselves

useless

as seaweed.

05.06.2025

The Messes challenge @beatricegomes

This is a hard thing for me to write about.

All my friends are perfect.

Or so they think!

What is perfection?

The perfectchin!

No i don't judge on the external.

If the skin was peeled off would there be a dimple.

Dimples are cool.

Hey man you got a crater in your face!

Doesn't sound so good!

Anyway this friend of mine,when you're talking to him in deep thoughts,he presses his thumb into his chin.

Is he self conscious,or is he enhancing his epidermic abyss?

Maybe he's pushing some kind of tendril that stretches through his stimuli activating his brain.

But what I find the most annoying about him,is that he t h i n k s he's a know it all.

I'm stressing thinks!

I didn't say that he is a know it all.

Cause if you know it all how do you learn from future mishaps.

You can't learn from your mistakes if your perfection is having a perfect chin.

Unless you don't like your chin and you're thumb is going numb from all the pushing which spreads numbing your brains activity.

And if he decides to get a nip and a tuck.Fast forward to future mishaps.

Then he will probably be using two fingers to help him think.

The woman in the doorway wears herself the way I wear my worst days—poorly. Her fingers clench and splay in spasms; her knuckles whiten and return to pink. With flushed cheeks, she clings to the cold antiseptic frame, unsure if she wants to enter the waiting room. Her eyes dart anywhere but at me—the only other person around.

My eyes scan the space. Light floods in through a wall of windows to my left overlooking grassy fields and a long, pebbled driveway. Agoraphobic chairs line the edges of the square room, keeping their distance from the social circle of seats gathered in the centre of the space.

A loud squeak comes from the woman as her well-polished shoe scuffs the well-polished floor. One of her feet betrays her, trying to enter the room, but she pulls it back across the threshold to safety. In a panic of self-conscious behaviour, she almost makes eye contact with me but looks away, brushing a bedraggled strand of hair in front of her face.

She is coiled tight, and her eyes seem to jump from spot to spot around the room. Her lips work in micro-mannerisms, silent but verbal, as if she is assessing each space, weighing the pros and cons, then coming to her conclusions with a tiny shake of the head and then on to the next evaluation.

I stand up from my seat.

“It can’t be the centre chairs.”

Her ears prick.

“Sitting there, people could surround us. Whenever someone walks behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t like feeling vulnerable like that.”

She glances to the chairs.

“Not the chairs on the far side of the room either."

Another glance.

“No exits.” I pause and look back at the chair I had been sitting in. “Looks like I chose right the first time. It’s halfway between the door and the window, back against the wall, and you can see the whole room. It’s—well, it’s perfect.”

In my periphery, I can tell that she watches me; both of her feet have crossed back into the room now and she has wrapped herself up in thin arms. Her eyes flit to the seat.

“If you like, I will move over one and, ya know, you can have it. That way, I can open the window if we need to get out quick. Unless there is another seat you would like?”

She flings herself across the room, head down, staring at the floor, and almost crashes into the seat next to me.

“Would you like me to sit somewhere else?”

I turn as if to leave.

She reaches out and grabs the sleeve of my wool cardigan. I turn to look at the sleeve and she slams her hand down into her lap and looks at the floor.

I sit in the seat next to her.

She positions herself in the half of her seat closest to me. Her fingers relax, becoming still and she sits them in her lap. We sit for a few minutes in silence, until I notice that she is shivering, shoulders trembling against the thin fabric of her clothes. I sit forward and take off the cardigan.

“I’m so hot in this thing.”

She watches me lay the thing in my lap.

“I only really wear it because… well, it’s so soft and cozy. I can’t handle being too warm. Would you mind holding on to it for me?”

She freezes for a beat, and I think I see the barest nod.

I lay it over as much of her lap as I feel I can get away with.

A few more minutes pass, and her hands shift under the cardigan. She inches it up until she is all but wearing it. I sit back in the chair and stretch my arms out, resting them on the frame of a large heater behind us. It doesn’t hum or give any heat. She almost leans her head into me as she pulls the wool up to her chin, hiding in it.

Two women with lanyards appear in the doorway.

“There you are!”

“We’ve been looking all over for you, sweetheart.”

“You’ll have to come back with us, okay.”

It wasn’t really a question.

She stands, and the cardigan falls slack in her hands.

I try for my most disarming smile and begin to reach for the cardigan.

She makes brief eye contact with me, then locks her eyes onto the cardigan, wide with fear.

I pull my hand away.

She watches me and slowly slides one arm into the sleeve. One nurse helps her with the other arm and they both stand on either side of her, smile perfunctorily at me, then guide her out.

I watch her leave, confused, and listen to them squeak away, heels echoing down the hallway, until the room falls silent, save for a growing ring in my ears.

I stand.

“But…my cardigan.”

I wish you goodbye my dear

perhaps you thought you had it figured out

until the prospect of glory shone before your eyes

and you began to rip yourself to pieces

building a staircase to approval you were desperate to climb

I wish you happiness and health

I wish you good fortune and understanding of yourself

but most of all

I wish myself care and attention from those who truly matter

I wish better than your affection's tatters

I wish you good riddance love

It's late so late it's actually early. You come home from whatever you've been doing. Through the gate, across the yard, into the house then up the stairs. There your twenty something year old ass proceeds to wake up in turn your younger siblings, one still in elementary school to go lock the gate because you forgot.

