Void

I lost you in the darkness

I saw you slip through my fingers

and I knew that I’d never see you again.

You were a strong and beautiful woman,

careless and at ease.

Every night, we’d talk about the future

excitement in our eyes.

But one day, I didn’t smile back at you

I was trapped in a disease.

Life was drained out of me

by two heavy hands.

The darkness entered

as the light drained out.

My breath weakened

and fear crept in.

I grew frail and tired,

scared and weak.

I couldn’t shake the sickness

He followed me everywhere.

Sleepless nights and hot showers

did not rid me of him.

You tried to reach out to me,

But I shut you out.

I cried in silence,

hoping you’d keep trying.

But all that was left,

was a shell of who we used to be.

You are my past,

I am your future.

But who am I now, if not you?

And who are you, if not me?

If only I could reach back

and bring you here.

Erase the scars of time

and start over again.

He took me from you,

and I lost myself.

When I look in the mirror,

I am someone else.

......
Piece was submitted to and written for a Prose Challenge #theProse #ProseChallenge #itslit https://theprose.com/post/157046/void 

My Sorry Song

Calla Lillies

I’m sorry…

…that I couldn’t stay.

…that he had to have his say.

…that no one understood,

that I had to run away.

I’m sorry…

…I never told you.

…I never turned him in.

…I didn’t know the difference,

of letting someone in.

I’m sorry…

…that now you’re suffering.

…that no one there is buffering.

…that now you understand,

the excuses and the lying.

I’m sorry…

…I wasn’t stronger.

…I couldn’t hold your hand.

…I needed to find my own way,

back to never never land.  

I’m sorry…

…that now I’m gone.

…that I can’t sing you the song,

that kept you safe,

from all this wrong.

And I’m sorry…

…I just couldn’t go on.  

Be strong,

my little one. 

The Last Purse

I learned a valuable lesson that October day. I was 11 years old and it was the first and last day that I carried a purse.

I was never one for purses, I was more of a tom-boy kinda kid, but when my grandma got me one for Christmas and I had a couple dollars saved up in allowance, I thought – you know what, basketball shorts don’t have pockets, this purse can hold all my stuff. Yes, all my stuff. My $4.82, my cherry chap stick, a pack of Wrigley’s Big Red gum, a home-made scrunchy my mom had made me, and one of those annoying bouncy balls you could buy for 25₵, oh, and a toothpick. I didn’t even have a Walkman yet. If there is one thing certain about me, it’s that I was a 90s kid. 

But I remember that day very clearly. Sitting at the pizzeria, eating pepperoni pizza with my mom and grandma and probably a few cousins – the cousins were always around. I had to go to the bathroom, and, as I was old enough, I could go by myself. I asked my mom to watch my purse – with all its valuable contents – and headed to the back of the restaurant. 

When I came back, I sat down and finished eating my pizza. I was young, it was the first day that I had ever taken a purse anywhere, and so, I didn’t notice that it was missing until we were getting ready to leave the restaurant. I think my grandma had given me a dollar to put in my brand-new wallet, the one that matched my purse, but when I went to add my dollar to my fortune, the purse was gone. 

I looked everywhere; under the table, behind my brother, in the bathroom – I hadn’t taken it in there, had I? – and finally I remembered, I had asked my mom to watch it for me. 

“Where’s my purse, mom?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t have left it on the table. No one is responsible for your stuff but you.”

I was upset, my savings of $4.82 had dropped significantly. Down to $1 dollar to be exact. I was mad too, my mom was supposed to watch my purse for me and she didn’t. Or so I thought. 

Crying and throwing hissy fits was not my thing; I wasn’t really “that kind of girl.” I didn’t react to things like that, I tended to bottle things up inside and fester. I loved festering. All your emotions just build and build inside of you until they are so strong that they take over you and you don’t know what you’re capable of. It was exciting, exhilarating, crazy, and fun. 

But more than that, I was really mad at my mom. 

Right before we got home, my mom took my purse out of her backpack and handed it to me. 

“Here’s your purse. Never ask anyone to take care of your things for you, they are your responsibility and no one is going to care about your stuff as much as you do.”

I took the purse and stared at my mom. Really? I couldn’t even ask my mom to watch my stuff? 

I learned two things that day. 

1. I hate purses.
2. You can’t trust anyone. Not even your mom. 

Parejas repartidas

A mí me encantan los calcetines nuevos y mi familia lo sabe, por eso me regalan calcetines cada Navidad. No es un regalo malo, ni un regalo “práctico” como dice la tía Dulce cada año cuando les regala calcetines a todos. Ellos no son unos aficionados de los calcetines como yo. Les molesta mucho recibirlos y hasta yo sospecho que es porque ella es tacaña.

