The Poetry Nook

[gracehasaspacesuitquestion]

Please read this because it is EXTREMELY important me (a transgender man) and to other trans individuals.

The US Government is currently trying to pass an incredibly dangerous national law for trans youth called HR 2616.

This bill would ban all Federally funded schools from teaching about gender identity or sexual orientation, prevent teachers from using the correct pronouns and names for trans students, remove books with any trans representation in them, and even go as far as to prevent teachers from acknowledging trans identity AT ALL.

Any school that does not follow this will lose all federal funding. This bill would also require teachers to forcibly out trans students to their families, which would be fatal to any trans student with a transphobic Family or just hateful family in general. Trans people are already a group that already has some of the highest rates of being victim to suicide, domestic violence, and sexual assault.

This bill actively makes teachers put those innocent children at such a big risk. This bill has rapidly passed the house this week with support from all 209 republicans, as well as 8 democrats. But, it's still being voted on in the senate, which means there is still time to help stop this.

To help stop this, you can visit 5calls.org (look up 2616 in the search bar), one of the most top issues filed Oppose Attacks on LGBTQ+ Students. Once you put in your general location, it will pull-up contact information for your senator, and give you a script for calling them.

If you are a minor and/or do not feel comfortable doing this, PLEASE repost this on here, or any other platform you are on/can find! This needs to be heard and fought against.

Thank you for reading this, my lovely people!

(My moots/friends that I'm tagging: @syrupppppppppp @s4pphicfurryr4ve2769 @starstarstarrystar @histrynerdss @billiloveyouso @ultimatebikergangleader69 @trixthemagemain @otlantispearlxox)

[oak-the-professor]

(gonna tag some people get this shared around that is so so shit)

@ghostofafruitmain @hi-just-existing @thatdamhobbit @forgetthefall @yourlocalfandomfriendo @a-lua-da @sexy-people-contests-2 @satan-offical @no-one-offical @unyieldingsilence @thisistransphobia

[aro-ace-chaos]

I’m so tired of the “why do people hate aspecs, they aren’t doing anything?” argument. I know that it is an attempt to support us, but it fails so spectacularly to understand aromanticism, asexuality, and any other aspec identity that it’s actively frustrating.

We are doing something. We’re rejecting allonormative ideals and that’s a massive thing to do. We’re actively fighting not just to help other aspecs, but to help everyone, because amatonormativity (and allonormativity as a whole) hurt everyone. Single people who want to find a partner but can’t also deserve to be able to exist.

There are so many issues with the expectation of marriage, including:

A single income isn't enough to get by anymore

Having a spouse is almost necessary under the current medical system

Society shames and pressures people who are single to get into relationships constantly

Rejecting allonormativity means fighting against these things that hurt everyone.

So, no, aces and aros and other aspecs aren't "doing nothing." We're doing quite a lot.

[kaiaaira]

Permian-Triassic Mass Extinction

Everyone knows what happened to the dinosaurs, an 110 mile meteorite crashing throught the atmosphere are 36,000 miles an hour, leaving a 12 mile deep indent in the ocean off Yucatán Pennisula, Mexico, vaporizing plants, animals, and ocean water, acid rain poured down on a lightless and fridgid neverending winter.

But this is not the worst mass extinction, not by any means, it is just the most interesting, the most palatable. No, the worst mass extinction was actually at the end of the Paleozoic, at the Permian-Triassic boundary. This eradicated ninety-five percent of all species, singlehandedly stopping the rise of mammals in its tracks. But this wasn’t caused by a planetary body, nothing foreign, no nuclear explosion, no act of tantilizing violence, but rather by something we come in contact with every single day. Something we emmit into the atmosphere with a seeming reckless abandon through our cars, our powerplants, something we wage wars over access too, something that powers our economies, politics, and societies, Carbon Dioxide. Just another example of a runaway greenhouse effect taking down a group of mammals.

The main difference is that the carbon dioxide that caused the Permian-Triassic mass extinction was emitted by a series of severe and explosive volcanic eruptions from the Siberian Traps in central Sibera, Russia. Those emissions reached 7,000 PPM of air pollution due to carbon dixoide, but it didn’t start that high. First there was a pre-crisis, at about 400 PPM as opposed to the pre-industrial average of 280 PPM. We are in a pre-crisis climate atmosphere, we are at an average of 400 PPM. We could get to there in two hundred years with only our current actions, removing any potential natural disasters, and that should concern you, I know it concerns me. 

