When Alanis Slapped Serena

Photo by Ana Bregantin on Pexels.com

I stared dumbfounded, thinking,
“Yo! Serena, I know you’re going
to react! React!”
But she didn’t, and I realized
she’s calculating, plotting,
and preparing her escape from
The Wheelers who are …
ironically just as she had been
as 1/2 The Waterfords.

I am not a lover of revenge,
I don’t think it’ll make things
better. I do, however, acknowledge
the need for human beings to
free themselves from shackles.

And when Serena crept slowly
through the door to make
her brave exit, something sinister
in me rejoiced, even though
I once wanted her demise
on a platter for a late
Friday night snack.


THMT Trailer that includes the Alanis Wheeler to Serena Waterford slap.

Coupling of a Different Kind

Photo by Mpho Maponyane on Unsplash
Coupling of a Different Kind

I’m the person who makes her feel better.
and it’s light and airy and innocent …
there are days that pummel her
into submission, and I sense them.
I am ready with a “Hey, are you okay?”
and the response is an honest one — 
one that lets me know, she’s holding 
on, too.
“I am trying to be.”

I know that place.
I live in that place more than
I care to admit,
that place is a place where
we find ourselves lost and
wandering aimlessly through
time and actions, and if anyone
is available to save us, we’ll
run straight to them.

she doesn’t need saving, though.
she needs a listener.
I listen. 
I crack jokes.
I talk about the things in life
that make no sense and we agree
as we work and she monitors
my time on calls and I shift
from one aspect of work to another.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I say. how we can
struggle together and open up
long enough to let the other in?
she agrees. we can chat for
hours about things that crush us.

I know where she’s been. 
I know how I got through it,
how I am getting through it, and
we’re both walking different paths,
but it feels like our destinations
aren’t too far from one another.
I offer her a ride.

“Since we’re headed in the same direction.”

there was a wall there — there was.
I have always had a knack for chipping
away at them and sliding through 
undetected, and before you know it,
one’s bare before me — their past becoming
one with mine.

it is an amazing thing to see someone
walk away from themselves, pull up
a seat next to another ailing heart,
and release like there will be no tomorrow.
she’s so beautiful when she’s fragile.
she’s even more so when she’s strong.

the hard exterior comes through
on days when patients have gotten
their full fill of long hold times and
the glitches of shoddy software can 
eat through the cores of our patience.
I can see her falter — lose her sense of peace.

And I step in — “Are you going to make it?”

a simple question returns a simple answer.
and we move on from that place
that can turn into darkness if
I do not send enough light, but I do.
and she waits for it.

and even when my darkest days
salsa right before me, I can 
remove my stilettos, slip my
gown over my head, sling my 
jewelry across the room, and
invite her to get naked with me.

and there in the most silent
of silences, we stand — free 
of inhibitions, wary no more, 
aware that whatever else may come,
we have the tools to
conquer it.


Originally published in Intimately Intricate via Medium.

I Thought I’d Forget All About You

Musical Selection: Bilal|When Will You Call?

A Lamentation

But I was wrong.
I am wrong.
And every autumn pulls
up memories — I have tried
to forget, and I find myself
burying those memories
deeper into my mind for them
to arise at the worst time.

It’s the children …
The children push more
pain into my heart than
anything else.
How are they doing?
What activities do you have
them in after school now?
Your oldest should be going
to college …
College. It’s almost hard
for me to say this out loud.

I have missed three years of
seeing their faces, hearing their
voices, and learning about
their lives as new
things occur. 

I have resorted to denying who
I am; who I was, but
the pain in my heart about
the children does not lie.
It’s there. It is a constant
reminder of what I have lost.

And as I weave through every
year — no longer your toy;
no longer wrapped up in my
own head about what we
could have been — what I wanted
us to be, seasonal depression
sneaks up on me with
your face as its representative.

I am weak.
I am.
I will say this with
no shame.
I am weak, still, for you.

The dog hops up in
my lap — reminds me it’s
time for her to relieve
herself, and I don’t feel
like moving from a spot
I’ve cozied onto in the
chair. 

She still has some
energy even though she’s
past what some say is
too long for a dog to live — she
can spit fire if I am
not quick to meet her needs.

And isn’t that how you were?
Isn’t that what made us
cling to one another?
Your need to order and my
need to take orders.

Weren’t we too blind to
see it could never work
between two women who
were writers so full of
embellished stories?

I thought I’d forget all
about you, yet three years later,
you appear. And no amount
of therapy is sweeping you away
from my heart’s door.

I wanted more.
I couldn’t have it.
I never would have.
At every turn, you would
choose him.
You chose him.

And really, he was the
best decision. My mind
knows this — how about
telling it to my heart?


Originally published in soliloque via Medium.