Un año mi padre me compró unos calcetines mix-match, muy bonitos, de colores vibrantes, que hacían juego, pero no eran iguales. No había pares de calcetines, había pesadillas de dos en dos. Pero claro, como buena hija quería dar gusto a mi padre y que no me creía malagradecida me los puse. No podía dejar de pensar en que mis calcetines no eran iguales, estaban separados, y sus parejas estaban en otras cajas, en otros pies, en otro lugar ajeno.

Los que me encontraron muerta, me criticaban por ser tan desorganizada y llevar calcetines mix-match, como una típica mujer estadounidense.

Les miro desde el cielo y me pregunto si mi padre se arrepentirá de haberme comprado esos calcetines que me llevaron a esa muerte inesperada. Si no hubiera estado pensando en esos calcetines, a lo mejor, no hubiera cruzado la calle así, sin mirar, pensando en dónde podría estar la pareja de mi calcetín derecho y si se estaban conviviendo bien los dos calcetines impares, o si extrañaban mucho a sus parejas o si se odiaban como yo los odiaba.

Yo no me arrepiento de haber hecho feliz a mi padre ese año. De todos modos, él estará aquí conmigo muy pronto, ya que, justo la mañana que morí, le regalé unas herramientas muy bonitas, un trinquete del sistema imperial y unos sockets del sistema métrico.

dedicado a Raquel Castro 

Blood Ink

image from minutestocountdown.deviantart.com

You can only fold a paper

seven times they say,

but I must have read your letter

a thousand times a day,

until I finally realized

the ink had dried away.

It bled into my hands

and ate away my soul,

until I cried black

and fell into a hole.

The abyss was vast and deep

the feelings began to creep,

until I remembered why

I chose to let you die.

And as I write the letter

the words they come out pink

for only assassin’s blood

can be used for contract ink. 

Mar's Bar

I drink a cocktail of moonlight in this lone bar of Mars. I quickly glance at my wrist to check my messages, and though I know that 40 minutes will pass between each line of conversation, I hope that you will reply before your bedtime. Everyone in the colony is lonely and lost, tired and disillusioned; coming here was a grave mistake. We all knew that now. 

If the possibility of return was minimal before, it was close to none now. The attempt to create a sustainable food source was proving to be difficult. Luckily we had a life supply of Tang that had been sent long before anyone had dreamed of actually transporting life to this red planet. I personally didn’t mind, the strange orange flavor reminded me of my grandfather and his obsession with his childhood favorites from the 70s. He even found a few old videos that had survived the Metallic Freeze and had us watch them, laughing hysterically. If I had known that I’d be drinking the strange Moon people’s drink on Mars, I might have laughed too. 

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s intelligent life on that planet.” 

I wonder that too Orange Man, I wonder that too. 

Twenty-three minutes passed and I received a purple check-mark on my message board; your phone received the message, but was currently in sleep mode. I imagined you in bed, three times the weight, but triple the comfort and softness of our rotting cots. I knew that life would not be glamorous here, but I had expected to feel more glory upon my arrival – to feel… more like a hero to mankind. Instead the monotony of raising plants designed to flourish on florescent light, artificial air, and electrolytes, were proving just as limp as my conscience. 

I never should have left you. I thought to myself as I downed the rest of my drink, glancing through the telescope at the life I left behind. 


..............................................................................................

PS. If you want to see the Tang commercial referenced in this story, here's the link. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wf1kw5Yp9Ck  

As always thanks for reading. 

Until next time lovelies,
Raely Marie


Written for the #Nightdwellers #ProseChallenge #beginningline
Original post at https://theprose.com/post/139668/mar-s-bar
Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘I DRINK A COCKTAIL OF MOONLIGHT…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/

Take a Stand

You think it’s cool to hit women
back ‘em up against a door and start screamin' at ‘em
punch a hole in the wall, watch ‘em duck out the way
as the tears start streamin’ down their face,
hopin’ it would be a different day, 
another life where she’d have a knife in her hand
shut you the fuck up and make her stand

cut your throat and watch you bleed
watch you fall down to your knees,
sittin' on the ground sayin’ baby please,
stop this right now can’t you see
all this stabbin’s hurtin’ me

baby please, I gave you all – that I had
look in my eyes and see I’m sad
I’m sorry baby I know I’ve been bad

can’t we just try, try to forgive
we’ve got this whole damn life to live

He’ll fall to the ground, drown in his blood
ruin her brand new homemade rug,
but she just won’t give a damn,
cuz today was the day she fucking made her stand

