This Blessed Day Was Backwards

Yesterday was a bad day

The morning sun hits the ceiling

You hate how the beauty outside juxtaposes the gunk inside

You want the bed to swallow you until the breathe leaves your body

And the stench of your departure hovers over your travelled collection

Of things

What things?

I have not very much

Just the wearied bunch that dared to remain by my side

In place of people who tried

I want to change the world

I want to be a woman warrior who can fly on command and sweep away the victims

Who are too small and too big for derailment

But I am temperamental in my approach

As I defeatedly stare at the valid images of woefully battered victims

Their faces calm and serene as if the pain of their existence lay the preparations for these moments

Of sheer horror

My moment of reconciliation as the characters I created come to life is devoured by my need to escape the fury of my mind

I failed them in an attempt to produce my story instead of theirs

Another attempt is thwarted by my realization that recoiling in disgust and embarrassment buries Those Girls.

So, I bring them back to life.

They breathe so I can do the same. Today.

This blessed day is backwards.

And We are moving forward.