Not kidding, she did it more than once and when we refused told us and I quote "If somebody breaks in in the middle of the night and slits all our throats it's gonna be all your fault." At that point we would say okay and go back to bed. We had four German Shepherds so we didn't sweat it. She just would have gotten in trouble for leaving the gate unlocked. Sorry to say she has only gotten worse with age.

I'm all about me. It doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong, I come first. I don't take no for an answer, and I pressure other people to bend to my will. It makes me feel strong and powerful. I don't like to be challenged or rejected. It reminds me of any human weakness I may have, for I am perfect, you see. In my glass mirror, I see no flaws of my own, only others, for in my mind, I am untouchable. I have no compassion when it comes to things I want. Everyone does wrong, except me. I do no wrong and will never admit to any wrong. If I get caught in a lie or an uncomfortable situation, I just play the victim and say I don't remember and project it back on the other person. I know that they're stupid enough to take the bait. I am not satisfied with anything. I have to, no, I need to break people down to make myself feel in charge, for it's the control I crave. Damn the misery I bring on other people, for that's not really my concern, now is it? I am smarter and better at this game I play. They need to recognize that, and we won't have any problems. See, I have this incessant need to be praised, looked at, needed. I need someone to worship me, especially in a relationship. If they don't, I just pretend to want them and let them believe that they are all I need, and then I start to try and break them down by looking at everything that passes, like the person I'm with isn't good enough. That should show them that I am the ONE. I need to show them and tell them on a regular basis that I don't need them, that I can get anyone I want. They don't matter. They are just a means to an end. Then I met her. The one I had. The one that would give her last, and her heart just to keep me happy. For years, she latched on to my every word, my every whim, my every mood. When we fought, she was physically sick. I didn't care. I stayed away as long as I liked. I didn't care how she felt. I neglected her, I belittled her. I went home and laid in my bed and sighed, because I knew that no matter how I treated her, she would stay. And she did. No matter how mad I got, no matter what name I called her or how mean or low-key nasty I was to her, she stayed. She was afraid of losing me, I could taste it. I could taste her desperation to keep the relationship together. And it gave me goosebumps to know that I had that kind of power, that kind of control. I played this cat-and-mouse game for years, until one day.....she'd had enough. She no longer hung on to my every word. She stopped believing everything I said. She no longer hugged me when I walked in the door. She no longer smiled when she saw me. I saw a lion in her eyes where a cub had been. The one thing I never expected was...realization. She realized everything. She realized that I didn't care, that this was a thrilling, exciting game I was a master at playing. And then she stopped doing the one thing I depended on. She stopped caring. She stopped caring about the relationship. She started focusing on her. The pain, the game, the lies, the dismissal, they all took a toll on her, very, very slowly. Her sweet, soft heart hardened. I watched her turn to stone. I watched the one person who truly loved and cared for me turn into someone I didn't even know. I watched her roll her eyes upon sight of me. I watched as she slowly started hating my arrival and the sound of my voice. She saw me as a parasite, and I was the cause. It killed me inside. I would never admit it, but I cared. I realized that I cared about what she thought of me. I didn't want to let her go, but she was rapidly retreating. I started complementing her, playing that game to see how well it worked. It didn't. She told me she felt smothered, unloved, unworthy, and worthless. She told me that she was done, because she was worth more than that. I watched as men looked at her incessantly. She never looked back. She didn't need that attention. She walked away mentally and emotionally. Only a hollow physical shell of her remained. How I wish that the girl I met all those years ago would come back, but she never will. Now I am the one afraid of losing her, but she no longer cares. She's cordial, but cold. Affection, touching, kissing, rubbing have all left the building. Her heart is in pieces, and she's trying to heal. My suffering is in watching her pull away from my station and take a slow ride back to who she was...without me.

when i am without a person

a boyfriend or a friend im too close with

i began the journey of a floundering fish:

of an astronaut lost in space.

without an anchor to reflect

to mock and mimic

to stalk

i feel see-through

i feel silence so loud my ears ring.

my words make no noise;

they don't have meaning if not held in another's ears.

so it begins

a desperate effort to stifle the blaring quiet

a fistful of impulsivity

a bottle brimmed with hoped escape

and a body full of men I can't remember.

when i finally stumble or happen upon

someone who looks me in my eyes and seems to focus there

the world regains its sound and color

my feet find land and i sigh

relieved i made it out alive.

i look back and squint through the daze

confused and ashamed

wondering still who exactly it is

that jumps ship and begins to thrash.

“As a friend let me be honest with you; I feel bad for you. There is no greater joy I have know in this life than becoming a mother. There is nothing you can eat or buy that will ever fill the void that a child can fill. If your husband were to die you would have nobody and at least I have my child who will love me unconditionally.”

”I can see it you know, see how the light has drained from your eyes. Every late period, every negative test it’s eating away at you. The hope weighs heavy in your heart. Maybe it’s time to restart.”

“IVF was only $45,000 out of pocket for us which isn’t bad. Money will always come back to you so why let it stop you if it means finally becoming a mom. It truly isn’t that far, the specialist is only two states over. We‘ll even let you stay in our house near there to save you the travel back and fourth.”

“Adoption?! You‘re husband says he’s fine with it, are you sure. Oh yes I know he said he was fine with it to your face because he loves you and wants you to be happy. But honestly what kind of man really wants to raise someone else’s child.”

-Ihatetulips