nightmare (ptsd)
mean Mike
guy we went to
high school with –
was he a friend of yours? –
tortures me
guy we went to
high school with –
was he a friend of yours? –
tortures me
tonight’s nonsense concept
is that
I must bake some kind of bread
to his liking
in just fifteen minutes,
(I don’t know how to bake bread)
to redeem myself for…
not knowing what it is
to be poor…? (the concept doesn’t matter)
he makes me say it,
apologize
saying it’s my fault that he does this
to me
he does
the word “poor” hits my throat
like the cloud of flour that fills the air
as I wrestle with ingredients
that won’t save me
(I decide that my only hope
is to call for help,
not knowing if anyone is
within earshot
or if they’ll
side with him)
I’m trying with everything I hhhave
to scream
for help
(lest he kill me)
(I didn’t mention he said he would?
sometimes when something is
your reality
it feels like it
goes without saying)
I wake up
thhhroat dry (screamless)
silently (pushingly) holding my breath
is that
I must bake some kind of bread
to his liking
in just fifteen minutes,
(I don’t know how to bake bread)
to redeem myself for…
not knowing what it is
to be poor…? (the concept doesn’t matter)
he makes me say it,
apologize
saying it’s my fault that he does this
to me
he does
the word “poor” hits my throat
like the cloud of flour that fills the air
as I wrestle with ingredients
that won’t save me
(I decide that my only hope
is to call for help,
not knowing if anyone is
within earshot
or if they’ll
side with him)
I’m trying with everything I hhhave
to scream
for help
(lest he kill me)
(I didn’t mention he said he would?
sometimes when something is
your reality
it feels like it
goes without saying)
I wake up
thhhroat dry (screamless)
silently (pushingly) holding my breath
Poem by an anonymous Pleasure Pie contributor
You can find this poem in the form of a handwritten mini zine here.
You can find this poem in the form of a handwritten mini zine here.
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