Ode from an Organ

You’re beautiful and inconsistent. You are neither purely liquid nor solid; you are the mixture of both and your cells fuse together and become dangerous. Sometimes you can be too sweet or salty and you cause our host to be unbalanced. You touch every part of the body constantly feeding every cell, coloring them, blue or red. You’re ambitious, you take every opportunity to escape when you see the light above the surface and you turn crimson when you meet the air. I can give you the same air but you’re impatient. You travel through and within me and your presence sustains me. You enter blue-I give you what others need-and you leave roused. Although you are always nourishing me, you die quickly and I must wait for the marrows to create new pieces of you.
It’s unfortunate when our host makes violent contact with a foreign object. The meeting breaks the tiny vessels and both versions of you become mingled into one creating a dark purple cloud just below the skin. But as soon as this happens, the pigment begins to leave the scene and the colorless members enter for repair.
You are too generous and friendly. Portions of you stay with the undeserving like the appendix robbing so much of you from the rest of us. You’re probably not the one to blame. The heart is your commander and you must go where and when it decides. I am fortunate to be the essential aide in the changing of your hue. We will be together until my last breathe is drawn, and then you’ll be blue, until an outside force decides to open the barrier, and expose us.

Comb

“I’m sorry I didn’t comb my hair.” She continued to criticize herself in the mirror.

“I should’ve gone through with that stupid diet. I look so fat.”

She walks over to the toilet and throws up her lunch from earlier. Megan then walks over to the drawer by her bed and begins to pull out all her make-up. She sits down on the floor at the base of her full length mirror hanging from her closet door and lays the make-up beside her. Her eyes wandered off her reflection and continued throughout the room.

“Everything is a mess. I’M a mess.”

Megan first applies the foundation to smooth out the crevices of her face. She puts a heavy layer of powder on the skin to create a mask. And some bronzer to create the illusion of higher cheek bones. The eyeliner and shadow combined with the mascara will open up her eyes and make them seem larger. She slips on a lacy neon green thong, a sleeveless royal blue dress and black her black leather boots. She decides to walk to the pharmacy to look for a diet supplement she can commit to.

As she walks down the aisle looking for a diet supplement, she begins to vomit, everywhere. The chunks of last night’s stew and bile spew all over the nearby products. The manager comes over and witnesses the scene. He is completely disgusted and begins to cough and gag. The odor causes him to sneeze on Megan but instead of snot and saliva, blood lands on her cheek and begins to clump up with the make-up on the surface. He apologizes and offers to clean it off for her in the back but she refuses and starts shaking from fear of him seeing her true identity.

“NO, no. I’m fine. I live right down the block. I’ll do it myself.”

“But what about the mess you made?” He shouted to her as she ran out the door.

It was beginning to rain. The rain was good. No one could see her cry in the rain. The wind, however, was terrible. She clenches her leather jacket close to her body. It is her favorite jacket, the tall collar made her feel safe.

She arrives home and checks her make-up in the mirror. Half of her face is saturated and the powder she had applied is in a goo-like form but on the opposite side, the man’s blood remained. Horrified, she dabs a paper towel with rubbing alcohol and furiously wipes the blood and make-up off of the other side. As she wipes she hears a knock on the door, snapping her out of the trance she fell into. Still flustered by the events from earlier, she uses the towel to quickly clean up the residue from the sink. Again, she hears the knock on her door, this time done with impatience.

“Please don’t let it be him. Not now.”

She slowly approached the door and looked into the peephole.

“Damn it. Damn it!” She muttered to herself as she slid down the door on to the ground. It was the super and her rent is three months overdue. She panics and tries to leave down the fire escape but slips and falls from the third story window and lands on the blunt pole of a chain-link fence, breaking her spine killing her. Her limp body lands on the sidewalk with her neon green thong exposed.

-

The sun shines through the window and warm red light fills the back of my eyelids. Shifting around in bed I try to make sense of the dream I just experienced as I reach for my glasses. I look around my room making sure it is in fact my room. The dream was extremely vivid but I can’t remember everything, only fragments: falling from a fire escape, a girl named Megan, a green thong, the taste of vomit, the smell of heavy makeup.

I get up and go into the bathroom and get ready to go open the pharmacy. I look at myself in the mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t comb my hair.”

“I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.” - Jonathan Safran Foer

I need someone to save me from this self-inflicted madness.

I need someone else in this room, speaking to me, distracting me.

Listening to this "loneliness" themed playlist isn't helping.

I should be thinking up prose but instead,

I'm fingering through my grandmother's old jewelry.

All I contemplate and fear is that man leaving me.

Stagnant

Sitting within this tomb which I wish to have one day. The walls around me made with books. Tightly pressed against each other, cover to cover. But the book I'd like to absorb, slides out effortlessly with so much ease I need not flex a single muscle.

This is so raw.

It's 5:53pm. I'm sitting in this library wondering what I'll write about for my next piece. Finding the ingredients isn't the hard part. Putting them together so they become something, anything worth while, takes time, talent, patience, which I don't have. I fear writer's block. I fear I may one day experience sixty years of it as Henry Roth did. But I won't come out of the sickness and spew out four volumes of work and die famous. I hope I can get something out, anything, and I'll take whatever they want to give me for it.

At this moment

Oh what I'd do for a meaningful conversation with a stranger.

Deception

Another person I can add to the list of people who don't trust me. Am I really so deceiving? I've been nothing but honest but I guess it isn't enough.
I took that long walk to my dreamhouse this morning. The house I hope to one day find someone to replicate for me in my ideal location, our ideal location. The house I saw and knew is exactly what he also wants. The place I hope to spend the rest of my life with the person I currently love.
It is becoming more difficult to get out of bed every morning. I wake up and remember what so many people want from me. All wanting the same thing, the rest of my life.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJ9mYwvS_7o