RISK

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My junky past
can’t keep up with me
punk rock leaks through
the trailer with no floors
an upside down flag
is wrapped around my body
while the cats run wild
Escaping through the cracked plywood.

it was like living
in a make-shift tent
we played an alcoholics
version of Risk
and danced on the edge of death-
the gravel sticking to my skin
down an endless dirt road,
the lavender isn’t real here, Bug.

the story stops abruptly

mostly cause he O.D’d

but he lived
so when he woke up

he said: “I just did a little too much.”

he was my heroin
I was not strong enough
to save him
I couldn’t even save myself

I wrote his eulogy before he left
The story did end abruptly, eventually, on that train.
They said: “he never got over you.”

i always wondered
if there was life
after the end of the story.

i will mourn him until I collapse

Running
Up Up Up

the downhill escalator

if you never take risks Then why bother living?

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The Gift of Pain

 

I traded a bottle of Adderall

For a tattoo

I feel his soul

Imprinted on me

Like that tattoo I wish I could erase

Or, just have the ability

To time travel

Back to 1999.

 

Standing in the middle of Alabama

I wished I was anywhere but here

The change in scenery

Couldn’t cure me

Anymore than he could.

 

From Baltimore to New Orleans

I traveled

Hitching a ride,

Jumping a train,

The hot sticky summer heat

Seemed identical.

 

Mama warned me

That storm was comin’

You could feel

The cold red electricity

In the quarter.

 

Seems crazy

It’s been a decade

Since I ran from a storm

Although, Mama always reminded me

natural disaster’s

Tend to follow me.

 

But the real danger

Is in the man-made ones-

My mind an avalanche

My soul a tornado.

 

We couldn’t go to school today, Rose

Cause of the snowstorm

You left me in

Back years ago.

 

When he gives me

the gift of pain

my brain goes numb

and time stands still

I’m still waiting for the Adderall to hit him.

You Stood By Me

You stood by me.  You stood by me, when I didn’t know what was going on myself.  You stood by me, when I “kept you up with all my manic energy” (Song lyric by Waxahatchee).   You stood by me when I would suddenly burst into tears.  You stood by me, when I curled up on the floor in fear.  You stood by me when, shaking, I flipped from angry to happy to depressed.  You stood by me, stroked my hair, and rubbed my aching back.  You stood by me, even when I kept the light on while you were sleeping because of my intense insomnia.  You stood by me when I didn’t know if I could continue.  You stood by me, when panicking, my throat closed up.  You stood by me when I played the same album over and over again because it was calming.  You stood by me when electrical sensations pulsed through my body.   You stood by me when I thought I would have to be hospitalized.  You stood by me, telling me, “I know this isn’t who you are.”  Eyes filled with tears by seeing my pain and fear, you stood by me.  We haven’t made it through this yet, but I know you will continue to stand by me.

** Note: I am currently under medical supervision while getting off an anti-depressant.  This has caused me severe withdrawal symptoms, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. **

Welcome to Stripping in Detroit (Or, How I met Fifi the French Poodle and Other Stories)

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(Based on excerpts from my journal on 3.17.2004)

My first night at CLUB X (we will call it), I met the bikers who were passing through the city.  One of whom proclaimed that my tat (which is Arabic for “peace and freedom”) said “come to our hotel room.” (I didn’t, but the idea that I “might” could have increased my income.  So I played off of it.  Hey, I was hustler.  It was my job).   As the newbie dancer, I had a task to complete.  Call it an initiation, if you will.  I was told to raffle off myself, basically.  I went around to each table, asking for donations.  Whoever’s name was drawn, would be awarded with the experience of getting to pour chocolate sauce and whipped cream on my body as I laid on the stage.  I laid there, wondering if the whole experience was degrading, or cool, or just kinda weird.  I wasn’t sure.  Then, I went into the glass encased shower on the top of the stage to rinse off as sexily as possible.  This is how I met the bikers.  They were writing silly comments on the outside shower in the steam.

One of the bikers’ friend’s (a seemingly straight-laced guy whom was out of place among them), told me his wife had died- but “not to worry about it because it was awhile ago.” However, his friend, who paid for a lap dance from me for him, told me the widower needed to “get out more and talk to women.”  The friend also informed me that the wife had died four months ago.

With this knowledge, I took the new widower to the VIP room.  This was a room upstairs with black leather couches arranged in a living-room type setting, complete with a glass-top coffee table.  This is where customers could receive a more private (read: more expensive) dance than on the floor.  However, it felt safe, as all the dancers took their customers there simultaneously, while the DJ nearby watched out for the dancers.    Before the dance, the guy told me he hadn’t touched a woman in four months.  This was simultaneously weird and sad and sweet.  I tried to give him a lighter, softer dance.

Then there was Fifi.  The French poodle.  He was actually a sixty-something lawyer who paid me to bounce up and down on his lap as well as dominate him.  I was his Mistress, or Princess Jade (Jade was my stage name here in Detroit).  He was my slave, or Fifi; or rather, Mistress Jade’s slave, I should say, since I feel like I took on a new persona in the club (especially with Fifi!). He offered to pay me $100 to take me shopping as well as wanted me to watch “domination videos” with him (neither of which I took him up on). I met him and danced for him the first night on the job; little did I know at the time he would become one of my repeat customers.  Maybe mostly because the other dancers thought he was weird (kinda true); or rather, what he wanted during the dance-the domme stuff-was weird.  Personally, I would rather domme someone (and get paid) than have an over-touchy customer who tried to rip me off.  Basically, I didn’t think domination was weird!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (However, privately I giggled about the Fifi part).

Although, I learned that all of this was just a taste of things to come…