No One

I admit, at first not existing was kind of hard to get used to. 

No one saw me as I crossed the street. No one nodded to me as I passed the store. No dog barked at me while I wandered around the windy park. No one smiled faintly as I stopped to grin at a comic poster. No one even noticed when my skirt blew up so high that my underwear showed.

I guess that’s when I started tackling non-existence as a comodity, rather than a curse.

I didn’t need to get up early. Didn’t need to brush my hair, put on any make up, or even wear decent clothes. No one saw me anyway. I just wasn’t there.

I didn’t need to be polite to the person waiting before me for the bus. Hell, I didn’t even need to stay in the queue. Or pay the bus fare. 

No one scowled at me because I had left the window open. No one muttered because I had forgotten to bring the ketchup on the table. No one told me I was not good enough, when I didn’t know where they had left their car keys the day before. No one pawed at me while wiggling smelly body parts, as I tried to watch a movie. No one even tried to bite and hurt me, because of some ‘remark’ they did not like.

No one belittled me or berated me ‘jokingly’ because I didn’t read their minds and know what they wanted beforehand. No one ‘forgot’ to mention my name or that I even existed when talking to their friends, when in fact I did. Now, I truly was not there, so it didn’t bother me not to be mentioned. There is no one to mention.

I have gotten used to not existing now. I do not even feel bad about it. It is a relief really.

Existing is so much harder.

She of the Venomenous Name

Smear it over me, let me bathe in it
Tip my breasts with gobs of scarlet heat
My hands mold and shape cavernous monsters of hatred
My tongue licks it up in a tense explosion of lust

She gnaws at me from the inside
this invisible creature inside my head,
prodding and prying at my weakest spots
scurrying silently in the hard shiny darkness

Always, she is present
eroding away at the maggoty substance of my brain
cheering on the neverending cacophony of shadows
thwarted and twisted by the past

Still, I listen
always unsure whether she be friend or foe
although her words, like twinkling shards, hurt
they are always true after all

She is the ME that can never be forgotten
the ME that can never be forgiven
I have always known her secret name
always been afraid of earning her notice

Her gaze gleams like black oil on a mirror
Grinning teeth smirking at every inconsistency
Paranoid and succulent she awaits for a pause,
a moment, a single excuse to sing her banshee lament

I thank her sometimes, for opening my eyes,
at others I wonder if she merely ripped new ones
hungry for blood she awaits, never sleeping
my Goddess, my lover, my sister in the blood

© M.M