why not?

She doesn’t say thank you.
It’s mindbloggling.
We took her to the moon and back, showed her the stars; live music, delicious eats, Nature, space, room to breathe, ears to listen, shoulders for padding — we have been the best hosts.
And yet.. no thanks.

How about:
Thank you for buying dinner.
Thank you for making me tea.
Thank you for driving me around.
Thank you for the company.
Thank you For. It. All.

I’m watching myself retract from her.
I’m watching myself not wanna care.
Something so simple.
Three words that make all the difference.
And yet.
Why am I so attached?
Why do I need that gratification? And so immediately?

I let it go for some months.
Let this new light fester.
And then..
Out of the blue, she reached out and asked what I wanted for Christmas
To say thanks for making her first West Coast visit one of her favorite memories.

I died.

singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

taken

taken

I breathe.
It is tense, concerned and contracted.
It’s early, the air asleep.
We got broken into. The garage.
Jackie thinks, bonus! everyone’s up.

Dude, I don’t want to take you out for pee.
I don’t want to pick up your poo.
I don’t want to feed you.

I want to breathe.
Give me a second.

What the fuck happened?
How?
What?
When?

Holes in the skin, I feel violated.
Like a car crash.
Thank God it wasn’t the car.
Valuables, inventory, a guessing game of what was.

Jackie’s diarrhea is at the ready.
He paces in circles, tail anxious.
Come on people, he wants to say.

Stupid us.
It’s on us, all of it.
Hard not to point fingers.
But who fuckin’ cares?
Damage is done.
The lesson came too late.

Diarrhea out. Next step: food.
Jackie circles us expecting the normal routine.
As, well,
We stand like fixtures
Scratching our heads.
A fog in the brain.

animals

549141_642796145737726_801949160_n.jpgIt’s like the zoo¬†when we watch animals.
Observing their natural behavior, well, as natural as you can get in a zoo.
She’s beautiful.
Fit, pleasant to look at.
She arouses.

Saturday morning
And I know what she must be thinking.
It’s swirling in her head like thick butter.
The, “Why did I do that?!” to the, “Well, that’s me.”
Yup, you’re right.
And we are all watching.
You gave us no other choice.

Continue reading “animals”

wiggle room

wiggle room

FADE IN:

So…I’m leaving in a month, and I cannot take my clients with me.

What? That’s insane.

In order to graduate, I need to also work with teenagers so I’m moving to another facility full time.

Wait. Slow down. What’s going on?

I’m leaving. And I can’t take you with me.

This seems really sudden. How long have you known about this?

What are you feeling right now, what is this bringing up?

Claire, have you known about this for a while?

[beat]

Would it have changed anything?

Yes! Damn straight. Your decisions affect us, they affect me. Regardless of building boundaries between client and therapist – I’m in your life. And you left me in the dark.

Continue reading “wiggle room”