Figure (A short piece)
He told me to stand tall and to make it look natural.
But I slouched hard.
He told me to walk with my hands in a fist, so I could look tough.
But I walked with my hands limp and freely.
He told me to sit against a wall with one leg up.
But I never sat against a wall.
He told me to sit down with one leg crossed over the other like an L, or with my legs wide open and apart.
But I usually sit criss crossed or with one leg over the other.
He told me to shake someone's hand hard and to make them remember how hard it was.
But I often hugged before a handshake and if I did shake someone's hand—it would be as sensitive and soft as I am.
He told me not to cry, because it was weak and embarrassing.
But I cried all the time and in front of anyone.
He told me that he wanted to be the only figure in my life.
But he never was.
Prettier at Night, Uglier at Day (a short piece)
Day, at a park. He was always cold, even when it was seventy five degrees. He always wore a huge cart hart jacket, and a ball cap hat that cast a shadow over his face.
Prettier at night.
Prettier at night.
Night, he wore very little, but only because it was dark. He hid under the covers. Only keeping a candle lit, he allowed me to look at him more closely.
Uglier at day.
Uglier at day.
Unison (A short piece)
He kissed her face to a song. My favorite song. The song he said he played when he missed me. I looked through their glass paned window trying to hide my face. I looked at their photos on the wall. Pictures of their family made me giggle—all of them wore Ralph Polo and matched.
He poured another glass of jack for her with some vanilla coke. She sat on their dark green loveseat staring into his eyes while he poured his glass.
She grabbed her iPhone from the china table and turned the music louder. The windowpane was vibrating. I put my face closer on the window feeling the vibrations against my cheeks while remaining low.
She drank her jack before standing up to dance with him. He kissed her neck with nothing but love. She laughed while he made his way up to her lips. I started to kiss the window feeling the vibrations against my lips.
They danced perfectly as if they had taken lesssons for many years. A tear rolled down my eye as he dipped her. They started dancing in specific steps—they were slow but had rhythm. I tried to copy their steps. I looked down and up. It was strange because they were moving so slow but so fast, and I couldn’t reciprocate.
They slowly started removing their clothes. She wore olive green underwear.
They turned off the lights together. He shut off the kitchen light while she shut off the stained glass light near the china table. She blew out the rosewood candle while he turned off the dim lights of which they were dancing in.
It was dark. She led him half naked to the bedroom through the hallway. I could only see their shadows. They both disappeared slowly.
I closed my eyes imagining them in the bedroom—was it more passionate or more routined?
The vibrations suddenly stopped and I opened my eyes to see them staring at me.
These are a few short stories that I wrote that I believe have most to do with resisting. They are all about men that have shaped my life in a way/something I tend to resist. Resist as a way to be shield myself from other feelings and thoughts I don't want to be having.