december steam

December steam.

Today is a pretty eyes day. She stands up to tell her whole story and I listen intensely on the edge of the swinging bench on her porch, shivering in pain from the cold breath pouring from the December sky. It’s like steam. I only relax when she sits again next to me confused about why she stood up in the first place. Well, we’re all still confused about the first place. That made her stay with him. Within the heat of a tight fist. Sweaty. Aching. Palms. We. Have. Tears. Within our hearts collecting from December steam and I still dream about not having a belly to bulge over my jeans? Today is still a pretty eyes day. Although 2 men. 2 bruised men. 2 bruised fag men. It seems crazy but they exist. Behind my eyes. In this room. In my mindspace. Cluttering it up with their shit. Tiny flames dangling from my ears and hair pushed on the ground. Stay put I breathe. “STAY PUT!” he screams. Why do we stay put? Stay put in happiness. Stay put in anger. Stay put in December steam. On a swinging porch bench. Thinking of Christmas lights reflecting off of the trees across from the alleyway where she’s down on her knees. We still stay put. And they stay put in their daily routines of walking and walking on busy city concrete while I scream and resist his black snotty kiss and grip on my breast. They stay put in a circular stare while fists and elbows stay put in her eyes while she cries on her pretty eyes day.
So, on another day, long before, he told me any man who didn’t want to sleep in bed beside me is crazy. Why must I only have pretty eyes to all the wrong guys?

Cmchale.122003