It’s ironic and a bit tragic that all we talk about is the abstract, the mystial. We talk of colonizing other planets while ignoring all that could be done at home. Sometimes there is no metaphor, sometimes wildfires are just fires not cosmic tests of will, something famine and drought are just famine and drought not lessons in generosity, and sometimes climate change is just the truth not a liberal buzz word designed to trigger a religious or philisophical brawl to the death. 

We ignore the truth for the interesting, the concrete for the abstract, guilt for plausible deniability, but this is our fault and now our responsibility. We humans did this; we triggered the sixth mass extinction in our planet's history. We have changed geology so much with our plastics and our chemicals that we pump out into the geosphere that a new epoch has been suggested, the Anthropocene, the human epoch, because at this rate, nothing will be the same as we found it three hundred thousand years ago. 

The difference between then and now is that we are here. The problem is our fault, but that means that we can forge a solution. Humans are inventors by nature; we invent stories, weapons, polymers, data collecting tools. We can fix this problem; the problem we made is a problem only we can fix.

Well, that's not exactly true. Mother Nature will solve this problem herself if given enough time. She has done it before, she’ll do it again, probably millions of times more until this universe fades or implodes, or whatever happens to universes when they die, but we can be part of this solution; we can help her fix this. We need a new industrial revolution, a time of ingenuity and creativity where we build new technology and strengthen new sources of power.

We are sentient, fully, for better or for worse, and that means that we have a responsibility as citizens of Earth and as animals ourselves to help those who are in danger, are innocent of the destruction of our forefathers, not complicit as we are. 

We must act because it is right, or because we have no other viable choice; pick whichever helps you sleep at night. I really don't care, but you can't sit back and do nothing, then complain about record heatwaves keeping your children inside or your dog not being able to walk on the pavement without burning his poor little feet, or your family fishing spot running barren because all the fish have died or migrated away from that hellhole or your crops drying out and dying in a drought the likes of which have never been seen before but will become all too common and cripple your livelyhood.

We have to act; we owe it to ourselves and the future generations to do so. We have lived in the shit left out to rot by our parents and grandparents' generations our entire lives, and as terrible as it is, we are going to have to be the generation of change because no one wants to do it, but if we want water to drink, food to eat, cities to live in, lives worth living we can't keep going on like this.