...but today’s not that day and tomorrow neither,
cuz today she’s a hoe and a lyin' cheater
and there’s nothing she can do to change his ways,
cuz today’s the day he decided to beat her

cuz you can’t forgive a fucking lyin' cheater
gotta put her in her place and it’s not in the kitchen
gotta fuckin' teach this fuckin' bitch a lesson

smack her in the face and watch her cry
she looks like she deserves to die
so pitiful pathetic on the ground,
she looks like a baby crawlin’ around

nowhere to go she’s stuck inside,
where you goin' bitch there’s nowhere to hide,
come back here and take your beatin',
you know you deserve it, cuz I know you been cheatin’

and while she’s down there on the floor,
she’ll think about goin’ to the corner store,
ask for a gallon of gasoline,
ask for the matches as she turns to leave,
burn all the rubber on her tires, 
speedin’ home to set the house on fire!

…all her stuff, will burn with him
and she’ll have to start all over again, 
but she just won’t give a damn,
cuz today was the day she fucking made her stand

...but today’s not that day and tomorrow neither,
cuz today she’s a hoe and a lyin' cheater
and there’s nothing she can do to change his ways,
cuz today’s the day he decided to beat her
cuz you can’t forgive a fuckin' lyin' cheater

you gotta beat - the lesson - into her,
cuz this fuckin bitch just won’t learn,

Why you gotta go and make me beat you,
you know I hate it, I really do, 
I just gotta do what I gotta do
Where you goin' bitch, I got your shoes

Her hand slips off of the door,
as he drags her across the floor,
he keeps repeatin’ that she asked for more
cuz last week she was a little whore,

she doesn’t know what he’s talkin' about
she opens her lungs and she tries to shout
his hands on her throat no air will come out

and as she’s choking tryin’ to breathe
she’ll think about how great it be
to get the rope down off the shelf 
and make him tie it around himself

take the noose around his neck
and hang him back off of the deck

and when the policeman finally came
she wouldn’t even have to try and explain
she wouldn’t even have to try and hide
cuz all her actions were justified

and even if - she went to jail
and there was no one - to post her bail,

she just wouldn’t give a damn,
cuz today was the day she fucking made her stand

...but today’s not that day and tomorrow neither,
cuz today she’s a hoe and a lyin’ cheater
and there’s nothing she can do to change his ways,
cuz today’s the day he decided to beat her
cuz you can’t forgive a fucking lyin’ cheater
cuz today’s the day he decided to beat her
cuz you can’t forgive a fuckin lyin’ cheater

But today’s the day she’s gonna make her stand
cuz some motherfucker’s need to understand

che-che
boom

...
Raelynne Hale
Madrid, Spring 2012

...
In lieu of participating in the injustice challenge, as I would have had to have written a story, I am posting my spoken word piece on injustice that I wrote and performed in Madrid in 2012. This piece was very therapeutic for me and is available on my youtube channel from when I performed it at Triskel Tavern in Madrid, Spain in 2012.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTQr_V7wOrE 

...
#ProseChallenge #injustice #domesticviolence

Ralph's Confessions

Ralph's Confessions

“You know, honestly, I don´t know why I do it anymore,” he stated in his interview Friday afternoon. “I used to do it for the good feelings, the pats on the back, the compensation, the food, ahhh, the food… that was the best.”

He paused in nostalgia, looked out the window, then continued.

“But now, that’s all over, the delicious snacks… they’re gone. I don’t even get a real thank you, just some half ass pat on the shoulder – out of obligation.”

He looked down wearily.

“You know… I still find myself drooling over that… that stupid tennis ball. I even pick it up first now, dragging it over to them, initiating the hard work. I just, I just don´t know why I still do it… all for nothing.”

And as Pavlov’s great great-grandson finished his interview, Ralph just sat there, wondering how he’d gotten to such a place as this, deep in tennis ball addiction, without the satisfaction of any meaty treats.

dedicated to my Grandpa, his stories always keep me going.

And Lucky, my trusty pal.

                                                                                                                       

Raelynne Hale

Madrid, 2014

Nursery Rhyme Politics

‘He’s a strong man, a great leader and one heck of a bareback rider. Nearly as good as me in all three departments. I’m a little better of course, but wow. Even I’m a little sore after all the riding we did,’ exclaimed Trump, describing his trip to Russia. - David Marrs, The Daily Squat

Nursery Rhyme Politics
Donald and Putin sittin’ in a tree.
K – I – S – S – I – N – G 
First comes love, then comes hate
We’re all gonna make America Great!

