I was just a ghost…

If only I could be excepted. I don’t see why they have to make him sad by talking trash about me and my family. Mostly it is his stepfather. Supposedly my parents have been married 15, 17, no 20 times. And also my family is the freaky welfare family. Just because I like to shop at the volunteer center doesn’t mean I have to, an so what if I did. Most everyone has been in a financial crunch. So what if I do not have designer clothing! Most of it all is designed to be skin tight and to make us all look like sluts. Yes I enjoy wearing a skimpy outfit once in awhile and I understand why people who can do so. But I am not going to go pay fifty dollars for a pair of acid wash jeans just because it would reflect my social status. As if his step father and his family are any better than mine. At least my father has not drunk any kind of alcohol in 19 years, where as Robert’s mother and step father seem to drink every night. I cannot stand it when I see the hurt in Robert’s eyes and hear the tears in his voice. It makes me want to cry. To feel him being torn apart tears me apart. I can no longer wait for him to be free. He needs to break free and I will help him. *Robert I am so sorry I couldn’t be there the other night when they pushed you over the edge…once we are free I will never let them hurt you again* Soon we will be free. I can almost taste the freedom.

I stand outside your cage, circling, circling. I watch you, watch me. I taunt you from outside the boundaries. I want to come in, but I know I would then be trapped. For you it would be worth it. I don’t want you to be taunted by my flesh. I want you to be satisfied by it. But when I touch the cold hard iron, so forbidding, I must flinch away. It threatens me with it’s sharp edges and razor spikes. I grasp the mesh between creating gashes in my flesh. My blood dribbles down from sliced fingers and palms to my elbows. The cage’s door looked so congenial, a silver archway. But it was only an image that quickly tore my eyes. So now I cry blood, and my hands cry it too. There is an iron taste on my tongue as I dance it between the wires, a metallic liquid flows, but I want that one little kiss. You come to the edge of the cage, we are warped by our desire. And there through the fence we have our one kiss, costing us much bloodshed.

So perhaps some day I will receive my wire cutters and be able to rip away his cage, so that we can do more than kiss. I only wish that we had our moments of freedom now.