By: K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

Poetry

Poetry is in my bones

Passed down from generation to generation

The words swirl in my brain, forming almost without my aid

I don’t know a version of me without it

Notebook upon notebook filled with word soup

From first grade to 18

Beautiful word soup

scrawled out on diner receipts, a ripping tissue

a magazine, A paper plate, even my own arm

Assignments I finished early, on whiteboards

Words  written only to be erased or thrown away

There is a piece of me in everything I create

Held by my ancestors, cradled by my parents

And then passed on to me

To use, to shape, to share

To create is to honor them,

to show that I learned from them

They built me, 

thousands of people who came together to create me

To give me the gifts and skills I have today

When my voice failed me, my words stayed

Poems flowed like water

My fingers flying, hands cramping

Ink smudging on my hands

When my head is too loud

When I cannot think

When I am choked by my own tears

Poems heal a part of me,

One that has always been broken

Or more truthfully, one that was never meant to be whole

They feed what makes me human

By: K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

The Version Who Stayed

There is a version of me who didn’t survive that night unscarred

One who stayed in the darkness, suffocating

One who didn’t call her best friend and talk about it

She didn’t let anyone know how much if effected her

The ramblings of a drunk girl cut deep, but the blade cut deeper

Someone who felt the cut on her ankle

 only to realize that it took her mind off everything,

If only for a second, even if the feelings came back worse after

Compounded with guilt and shame, blood running over the carpet

That girl forgot to rationalize what was said to her, 

by someone who didn’t even know what they were saying

Who didn’t stay up until 1 am with their suitemate watching TV

But instead walked out of the building and kept going

That girl sat in guilt and falling snow, 

letting it marinate as her skin turned red from cold

And then went to the shower and scrubbed her skin until it was raw

But even that wasn’t enough

There is a version of me who didn’t hand that boxcutter over

Who didn’t move her scissors back to her desk, leaving them by her bed

Who looked at the shards of porcelain and dug them into her skin

Until the sharp sting took her mind off the guilt

Of causing another human being to bleed

Even though it was just an accident 

But I stayed, I laughed about how drunk she was with my roommate

How totally wasted the girl on facetime was,

That she didn’t know what she was saying

I did call my friend the next day, I told her what happened

And through my tears she told me she was proud of me

For seeing what was happening and stopping it

And over time the “evil witch” line has become a joke

But it still stings a bit, like the cut on my foot did

By: K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

18

18 is bloody knuckles and barred teeth

Bone-tight grip on the reigns of your life, but the rope is fraying

Going 80 towards the future, wind stealing little pieces of who you were

Taking them back, leaving chinks in the armour, revealing new weaknesses

A new achilles heal, new ways to be beaten

But leaving places to change, to adapt

18 is being stuck between a child and a grown-up

Needing your mother, and yet she can’t understand you anymore

changing so much in 4 months that you seem unrecognizable

Losing friends, morphing, mutating, becoming something different

18 is looking in the mirror one day and seeing someone new looking back at you

Someone older, hardened, calloused, and yet so incredibly vulnerable

Hair died purple, eyes clear from crying yourself to sleep

Nails bitten and jagged, 

sounding exactly like your mother and cringing every time it happens

18 is thinking you are god one day 

and chewed up gum on the bottom of some dudes shoe the next

Having energy drinks for breakfast, staying up till 1 am

Studying your ass off for a test and getting a C

Then cursing that teachers whole bloodline with your friends

18 is realizing that you were so sheltered that you’re not sure how you are still alive

Wondering how someone who has such a good life on paper is so fucking miserable

Are genetics really that powerful? 

Do decades of depression and bipolar disorder really cancel out a good childhood?

18 is toxic green and bitterly cold

Sharply sour, the kind that makes you splutter and pucker your lips

It burns your throat, and yet you drink it down willingly enough

Learning that some kinds of pain make you a different person

The person you needed at 5, 14, or 17

And finally, letting go of the fraying rope, choosing your own destiny

By: K.G. McGaughey

[tenderlypressed]

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— josé olivarez // natalie diaz

[kaiaaira]

