My Friend Mia

I would like, if I may
to tell you a joke
Familiar lifetime movie cliché
the one about the girl who couldn’t eat a sandwich and was terrified of cheeseburgers
I named her Charlotte light and dark
Already unoriginal
Just another one in four
Hiding her secrets in plastic bags in the farthest corners of her closet
until they sit forgotten,
fester and grow mold
to be taken out under cover of night and hope no one looks to closely
still powerless,
Every night spent praying to the gods of unsuccessful
Promising I’ll stop tomorrow
But instead  it’s a rinse and repeat and repeat again type of cycle
It’s a story told in one word
6 lines in Websters new universal unabridged
Quietly and clinically filed in between
bulgy: adjective: tending to bulge
And bulge: noun, magnitude in three dimensions
I love the irony in this
I became that poor little rich girl you read about
Nights spent kneeling to my secret porcelain goddess
Offering my eleven time sacrifice
Two fingered rape repeated over and over again
Until knuckles bruised bleeding and shaking
Wipe the corners and paste that winning smile back on
Praying that number
Confining and defining who I am will not shift
My successes and failures not of literary nature
But a gravitational read out
Funny like how I’ve bested men twice my size in eating contest
And they don’t know how I do it.
Funny like my favorite pair of shoes filled with vomit.
Funny like the unshed worry in my mother’s eyse
Funny like irony
Funny like a voice flushed away too ravaged by fingernails to reach a high C
So much for broadway
Funny like unspoken questions and clicking locks.
Funny–funny like addiction.
Funny like a maxed out credit card mom’s retirement empty savings checking couch cushions to support the habit.
Funny like broken hearts and records cant stop cant stop cant stop tomorrow
Funny like an early funeral heart attack at 23
No, its not funny at all
Just a black mess of manipulation
Hide at all costs
Mired in this stasis of forced emesis (that’s a euphanism)
But just wait
And I’ll turn towards tomorrow like a sunflower lighthouse
Searching for the light in the moor grey fog
Because this girl is a fighter
No heavyweight champ (it’s okay you can laugh at that)
And oh will I claw my way to the top
I can see it real well from rock bottom
I will fight this fight fists clenched chin up
Until I slip fall head down and those two fingers uncurl
I’ll be honest
I don’t have an ending
No see this is a constant day to day type of power struggle war
And all I an tell you is that this warrior breathes hope
I refuse to let a single word define me
No I am a melting pot of good and bad
This nothingness is merely a part of my stained glass puzzle
That lights when I can catch a spark or glimmer
Of that hope I breathe
Dancing all aroud
You can do it too
Chase it down in your bar feet dancing
Catch it in your jar
Poke holes in the top, throw in a couple leaves
And let it sit on your dresser
So the dark won’t seem a scary
And the nighttime not as black
No, see with a little jar of flickering hope
You can lantern light your way to happy ending.

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