Lies Our Mothers Told Us.

beauty, brains, and charm

you're a catch, they said

joke's on you, Gorgeous

Push Replay

Do you wonder what might have been?

Eight years later.
Metal band. Ruddy beard (Van Dyke). Extra tattoos to make it legit.
His face is familiar, but together we are out of context.
He thinks he still knows me.
My wicked breath in his ear,
                               I like to be bitten.

Sunrise recession, an escape back to Atlanta:
Salty with sins and the smoking gun of mouth-sized bruises across my chest, down my legs.

I think he expected some sort of love story. He wanted to sweep me off my feet.
I didn't want to be saved.
It should have ended there.
(But it didn't.)

xx

Crazy Making

As luck would have it, 

fate was cruel.

Departing like vectors,

their sacraments and separations

parallel

did compose deceptive serendipity

and spurious connections.

_________________________

He practically booked a plane ticket the night I told him what S.B. had done. 

Post Script Incrimination

Mrs.
Mr.s
Mr's
Mister's
His

She's plain. 
The groom's grandfather described my dear friend to a stranger. She shakes her head and insists that it's because she doesn't wear flashy jewelry or red lipstick.

There's always a warm one waiting somewhere. 
Ten minutes before the ceremony, and with a toothy grin, his brother hints that Jason's freedom isn't entirely sold.

I withheld judgement. I supported. I bought the amethyst dress. I flew to Texas and assured myself that foreboding could be dismissed. I curled her hair and I stood beside her. I smiled and laughed. I carried her flowers. I brought her red wine and bustled her dress. I twirled the little girls who told me I looked like Barbie. I danced with her new husband.

Deflating in coach on the way home, hushed criticisms resonate. My eyes are tired and, instead of working, I stare out the window at the snow covered acres below.

 Lord knows I am jaded, but I have never left a wedding feeling quite like this.

Dear Katie,

My sweet, brown eyed friend,

Please know that you are golden. You are strong. 

You deserve the best life has to offer. 

     xx

     Lulu

P.S. If he hurts you, I will kill him. 

Dirty Water

In reality, the first snow is not pretty. It is not plush or white, but thin and grey. Immediately transforming into slush, the first snow disappears into dirty water beneath my feet. It veils high branches and fallen leaves and it waits until the evening to freeze into black ice.

The first snow is not trustworthy.

The ground is too warm but my hands are always cold. The miserable sky gives me shivers, even indoors. My skin feels tight and I take too many bubble baths.

Winter snow on television is false advertising.

I will drink hot tea to keep from eating too much as I relish the day free of distraction.

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