The Bowling Ball

I was walking with a friend the other day

And they asked me what depression felt like

I said, it's like having a bowling ball in your backpack

You can feel weight pulling you down,

the straps digging into your shoulders

But you can keep walking, its painful but possible

And after a while you get used to the weight

It feels like the ball has always been there

And you can't remember a time before you had this weight on your back

The next week, you open your bag and find two bowling balls

Instead of the one

You heave it onto your back, its heavier than before

It digs into your back now, pressing against the base of your pelvis

Sending shooting pain up and down your spine

But the weight is almost comforting at this point

You walk noticeably slower, adjusting to the weight

Almost slipping on the ice more times than normal

Sitting down is easier than walking now

Because it's all you have the energy for

The next day is still two bowling balls

And the next  and the next, for what feels like eternity

And then, you go to pick up the bag and almost smack yourself in the face

Its so light, you can’t remember a time its been this light

shaking you open the bag

Inside is still a bowling ball, 

But one made for a child

Its maybe 5 pounds, if that

You put the backpack on and almost cry from joy

It's been so long since you felt this light

It's been so long since you were able to just exist

You walk with a spring in your step

You are chatty and kind and a good friend

You want to hang out with people and do things again

But it doesn't last, it never does

The next day you go to pick up the backpack and your back bows

You fall to the floor, pain radiating from the impact

You try to pick the bag up again, 

it feels like it weighs a million pounds

Confused you tear open the zipper, 

desperate to see what the problem is,

Inside the bag are five bowling balls

You try a third time to get the bag on your back,

And this time you succeed but you run into another problem

You can’t stand up

Not with this weight on your back, 

but you have to go to class

There are things you have to do today

So you crawl, inching across the floor on hands and knees

You tumble down the stairs, 

you cut your elbows and shins on the gravel outside 

Your pants are soaking wet from the ice and snow

 You are shivering and tired, and you just want to be done

But your friends drag you to an event that night

After hours of classes and homework

And you know you should be having fun

Because you agreed to this three days ago 

When the bowling ball was tiny, and not its not so small

The people at the event comment about you being on the floor

Treating it like a creative choice, something quirky and fun about you

And you want to scream, how can they not realize

No one is willingly on the floor

You get back to your room hours later 

And you can’t even get into your bed

So you lay there on the floor

Backpack full of bowling balls still on your back

Crushing you onto the floor until you can barely breathe

The next day, you wake up groggy.  

You go to sit up — there’s only one bowling ball now.  

But your arms and legs still ache sharply.  

The scabbed-over and potentially infected cuts on your elbows and knees sting,  

With crimson blood just barely seeping through the cracks in your skin.  

But weirdly, they make you feel alive,

like you’re still real  

in a world that feels like an endless Groundhog Day.  

Wake up.  

Struggle.  

Get breakfast.  

(Or don’t — does it really matter?)  

Lug your bowling ball everywhere you go.  

Read. Do homework. Sleep.  

Go to bed. Then do it all again.  

Over and over.  

Stuck in the endless loop of looming darkness,  

and being uncomfortable in your own skin.

By: K. G. McGaughey

[inkpressedpetals]

[kaiaaira]

I Want To...

I call my mom on my drive home from school

The day was long and I can't  keep my eyes open

So we talk and it keeps me awake until I return

Silence seems to grip us both, it has been so long.

Almost an eternity since we really talked 

And neither of us really knows where to start.

How was your day, KB? 

And I want to tell her everything, 

how I watched the news for the first time in months

And cried for twenty minutes, and almost had a panic attack

Sinking down into the crippling fear of what the future may bring me

The crappy hand of cards I will inevitably be dealt 

for being a queer woman in America 

in a time of renewed hatred, homophobia, and bigotry 

I want to tell her that I wrote three more poems 

And half a chapter of the book I hope to publish someday

Took a test in statistics and a quiz in spanish

Ran through a dress rehearsal of the spring musical

Applied for twenty scholarships and read 50 pages of a novel for English

I want to tell her that apathy and numbness claw at my soul

That sometimes I think it would be easier to not care anymore

To let the world dissolve around me 

to leave the idiots and the assholes to their own devices

But I care too much, the compassion that she gave me

Has now become my Achilles heel, and I cannot escape my demise

I want to tell her how scared I am to grow up

How sometimes I want to curl up next to her under her quilted comforter 

And make the next chapter of my life to wait for a while

So I can grieve the loss of who I was as a child

Before the world got to me, 

But I don’t mention any of that, instead I just say ‘My day was great, Mom, how was yours?’

By K. G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

Snowglobe

Our fingers brush, igniting a spark that makes me flush 

my cheeks going a burning scarlet as you laugh and say that red is my color

The world seems to move in slow motion, couples swaying, strangers singing, lovers laughing 

Everything fades away as you lead me outside

we sit on a bench outside, my arm around your shoulders, and watch the snow

It falls silently to the ground, sticking to the asphalt street, creating a blanket of white on the ground

Landing on the metal frames of high-rise buildings that look so much more human in this light

Against the frigid cold of the outside world, fireworks go off but we don’t pay them any mind 

The morning will come soon and melt away the peace we’ve found

cars will turn the pure white snow black  but that is then and this is now

To me it’s only us, the bustle of the party going on inside your house has vanished leaving us alone in a winter wonderland

To me, it has always been you, ever since we were little kids

To me, this whimsical snowglobe is the only place I want to be

To me, this is the perfect night

It’s just you and me, on a bench out in the cold, a blanket made of soft blue fleece draped over our laps

Your head resting on my shoulder, blonde hair tickling the nape of my neck

Your hand resting in mine, nails painted the same light pink color you had the day we met all those years ago, as you gently squeeze my palm

Your gentle laughter and wonderful thoughts are only for me and the whispering wind to hear

How I want my future to look and who I want to spend it with could not be more clear

By K. G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

When Words Fail

What do you say to someone, 

Your closest friend

When nothing you can say will land?

