“Did you write about me today?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“I don’t know. You could fuck me instead. It’s your call.”
I’m in a toxic relationship with the dingy white walls that surround me. Dressed in the sunlight of outside, reds and greens and blues. Blue from Parliament and Bootsy. I’ve been watching youuuuu… I know you have. From behind. You have a fetish for watching me bounce off of you. I’m losing my mind.
You got jealous because I escaped. For a brief moment. Through the words of a stranger. Words mean things. One moment when I wasn’t wrapped in your warm embrace. I don’t think you even know your warmth. Can you even rise to that occasion? I sank into the covers to get away from your cold front. Naps take me away.
I fell asleep to quell the pulse from cheating on you. With a stranger. It was nice to get away from you for a brief moment in time. I don’t know who or what to call him. I just know how it made me feel. Disheveled in all the right ways.
Like, who was he and why did he move me so viciously that I fell face-first into a pile of gleeful discomfort and gratitude? Creatives vex me so.
Another creative just called me. The first time in a long time, the fifth since I decided to lay captive in the silence. I rather hear my own thoughts – and your belittlement – than whatever missives he’s primed to give me. He bores my soul. He’s an escape but not of the good kind. I found myself peeking out the window to look at him when I felt that he was the only way to get away from you. He hurt me way more than you ever could. I can’t fake how you make me feel after you make a mess of me.
Speaking of messes …you saw the mess this stranger made of me. Anger seeped through the plaster that covers you. They saw something that you could never: a person. It felt so good to be seen. You just look. There’s a difference.
ciara roslyn-james 