HURRICANE

V.

HE WAS THREE WHEN

HE BECAME A MIXED

DRINK OF ONE PART

LEFT ALONE AND 

TWO PARTS 

TRAGEDY.

.

i try not to think of 

my childhood, 

but there's always 

part of me that craves 

sadness for myself.

so my mind almost

always wanders there.

i think of how it felt

to be slapped across 

the face at five years old

because i had wet the bed

but it

had only been because

i was scared to 

leave my room.

i think about my mother

telling me how 

i wasn't good enough,

and how i shouldn't

eat as much.

i was twelve,

when she began starving me.

i would complain

every once in a while,

and she simply looked at

me with cold, green marble 

for eyes,

and told me

that beauty was pain.

my thoughts were warped

to only count calories

and swallow handfuls of pills

and run as much as i could.

i was ruined.

my mother ruined me.

i remember the times

when she told 

me that i should've 

been a girl.

she called me haley

sometimes.

i would never answer

her though.

she was sick.

i was too.

but i kind of loved it.

i feel droplets of rain begin

to hit my hair,

i keep walking regardless,

but i don't see the point

in holding up my thumb 

anymore.

but i do anyway,

because i

have this feeling.

the rain gets harder.

i put up my hood.

my skin runs cold

down to my bones.

my arm begins to waver. 

i keep walking.

but i like the feeling of it.

the cold rain,

it cleanses you.

i smile softly as i keep walking,

forcing my arm to keep up.

what would it be like,

i wonder.

to jump out in front of the car

that is fast approaching?

i keep walking.

i hear the squeal of brakes. 

i turn to the side. 

there is a car beside me.

i stop walking. 

the window rolls down,

the cold rain hits my face. 

the woman has a kind smile,

and tells me to get in the car. 

i smile back. and nod. 

i get in.

we drive.