Alexandria Biamonte

You own nothing.
Those aren’t your toys. I bought them.
Even your clothes, your furniture.
I provided them for you, you do not own them.
But if you don’t clean your room, I will
Take a Big Black Garbage Bag and throw away
Every toy, every dress that isn’t on a hanger.
These are my things, not yours.

Your college says I don’t have access to your grades,
Because you’re nineteen, and I don’t pay your tuition.
Don’t tell me it’s none of my business. That’s bullshit.
I am your parent. That makes it my business. I pay
The insurance on your car, and the title is in my name.
You won’t be going on that road trip, unless
You bring me your transcripts, signed by each of your professors.
So long as you live under my roof,
You are not entitled to privacy.

I’m not obligated to help you
In any way.
You decided to leave
And go play house.
That was your decision. You’re on your own now,
Mommy and Daddy don’t have to bail you out.
You wanted your independence.
Sink or swim.
Just don’t expect anything from me.

And why don’t you ever call?

editors note: Our conscientious co-dependence. You need to (we need you) no need to, needs must, need not… – mh clay

Reports of darkness
Remind us of the darkness in ourselves
And we fall like dominos.
It is just so hard to stand
When everything around you
Is pushing you down.
Do not fall neatly into line
Dragging down those behind you.
Don’t get me wrong,
I understand. But
If you can,
Stand.

How dare she be beautiful in that picture
Laughing, arms raised to the falling snow
Wearing those sweatpants I hated.
In most photos, she looks every part the
Trashy, classless, misanthropic shrew
That I discovered in my bed.
She used me and cast me aside,
And I resent her for good reason.

But sometimes,

There is a pure moment
And she resembles the
Witty, vital, fearless Valkyrie
That I fell for.
How dare she remind me how it felt
When she was mine.

He asked me why I chose to board the plane
If I was so afraid to fly.
No hesitation:
“Because my mother would
Kill me
If I didn’t.”
A pause.
I laughed.
“I mean, of course
Not,”
A joke, naturally.
It had to be.
Because if I thought I would
Die
On the plane, I couldn’t be
More Afraid
Of my own mother.

..Right?

“This doesn’t look like Broadway,”
Remarked the man
Boasting a snide grin.
And I was angry
At first,
Because it’s easy to feel
Bitter,
Working front register
At a coffee shop
In a small town,
When you once
Dreamt
Of fame and glamor
On the grand stage
In the big city.

But then I smiled,
Because I do not need
The spotlight
When I see how my lover’s eyes
Light up.
I don’t need crowds
Cheering my name
When I hear how my lover
Whispers it.
Because this is not
What I thought
I wanted.
This isn’t Broadway,
And these red hills
Don’t say
“Hollywood”,
But you can keep
Your greasepaint and glitter
Because what I have
Is better than Broadway.