When they vent about something

That you could not understand

No matter how hard you try?

When they come to you for someone to listen

Someone to give advice, and you just…

can’t?

Words have always been my strongest medium, 

But in this moment, I freeze.

 I don’t know what to say

And what do you say to that? 

To someone who is grieving 

a loss that you will never be able to understand

The kind that leaves your house empty, 

the kind where your heart is torn 

between being so happy for someone,

and feeling so much pain that they are not around,

 where you are mad at yourself 

for hating them for pursuing their dreams. 

Because they’re your brother

 and you want nothing more than to be happy for them, 

But you also want to be back on the couch with him,

fighting over watching a football game. 

You wish you had played one more round 

of that card game you hated so much, 

because he lit up so much when he won. 

You want to take one last ride with him

And argue over what music to listen to

Where you would give anything for one more argument, 

one more memory, 

One more moment

One more anything, if it was with them. 

But you don’t get to have that, 

life changes constantly

whether we are ready for it or not. 

That's the entire point: 

we grow, 

we change,

we fulfill our dreams, 

we create new ones once

we’ve achieved the old ones, and

we build a new normal. 

And it sucks, 

and it's scary, 

and it's super lonely, 

And you want to give up so many times

but in the end, 

life is a path with many different lanes

Some we must venture alone; 

Some friends and family walk with us

for as long as they can, 

In reality, 

These moments are fleeting, 

here until they pass.

I can write that all down

Putting pen to paper

But to try and comfort someone 

Is a whole different game

I’ll never know that pain

I’ll never be able to relate to that

The best I can do is say 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

But even I can hear how hollow that sounds

And that's the best I can do

Words fail me in moments like these

By K. G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

The Dreams We Buried

A boy I went to school with just enlisted. 

He put his dreams of bright lights and working his ass off in NYC on hold 

To wear green camo and fight for his life. 

He had no choice, really. 

With a shitty economy and nothing to his name but a dream…

It was to be expected. 

He had the voice of an angel, and now I’ll pray to them to keep his faith in humanity. 

But who could blame him if it gets tarnished? 

Growing up these days seems to mean 

giving up on your dreams for what the world deems practical. 

Dancers put their pointe shoes in boxes in their closets 

destined to break down until nothing remains but scraps of fabric

To join the corporate hellscape of America,

trading their dreams of principal roles for a soul-crushing 9-to-5

As they lose their strength and stamina over time,

slowly at first,

then more quickly

until dancing becomes impossible

and they are left only with the memories of what had been

Musicians become doctors, 

forced by their parents to pick a more practical dream,

using their precious fingers for surgery rather than song,

until their calluses disappear

and playing becomes painful-

almost as excruciating as leaving in the first place.

Feeling like they are being ripped in two.

Writers close their journals and become lawyers

Shoving their despair down, saying they’ll write when they retire

But by then, they’ve forgotten why they started writing

And their dreams will die the same way they began; 

Without so much as a thought, 

like it had always been that way

Actors give up their dreams of a Broadway stage

To work at a diner, getting paid minimum wage

While they eternally wish for the glory days of youth

When nothing really mattered, other than getting good grades

Back when they could dream of being whatever they pleased

Painters abandon the canvas, well loved brushes gathering dust

Paint splattered smock locked in a box deep in the basement

Never again to be touched,

Instead, they go out searching for stability

Turn to teaching, put their dreams on hold

To train the next generation, 

And hope those kids never have to make the sacrifices they did to eat

I’m a poet becoming a scientist for fucks sake, 

Because I can’t make a living writing stories and poems

Writing was my first love, before I knew geology I knew poetry

Writing got me thought the hardest moments of my life

And now, have to turn my back on it

in the name of stability.

I don’t write often anymore, almost like I am forgetting how

I want to scream into the void some days, 

yell at god or whoever is up there

Demand answers or an explanation

Why can't we just do what we're good at?

Why can’t that be enough?

Why do we have to give up on our dreams to pursue stability?

Why does every little kid have to break themselves into a million little pieces

just to fit into the mold society demands we fit into?

Why do the poets get PhD’s in science, 

Why do the singers march in formation?

