Do not fall in love with people like me

Do not fall in love
With people like me.

People like me
Will love you so hard
That you turn into stone
Into a statue where people
Come to marvel at how long
It must have taken to curve
That faraway look into your eyes

Do not fall in love with people like me
We will take you to
Museums and parks
And monuments
And kiss you in every beautiful
Place so that you can
Never go back to them
Without tasting us
Like blood in your mouth

Do not come any closer.
People like me
Are bombs
When our time is up
We will splatter loss
All over your walls
In angry colors
That make you wish
Your doorway never
Learned our name

Do not fall in love
With people like me.
With the lonely ones
We will forget our own names
If it means learning yours
We will make you think
Hurricanes are gentle
That pain is a gift
You will get lost
In the desperation
In the longing for something
That is always reaching
But never able to hold

Do not fall in love
With people like me.
We will destroy your
Apartment
We will throw apologies at you
That shatter on the floor
And cut your feet

We will never learn
How to be soft

We will leave.
We always do.

Do not fall in love
With people like me

Start here

Start by pulling him out of the fire and
hoping that he will forget the smell.
He was supposed to be an angel but they took him
from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they arenā€™t shaking.

He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him.

Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and pretending to understand.
Repeat to yourself
ā€œI wonā€™t leave you, I wonā€™t leave youā€ until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red.

When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.
Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.
Here are your upturned hands.
Give them to him and watch how he prays, like he is learning his first words.

Start by pulling him out of another fire,
and putting him back together with the pieces
you find on the floor.
There is so much to forgive, but you do not
know how to forget.

When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.
Here is your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this abandoned church.
He has come back to stop the world from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do,
so you wonā€™t let him.

Tell him that you will never know any better.
Pretend to understand why that isnā€™t good enough.

Old Slave Driver

So many people keep telling me to write a novel. My response each time has been to protest, quoting my excuses to be the tedious work needing to be done on a novel as opposed to the short stories conserved to one character, lack of time and inspiration.

After long deliberations and consideration, I finally decided to write a story. It’s something I have given quite a thought and this is the story I want to write. It is the story I want to tell. Here is the plot that I will be expounding on in the foreseeable future and hopefully bring it to a clear ending. The preliminary title is Old Slave Driver. I hope it sounds as interesting as the whole thing does in my head.

Plot:

Kuri, an old man tasked with transporting slaves for his village head man goes through the troubles of having to deal with witnessing the suffering of his people through the claws of backbiting chiefs and self- serving foreign merchants caravan after caravan. Kuri’s son -who had barely gone past ten summers- had been taken away while he was on one of his trips, purportedly across the vast deep waters to the far lands just like the many he had helped ferry to the factors at the shores. His empathy for the enslaved and the emotional turmoil he has to undergo following the loss of his family and the hope he ferries in his heart for a reunion are unmatched. His life on the road, interaction with many a different people, some who wish him harm and others with whom he is like-minded is an interesting pendulum of events.

Setting:

The story is set up in the North part of Africa during the 16th century when the slavery and slave trade was the rule of the day. The location shifts from across the Sahara through to the shores of the Atlantic ocean.

It’s the Alcohol Talking

She could feel the shame coming on to her as she downed the fifth shot of scotch.

“Two more,” she ordered, signalling two fingers towards the bartender. Too many thoughts were beginning to cloud her judgement and all she could do was drink some more. Pulling her phone from the black drench coat she had on, it was her favorite. She thought of the act of betrayal she was about to commit against her sober self but not a sense of guilt hit her. Thirty silver ones for a Jesus kiss, she thought.

She struggled to slowly -as if in doubt- key in a number she had previously deleted from her contacts, it wasn’t surprising that she remembered it. After all she called it when drunk all the time for a ride, or to just talk. Something kept telling her it wasn’t the right thing to do. She was sober enough to know it was her conscience, but too drunk to follow her own subconscious advice.

She took the last shot and felt the bourbon glide down her throat, the bitterness of it almost choking her and it’s effects on her body taking charge. She wanted that though, it gave her much needed courage and confidence.

That little voice at the back of her head was fading away. It had turned into a whispering echo, it’s mission futile. Either she didn’t want to listen to it or the alcohol was making more sense at the moment.

“Angie?” A voice at the other end of the line enquired.

“Listen here Harry,” she retaliated, “You messed me up.”

“All I did was love you, I deserved…” She burped loudly, then, “…better. I deserved better.”

“I know am embarrassing myself but I have got to say this to you. I had to find a way to get you out of my head and out of my life but guess what, I couldn’t. You won Harry, yeeeey!” She yelled, and everyone around her turned to look but looked away almost immediately. Such are normal noises in such a bar.

“I’m probably gonna regret this tomorrow but I want you back. I need you. Now come pick me up if you want the same.” She dropped her phone on the floor and blacked out without hanging up.