moods

[Lost Poet]

i sat there staring at the carpet; the carpet with its red and grey flecks; and then the ceiling light above
a shadow fell across my eyes and i glanced up at her, and wondered if she was still screaming
and when i saw her violent lips moving and the tug and pull of my things i'd asked her more than once to just leave alone
i got up, and she pushed me lightly
and without thinking my hands flew out and so did she; flying across the room she smacked against the concrete--and did that thing people's bodies do when they strike concrete
she crumbled and bent at the spine, then gasped an alien-like scream as she went down
and our dog stepped between us at barked at me
and staring at them both i collected my things and she kept on screaming, crawling across the floor with her alive-eyes glaring up at me
and as i took my time getting everything together, she clutched the back of her head and staggered out of the room on her socks
sliding around the corner and into the hall, running through the room to the other side and out the door
and i heard her crying for help: help
glancing up at the window, i walked across the room and said goodbye to our dog
and the next
and the next
then with one of them in my arms, my favourite, i softly-whispered goodbye and gently held her to me, swaying slightly
help, please someone help, call the police
i glanced at the window in the bedroom again and put our dog down and said goodbye to the last two,
and escorted by six of them i made my way out with my backpack on my shoulder and wasn't surprised to see the neighbours standing there with their arms folded at the end of the street, their eyebrows raised as she cried to them and stomped on the floor; only one of them holding a phone and in reaching-distance of her
i lifted my hand to them and they glanced me as i got on my bike and rode away
an hour later my phone rings and i'm sitting on a beachfront
i told the police a bunch of bullshit, she says
i nod, say i'm sorry
she cries⁠—i listen
then i hang up the phone and reach out for the white dogs who know me
and they smile and i don't feel sad
just free
and since then we've been good;
because we learned we couldn't live together;
that neither of us were bad people;
just not people who could share the space;
i wish it could have been different;
but wishes aren't real;
and the truth is never beautiful;
but beautiful words are never truthful either;
so as i put my head back on the sand i feel myself getting skinnier every day
and i meet someone else who's real but when she gets angry my hands stay by my sides
and when the other-someone comes to see me with our dogs i hold her up in the air like i used to
and she sees it on me and wishes it could've been different too...
this is life, and this is experience, and its never pretty; but it is worth learning from.