By K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

Midnight Revelations

Its midnight and I cant seem to find sleep

I sit awake in my bed realizing that I leave tomorrow

I’ll be gone for months,

My shelves will collect dust

My bed will lie empty

My car will sit abandoned in the driveway.

my most important belongings packed in two suitcases

For 8 years this room has been my refuge

The place I escaped to different worlds in

Where I curled up to hide from the monsters in my head

The place I wrote poem after poem

The background for the most transformative moments of my life

I found out I was queer in this very room

This was the last place I saw my former best friend

The place I realized it was okay to be broken

But now what was once comfortable feels small

Not in a physical sense, but a more psychological one

There is nothing new here, nothing unexpected

Or rare, like a meteor shower or the northern lights

It is just the same as it has always been

My bed in the left corner, bookshelves splayed across every available wall

My yellow dresser that was once my mothers to my right 

And my desk in the middle of the room

But I am not the same; I have changed

I am not who I was before and what was once a comforting embrace 

now feels like shackles on my wrists and hands around my throat

I have gone through my entire life that I can remember here

And now I am going to  leave it behind me

Because there is a different adventure ahead

One that I want so badly I could almost burst

I want to be up until two AM laughing till my sides ache

 trying not to get caught by an RA out for blood

I want to study in a library full of strangers,

 to feel small like an ant or a caterpillar going into its cucoon

I want to meet new people and do bold, crazy, insane things

I want to see a different sunset out my window at night

I want a new routine,

new friends, 

a new experience

I want change, no I crave it...

I knew this was coming, and yet it is still hitting me 

like the freight train that used to make me late for church every other Sunday

But maybe that’s a sign I’ve grown complacent

I’m too comfortable here

Maybe that's my cue to go out on my own

First stop, Alaska, then who knows what I’ll do next?

Will I buy a random plane ticket 

just to see where the wind takes me?

Explore the world, wander in a foreign place–

just soaking it all in? 

Maybe I’ll write a book, or two, or twenty five

And publish a few poems

Share my thoughts, get out of my own head

Write a few crappy love songs

Dedicate them to my friends and failures

Or maybe I’ll grow content with exactly where I land

And stay there a while, until the craving hits again

Then off to the road I’ll go once more

Where I’ll end up, well no one can be sure

By K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

When The Monster Wakes Up

Part two of The Longest Drive

His eyes snapped open and he took in the current state of his lair

His right arm swept over to his wife’s side of the bed,

expecting to feel her warm soft skin under his cold calloused hands

But the monster found her usual spot both empty and cold, the indent of her body long gone

He was surprised, but not warry (not yet at least) maybe she was in the bathroom

or in the kitchen making breakfast since he’d had a ridiculously late night

Or maybe the baby had woken up early and that's where she was, either way her phone was still on the nightstand

He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the sunlight after hours in the pure darkness of night

Swinging out from under the comforter, the monster righted himself and almost fell flat on his face

The black steel toe work boots he’d kicked off the evening prior were still by the side of his bed

He would chew her out for this, it was her job to keep the house clean not his

Wait - where were her reading glasses? Why were her glasses missing from her nightstand?

She never wore them in the mornings, only at night when she was ignoring his advances

A slight anger began to build, but he couldn’t quite find the source

The longer he was awake the deeper the unsettled feeling crept into his bones, something in the house was amiss

It took him a few moments to place it, the house was dead silent

There was no faint sounds of the tv playing downstairs, separated from his ears by carpet and doors

The tub in the master bathroom wasn’t on like it typically would be, Tuesdays being bath day after all

Not even the hum of their ancient oven running as breakfast was prepared

It was like his 20’s alone in his bachelor pad, silence that should not be possible with four people under one roof

He stalked across the room, and over to the window where he ripped back the shade

Her car was gone which was strange because she didn’t go into the office anymore, he’d made sure of that

The last time she tried, she gasped in pain with every breath she took and that made him glad

The myriad of bruises on her ribs reminded him that he had all of the power

When she was younger and more wild she had tried to disobey him, but he soon broke that rebellious spirit

In its place he moulded the perfect complacent wife and mother who never fought on anything

He didn't care if it was more because she was afraid of him than him being right

He wanted control, fear was merely the tool he employed to ensure he got it

At least he thought he had broken her of her youthful ways, maybe he was wrong?

