Sleep

 

i'd like to sleep, please. i'd like to
be lost inside of it, but i can't sleep
right now. i've tried. my mind is filled
with walking through the house my parents
used to live in, seeing the pictures of
me, knapper and the boys with the glass
smashed. i went back there tonight after
work and got some more of the things my
mom left behind.

and this:

"and i wish i could take out a life insurance
policy for a million bucks, myrna. one thing
i'd do is cut denise ann out for nothing more
than a dollar."

a letter from my dad to my mom.

did i abandon you, mom? did i walk away, dad?

"why haven't you called your mother, denise?" my dad
would ask me. i wanted to say, "because she's a toxic
bitch, dad." but i didn't. i have never been what my
mother needed and she could never understand that that
was not my "fault." that i was born to be who and what
i am. "your father and i think you're the most selfish
person on the face of the earth."

well, maybe so. maybe in your eyes because i could
only stand so many of those statements before i had
to stop putting myself in the way of them, like trains
coming at me. i can't even explain it, what those words
of hers did to me. drew the life out of me, poisoned
my thoughts, made me doubt myself and my purpose.

i need to sleep.

now, please.

denise

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