Build that wall, make that call
Put up another shopping mall.
It’s no worry, we’re not in trouble
Let’s all live in a giant bubble.

Donald likes peeing, Putin likes eating
Our economy’s gonna take a beating.
You’re not worried, I’m not scared
I’d just rather be eatin by a bear.

But have no fear, our president is…… is…… 
is…… is…… is…… is…… is…… is…… is……
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is…… is…… is…… is…… is…… is…… is………………..


Original post at https://theprose.com/post/127475/nursery-rhyme-politics
Photo courtesy of http://www.dailysquat.com/donald-trump-vladimir-putin-enjoy-riding-bareback-together/ 

Distanced by Time

I looked up and met your eyes, falling deeply into the abyss. My spirit reached out, and for only a second, I knew you, all of you. 

Sorry, I muttered as I moved out of the way for you to enter and bowed my head, soaking in the chocolate scent of your eyes. The dark brown I’d always known, but would never meet. What’s your name, I thought, but never uttered. As I checked my phone and ran to my next meeting, your essence evaporated into nothingness. I could feel, as I began to drift back into this reality, that our parallel existences would never collide again. I wondered who you were and what your voice sounded like – Did it sound as beautiful as your coy smile? 

You would never return to my reality and I wasn’t even sure that you existed. Why were you here, my perfect stranger? Why had you come to our realm? I learned in that instance of your knowledge and power. I learned in that moment of my minute and unimportant self. I realized that ours was not the only lifetime. I discovered that time travel was happening and you were on your way home. 


Written for a theprose.com challenge for week 55. If you like it, please follow the link below to give me a like there and repost my entry!

Original Post:
https://theprose.com/post/127558/distanced-by-time

#theprose #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

Tragically Beautiful

“I can´t handle your kindness.” The words fell out, one piece at a time, as if being chopped up into chewable parts.

He didn't know what to say, or to do. She was crying uncontrollably and through sobbing, real deep silent sobs, there was a pain and sorrow that couldn't be expressed in words that lingered.

What did they do to you? He so desperately wanted to help her, to understand the tears so that he could stop them, but he dared not to ask. He feared it would literally break her, she was so frail in that moment. No one was so tragically beautiful.

He sat down on the bed next to her, and pulled her into his arms and out of her vacant fortress. He could feel that she was gone, emotionally somewhere else. He felt like he was losing her, she was cold and stiff, as if the fear and sadness were sucking the life out of her, and he panicked.

“Hey…. Hey!” he shook her. 

“Come back to me,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her.

She couldn't come back. She looked down from her dark empty room and stared at her body in his arms. She had never been happier. And because she knew she'd never be able to handle losing that, she turned, and continued walking into the chamber of darkness she had created so long ago.

She died happy in his arms as he shed his first tear.

Día 1 - Miedo

Tengo miedo de que vengan por mi cerebro, mis brains.

No es que soy muy especial, ni nada, solo que tienen un apetito feroz, y a ellos les gusta romper el cráneo y chupar el cerebro humano. Ni es una exquisitez - es su plato principal. 

We are no longer the hunters, but the hunted. 

Ahora pienso convertirme en vegetariano, ya que los entiendo más a los pobres animales que matamos para comer. Los pobres animales que comemos nosotros, ni se dan cuenta de que sus días están contados. Por lo menos, entiendo que vengan por mí. 

Quizá... lo tienen mejor, porque no saben lo que va a venir y pueden vivir tranquilos. Yo no vivo tranquilo. 

Lo más horroroso es que esos cabrones se parecen a nosotros. 

En nadie se puede confiar, ni en los amigos, ni en tu hermano, ni en tu mamá. Los vi chupando el cerebro de la madre de mi mejor amigo, no quiero que lo hagan a mi mamá. 

Mi mamá es una santa, la vi matar algunos de estos cabrones que vienen a comer a su propia gente. Los vi desde cerca. Chequeé de que ya no se levantarían nunca más, y que ella, la madre de Ricky, no se estaba convirtiendo también en una rabiosa zombie. Sus ojos son rojos, como si no duermen. Sus manos son grises, como si no se sienten el calor ni el frío. Sus cuerpos están deformados, y sus dientes... sus dientes... todavía con trozos del cerebro de la señora Guadalupe Flores... 

Quiero pensar que lo invento. 

Quiero volver a los días de Netflix an' chill. 

Quiero estar tranquilo. 

No puedo estar tranquilo...