No, there was no possible way he could be wrong, so something must have happened

Something wild came up and she had to leave, but without her phone? Something wasn’t adding up

He opened the closet and his snarl deepened, her suitcase was missing as were some of her clothes

Maybe that bitch really did leave him, but where would she even go?

He placed falsehoods and little lies like tripwires in all of her relationships, even the ones she had held most dear

Then watched as they all blew up in her face, leaving her stranded and isolated with no one for company but him

He had made sure that even if she wanted to leave she never could

But why, if only she was gone was the house so incredibly silent?

If it had been him that left he wouldn’t take the children with him, they would only be a nuisance

Slowing him down in his everyday life, quite frankly he had never wanted children

They were just a means of control for him, children meant that even if she left him they would still have to coexist

He padded down the dark oak staircase, into the long hallway and took a right

There at the very end of the hall was a room with a white sliding door that was … closed?

They never closed that door all the way, incase the baby started crying at night and she needed to rush to help

He never did any of the wakeups, he worked way too hard to be

The room was silent, the bassinet was empty, and the baby nowhere to be seen

All of her little toys were strewn across the floor, it was like she had never even been gone

But she was well, that was two less things to worry about Now he had to go find his son,

tell him of the ´betrayal´ and move on with their lives he walked down the hall and up to a black door that was shut

The blue glow of his sons nightlight was still splaying out under the door and onto the plush carpet

He despised that little blue whale, he thought that any son of his should be fearless and devoid of emotions

His wife had infected him with her emotional contagion called empathy but at least without her there his son could be raised the right way

He pushed the door open, expecting to hear his sons little voice but the silence extended into that room too

He sprung over to the bed, considering what he would tell the boy, then the world fell apart,

the bed was empty, the blankets thrown off in a hurry, he ripped open the dresser and found he drawers empty too

There were loose hangers on the floor of the closet like they had been thrown down after they were no longer of use

His son was gone, and he had a sinking suspicion of who took him

Why would she take both of them? They would just slow her down and those children would provide her nothing,

they would just make her need to spend more But then again she had always been more frugal than he was

Always wanting to go on date nights and get new toys and clothes for their children

In his opinion they were all a waste of time and money, children and wives

She was such an idiot, he could track her right down and take those children from her

He just needed to get his phone, there was a tracking app on there connected to …

She left her phone, it was still plugged in on the nightstand, she had planned for this

She knew he was tracking her every move and yet she was still brazen enough to leave

She was bold, he had to give her that. But he also knew that there were very few places she could run to

And there was only one person who would take her in after all the bridges she had burned, her mother

He could get a flight down to Albuquerque and probably beat her there

He could get his son back and then take her to court, there was no way he would lose

He was an officer of the law and a decorated veteran, she was just a dumb whore with an associate's degree

But then he would have to take care of those children all on his own with no financial support from her

And he never wanted them anyways, so he would pretend to look for her so no one would suspect a thing

He would let her run free, but with the threat of being found looming over her head

It would be his final gift to her, one last mental game that would follow her for the rest of her life

She would always look over her shoulder, checking the back seat of her car before she drove off

Jumping at every bump in the night, every crash in her house could be him coming back for what was his

But he could live in peace knowing that because of him she could never find her own

By K.G. McGaughey

[kaiaaira]

The Longest Drive

She awoke before the rays of moonlight filtered through the bedroom window

The monster lay asleep in his bed, chest rising and falling with deep slumber

As quiet as a mouse she slipped out from under the sheets and padded across the wooden floor

With trembling hands she wrapped her fingers around the silver knob and opened the bedroom door

There was a slight creaking, and she braced for the worst

Prepared for the monster to awake and question her intentions

It had taken months of planning for this exact moment, weeks of fostering complacency and building trust

She could not let her dreams of a better life, one free from rage turn to dust

The monster sturred in its sleep, and rolled onto its side

She breathed a deep sigh of relief, her aspirations of safety not yet foiled

Down the hallway she traveled, toes barely touching the hardwood, any step could cause a creak

