Receipt Confessions

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quick thought

prisoners in our own heads
knowing the holes you can fall down
knowing how society works
yet you canโ€™t curb your own anxiety
you can diagnose yourself
give yourself prescriptions
but you can also disregard everything
because thatโ€™s what you tend to do
staring down at your mess
like a drunk stares into the galaxy of their vomit
acknowledging helplessness
laughing along with it
millions of people lost in their mirrors
convincing themselves they arenโ€™t crazy
not realising how normal they are
pretending everything they say is what they mean

Point of S(t)ale

in a darkened building

she is behind a counter

there is a long line of shadows

waiting on her

filling the space with decaying breath

she feels around for a screen

or a till stashed full of money

nothing is switched on

she is helpless

but the shadows refuse to leave

with their yellowing nails

clutching this and that

a lot of time has past

the urgency makes her teeth grind

they only care for themselves

she lies on the floor in desperation

they can not see her there

she knows it is childish

she is tired of being gawked at

despite the feeling that she is in trouble

it is a relief

unusually soft too

a body grabs her

she sits up

sticks her hand out

on to her bedside table

the counter seems to vanish

with the realisation

that her partner is embracing her

from behind

in their double bed

far removed from registers

from customers

her heart beat slows

she is in her favourite place

although

it feels like the shadows linger

always wanting

always waiting

unrelenting servitude

in an unending cycle

Listening Back

The kids are screaming next door.

I’m sorry, they’re really laughing.

The sound is a bell toll.

They scream when they mean to laugh.

The joy just bursts out of their tiny lungs.

While I laugh when I mean to scream.

Containment being a product of my age.

Are they playing chase or racing down the driveway?

With bare feet or shoes?

I only wonder because…

Little running feet and grow into big running feet.

They take off across the world.

Discarded child shoes half buried in the sand pit.

I see them all the time but I’ve never seen the wearer.

There’s a point when the screaming stops.

Or, more so, shifts.

The kids were screaming next door.

Now I’m not sure.

Hello world, this is me.

I’m almost 21 years old.

Today I was working in a deli and now smell of ham.

My ultimate goal is to one day publish a novel.

This blog is to encourage myself to generate more writing, particularly poetry.

I would also like the contribution of others. Please tell me what you think. Critical feedback is definitely welcome.

Seriously, this ham smell is intense.