Wednesday's Child

It's Wednesday. It's Wednesday and I'm hurting and you're hurting and we're all hurting so much and why won't it just stop, stop, stop? Stop and stay stopped so the pain stays far far away behind glass doors and blacked-out windows that are clear but not clear and you think no one can see past but they can and they do and they just don't care. They don't care, and they can't possibly care, because even if the windows are blacked-out they certainly aren't sound proof and they can hear because they have ears and they whisper and point at yellowing bruises and there is whispering behind hands that are pointing and there are hands that exchange green paper and no one really cares because there's certainly enough green to go around

No one cares and it's Wednesday and it hurts but it's almost over. It's almost over because soon it'll be Thursday then Friday then Saturday then Monday again. There is no Sunday rest but that's okay because there is no God, not here. There is no Sunday rest and there are no singing angels outside my window beckoning me, luring me closer with beautiful voices and beautiful faces and beautiful light. They are not saying 'come, come, you have suffered enough, fly with us and God will save you because you are one of us, you have done no wrong'.

And I certainly don't think about flying angels in the sky and opening my window and joining them. Because I am a survivor with feet planted firmly on the ground and my head held high showing off yellowing bruises to hands stuffed with green papers and there's nothing, nothing that will change that.

It's Wednesday and the week's almost over. Just one more Wednesday, just one more, one more, I've made it this far and I can make it to next Wednesday too, I'll bet. Because there certainly aren't fists and screaming and raging and I can make it to next Wednesday without flying with angels because I like to walk and run and who wants to fly anyway? I'm scared of heights; I'd be a horrible flyer and I'd probably fall, fall, fall until I hit the ground until I go through the ground. And I'll fall deeper and deeper and it'll get darker and darker until it's so dark and deep that I can't get back up and there's laughing licking fire because I know I'd be a horrible flyer.  

It's Wednesday and I can make it because I can run and I can hold my head high and I'm afraid of heights and I don't hear pretty voices luring me towards windows, windows large enough to fit a head through, an arm, a shoulder, a torso, a leg. And once the littlest toe is out you can fly headfirst into a sea of green and there'll be lots of red and lots of red and so much red that no amount of green paper could ever sop it all up and there won't be windows dark enough to block out the bruises and you really should have sound proofed them, you know.

But that's okay, you don't need to worry about that. Because I'm afraid of heights and of windows and of flying so high in the sky that the red and the green and the Wednesdays are so far behind me, below me, that I won't be able to do anything but laugh. So you don't need to worry because the windows are dark and made of glass and you really do have a lot of green paper so why can't you donate it to the animals in need or to the homeless or something? But that's not my business so I won't say anything but I just want to tell you not to worry because I'm afraid of heights and windows and of singing angels.

But I think I'll leave the window open, just so I can hear them a little better.