She finally rounded the final corner, descended the spiral stairs and entered the kitchen, all without even a squeak

Her bag had been packed for days now, hidden in the broom cupboard

With delicate care, she removed all of her most prized possessions, that was all she could carry

One small suitcase and a duffle bag were all she could bring from her old life

All she’d have to remember her time as the monsters little wife

Down the hall and to the right, a blue glow was cast from a little whale night light

plugged into the wall splayed gentle light across the ceiling and under the doorframe

The most important things the had to bring with laid sleeping behind that wall

Her two small babies, the most precious things of all

A baby girl, no more than six months old, was fast asleep in her bassinet, face scrunched up with sleep

She had finally begun sleeping soundly through the night, a large cause of her fights with it

She reached into the crib and fished her out of her blankets and toys

She hoped her little girl wouldn't miss them, but they could get more once they were gone

Next she knelt down to the small bed on the floor, babe still clutched tightly in her arms

a little boy with hair of fire lay resting there, face contorted by sleep

His dreams seemed so sweet, his face so innocent and yet she knew

He’d heard things said to his mother that he never should have heard

For his and his sisters sake she could no longer risk staying with the monster

If it was so comfortable striking her, what was to say it wouldn’t move on to them

She couldn’t live with herself if they were injured because of her

Their mother was supposed to protect them, that was what she would finally do

He awoke slowly, a dopey smile spread across his face as he saw his mother

‘Mommy’ he whispered and leaned into her chest, tears filled her eyes

His innocence still remained, but it was hanging by a thread

He’d seen things that no child ever should, something any mother would dread

“We’re going on a trip honey,” she said voice trembling slightly

“We’re gonna visit grandma, the one who lives in Albuquerque.”

“Is Daddy coming with us?” His groggy little voice inquired

“No baby, it's just going to be the three of us for a while. Daddy needs some space, he’s been really tired.”

The little boy didn’t question it any further, he was glad it would just be them three

His daddy always seemed to be mad at him, or at his precious mother or darling sister

He curled further into her side and she felt her heart shatter a little bit more

Any doubts on her choice were firmly erased, she knew who she was doing this for

She loaded up the car, strapped her babies into their seats

Put this suitcase and diaper bag in the trunk and took one final look

At her white picket fence dream home, a facade to the nightmares that resided within

At her old dream of what her life should have been

With a deep sigh and one final look into the backseat

She put the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway

She kept her headlights off for the first few miles, hoping the darkness would disguise their movement

praying that no one would notice her and stop her from her major life improvement

When she got on the highway, her heart began to settle, the sun was beginning to rise

It would have noticed her departure by now, but it didn’t know where she’d go

That was the only advantage she had in what would be the longest drive she’d ever take

She could never look back again, not knowing what was at stake

She in a few hours she would finally be home, in the yard where she spent her happiest days

Back when nothing mattered, because she was a child and free,

back when her mother still told her bedtime stories of kind princesses and valiant knights

She had thought that was what she’d found in her husband, that was until the facade fell

And she quickly realized she was married to a monster, with no rescue in sight

The monster had forced her to distance herself, this would be the first time they’d spoken in years

She remembered her mothers words the day it all went south, although her warnings fell of deaf ears

‘I hope this doesn’t come around to bite you’, she was right of course, she always was

Mothers intuition or something like that, something she hadn’t understood until having her own

This was all for them, her eyes looked into the rearview mirror and spied her sleeping children

If they weren’t there she wouldn’t had the courage to leave,

Her mother knew something was wrong, she realized years ago. ,

Her baby girl was different, that light inside her eyes had gone out.

Her girlish smile was replaced with a poorly disguised grimace,

Her pain was palpable, but the daft girl was too brazen for her own good.

Convinced she could fix it, her marriage to the monster,

Certain that with time and devotion the monster would learn to love

Determined to change him, despite his ‘previous ways’

She was wrong of course, true evil cannot be remided

She stood on the porch, the house lights were on

She took one last deep breath and rang the bell

A familiar woman opened the door, with roots a lighter gray,

She stood there in silence, she didn’t know what to say

The tears started falling from the young woman's eyes

Her mother reached out to her, arms open wide and drew her inside

By K. G. McGaughey