we
met
by the
fruit table oranges
you said were your favorite
fruit i smitten with the fairy tale ideology
of white pickets two point fives and a dog maybe even the PTA
you upstanding patriarch of the family business man in town i would be your one and only not your rodeo clown
psyche flags were risen and when discussed with the appropriate matriarchal councils all my flags burned down with the kerosene of suck it up or else you are not a woman worth your salt
fuck this i thought in the middle of a fight i would not be how i was expected to lay down
so rogue i went from that world of delusional pleasure tumbling weed freed
but alone in dissension doubt demons taunt relentless
so give me another bottle
to numb the
imposed shame
of
failure
“i observe the world around me then translate what i see through words and visuals as a form of meditation and at times penance”
mb is a Gen Xer born and raised in urban Los Angeles who chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolis her offerings are inspired by the mental health crisis in the city everyday observations and human nature interjected with fiction based on non-fictional intimate events
mb battles depression and anxiety but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate she began writing again as a self-promise after being AWOL from the process for several years
you can read more of mb’s writing at WORDS LESS SPOKEN
