she was worrying about whether or not he would make a good father especially given that it wasn’t his son. she thought he was the right type because he talked well like someone who was educated and he was. he had a degree. he could get all kinds of jobs and make them all kinds of money so she wouldn’t have to bend over backward sewing buttons on thrift store clothes before walking the kid to school. yes, she thought, he could become a classic sorta breadwinner if it weren’t for that other thing in the way right now. but they was young, he was young and still needed some encouragement in the right direction. she could provide it but she hadn’t and she better start soon. but it was hard because when he got home from work he was usually pretty keyed up and wanted to relax. and she had the prescription pills and felt bad or like she wanted to help and gave him one he washed down with a beer to relax. what harm? it’s not like one turned into two or two into three. not with him. maybe her. god she was pregnant and if the daddy was who she thought it was, he was no good. she didn’t even want to know because his knowing might mean he might want to get involved in all the wrong ways. file for custody just because he hated her guts and didn’t want her happy? with child. no. she didn’t want to know. best thing for her. best thing for the baby. move on and get with a good kind of guy who could really be supportive and fuck the rest. if she couldn’t find one of those, i mean, if he wasn’t the one either, then hell, she could just raise the kid herself. plenty of women did it. even her friend Donna. she was exhausted with rings under her eyes by now, looking like she aged ten years, but still she was doing it. i guess you gotta let go of yourself, your pride, your vanity, and just be the best mom. she knew she could do that. her modeling career never exactly took off and she hated the industry. all the scumbags who offered photoshoots then never paid what they promised they would. demanding the negatives and getting the run around, or worse, being called a bitch a thousand times for asking. fuck all that. she was gonna focus on being the best. #katyamills
Tag Archives: writing
property of the sun
solitary
censored
the sun kept a great distance from everyone it influenced
to do its proper work
the moon
she wouldn’t damage your retina
mark her with flags
claim her
you who are owned
by the sun
#katyamills
17 dash
in need of nutrients
having embarked cold and thirsty upon the land
with a curious beating heart she
dislodged her diary and misted its pages
with secret emotions sketching
rough thoughts and plans
then. full of rebellion
dashed them
#katyamills
thoughts
they would not chase
all those beautiful dangerous thoughts
into the corral
some say they lacked
managerial grit
but it was something else
they loved to watch the damn things
run free
#katyamills
nine. sixteen
they ask me how
i write. i may i might
tell them. or not
i establish rules then
in light of the risen sun
they lie broken
at my blood red
toenails
#katyamills
#blemish
hit all the keys
leave the blemishes in
let go of perfection. exhale
let them write us off
a rock in the shoe
a distraction… let it be
they deflate while we
rise
#katyamills
see by the heart
a fallen mood made my eyes
hide. they opened when asked
to lean into the demands of the day
then closed like a book of magick
in time i would learn to see by
my heart. in time to see
by the heart #katyamills
bend down low
they pick up the morning paper
take the morning pills they watch
the markets fall and rise like
fortune and loves from long ago
it’s these memories lodged in the spine
can give them dynamite chills
#katyamills
translucent orange
my brother made a family
to keep the lineage alive while i
produced only a masterpiece
literary in nature to mark
these times
#katyamills
swipe
how do you tell a story
when half your thoughts are liars?
swipe them away and
tell the truth
#katyamills
K IS SILENT 